Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Australia, China, Dad, Death, Family, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis
I think my Mum would be strangely happy that I almost forgot to write this post today.
And I did … only realizing last weekend today was the 11th anniversary of my Mum dying.
It’s not even the first time this has happened …
So how come I nearly forgot today – one of the worst days of my entire life – and why do I think Mum be happy about it?
Well, let’s do the practical reasons first …
I write this blog weeks in advance and so sometimes I don’t even think about the date they will appear, I just load them up to be automatically put out. That said, I’ve never nearly forgotten when it is Dad’s anniversary … however that’s a bit different to Mum’s in so much as he died in mid-January and so that tends to be one of the first posts I write every year, coming out the festive holiday season.
But that’s more of an assumptive rationale …
The fact is both my parents blessed me with an amazing childhood and upbringing. I’ve written so much about them over the years – from their endless encouragement to their demonstration of what love really means – and the loss of them was, without doubt, the hardest and biggest challenges I’ve ever had to face and deal with in my life.
But Dad died first – 16 years before Mum – and while I’d experienced the death of people close to me before, that was the one that was the most direct in terms of impact, importance and shock. It meant it took me years before I could think of Dad as the Dad I grew up with … rather than the person he became after his stroke robbed him of who he was and how he was.
But Dad’s passing opened up the ability for Mum and I to talk about death … and we did. A lot.
Not in an ‘impending doom’ kind-of-way … more in terms of the reality of what we’d faced and had to accept and learn.
It meant this was very much top of mind when Mum was going in for her operation. Maybe not spoken about openly, but definitely something that was in eachother’s minds. In fact, it was only after Mum had died – when the operation to extend her life, sadly failed due to a childhood issue that had gone undiagnosed – that I discovered just how much Mum had been thinking about it.
That she had written me ‘notes’ in case the worst happened – featuring information I’d need to make organizing her estate easier – is still one of the most powerful demonstrations of unconditional love I’ve ever seen. Though it still breaks my heart how she must have felt writing them – knowing that she was having to face her own mortality, on her own, while I was on the other side of the planet.
That said – as I wrote the morning she died – we’d found a lovely rhythm in the final few years.
We’d always had a wonderful relationship but there was a period where a few niggles had entered our interactions … nothing much, just a little tension caused by me wanting to take care of her and her wanting to fiercely protect her independence and have me look after myself and my future more. But we’d got past that by realizing both us were coming from a place of love … so we made allowances for each others needs, which meant she let me put money in her bank account every month and I didn’t mind that she never spent a penny of it. Haha.
And while the days leading up to her death will be forever burned in my mind, my memory of Mum has never been stuck in that period, like it was for Dad for all those years. I don’t know why but I’m grateful for it.
Maybe it’s because I became better equipped emotionally after Dad died?
Maybe it’s because Otis was born 3 months before Mum passed and so that period was consumed with happy thoughts throughout that time?
Or maybe it’s because I’d seen Mum a lot before she died – every month for 6 months or so – and so saw the impact of her heart condition on her health – meaning it was less of a surprise to me, even though I thought the operation was going to make things better?
Who knows … but while today will always be significant in my mind, it’s not the main thing that immediately comes to mind. Instead I think of the conversations we had when I came to visit … the pasta she would lovingly make for me … the look of happy surprise on her face when I turned up unannounced from Australia … the tennis she’d play with me on the patio in the back garden in summer when I was a small kid … the joy on her face when she learned she was going to be a Grandma … the stories she would tell me of the films or comedians or concerts she’d gone to see … the quiet contentment we felt when we were in the same room together, even if nothing was being said.
I think of those things WELL before anything to do with her dying.
I think of her grace, her kindness, her love, her curiosity, and her compassion.
I think of how much I wish she could see the grandson she never met, but adored.
I think of how she will never know I lived in America and back in England and now NZ.
I think of how she would react to Bonnie. [And the news of Rosie]
I think of how she would react to ‘healthy me’.
I think of how lucky I was – and am – to be able to call her my Mum.
And that’s why, I am sure Mum would be happy that I almost forgot to write this post …
Because it means her memory is alive and present in my life and that means she achieved what she hoped for most in her life.
That she was a good Mum.
And she was. And still is.
I miss you Mum. I hope you’re with Dad, holding hands.
I love you.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Colenso, Comment, Family, Home, Jill, London, Love, New Zealand, Otis, Rosie
5 years ago today, we landed in Auckland.
FIVE BLOODY YEARS!
That’s the 3rd longest I’ve ever lived in a single place.
NZ was never on the plan, but Colenso was a place I’d always loved and so when they reached out post-R/GA redundancy [which came about by the then ‘shocking’ way I promoted my redundancy, which was covered by The Guardian Newspaper], it was suddenly a real option – made even more desirable after Jill told me [having mentioned they’d got back in touch] that “it would be nice to be closer to my Mum”.
Up until then, I thought we were going back to the US, but not only did I feel I needed to do something for the woman who I’d dragged all over the World after telling her we’d only have be away from Australia for a max of 2 years [Ahem!] both NZ and Colenso offered us things that were much more where we were and what we needed in our lives and work right then – from being cool with letting me continue doing my private projects through to giving us an escape path from Covid-ridden England … that is until it arrived in New Zealand and put us back in bloody lockdown, hahaha.
[That said, our immigration hotel – The Ibis – was in Hamilton, and as people from NZ will know, it was good prep, ha]
That said, it took a lot for us to get there.
First was getting approval to travel to NZ … then there was getting a spot in the quarantine hotel … that had to also align with the insanely limited flights to NZ … which was made harder by needing to find an airline that would also take our cat … plus the endless COVID tests we had to provide to different government departments, up to 24 hours before leaving …
And that’s before we talk about organizing the visas for me, the family and the bloody cat to enter the country … telling our bank that we were off to live on the other side of the planet on the very day we moved into the house we’d just bought in the UK … through to organizing a bloody coach to get us to Heathrow Airport, to ensure there was enough distance between us and the driver so there was no last minute COVID fuck-ups.
[The photo at the top of this post is from us getting on the plane and getting ready to take off]
And while moving across the world during a global pandemic is something I would never, ever recommend – and this is coming from someone who has moved countries into the double digits – we made it and were grateful for all NZ – and Colenso – has done [and does] for us.
That doesn’t mean NZ is perfect …
In many ways, it’s position as a ‘global utopia’ is worthy of a Grand Prix for PR given there’s a whole host of things that are fucked up that people outside of NZ rarely know about, let alone see … from deeply entrenched racism, a youth suicide rate that is proportionally – and continually – one of the highest in the world plus an overall lack of economic investment and youth opportunity to name but a few … however compared to many other places, it’s still a whole lot better in a whole lot of ways.
That said, we won’t be here forever.
Don’t know when that move will happen, but it will.
That we’ve been here 5 years is already incredible to us, given bar China, our usual tenure in a country is about 2-3.
But that’s how good the place is. And Colenso.
So why can I say we will leave at some point in the future?
Well, there’s a bunch of reasons why – of which one is the idea of living in one place till the end of my days fills me with dread – but the fact this place is already the 3rd longest place I’ve ever lived proves NZ is somewhere I regard as very special and why I’ll always see my time here as a chapter of true significance. It’s also why I hope when the day comes for us to leave, the people who matter feel I/we contributed at least as much as we were lucky and grateful to receive from them and the country as a whole.
And let me tell you, I haven’t felt that way about all the countries I’ve lived in, hahaha.
So to everyone in NZ – well, 98.46% of you – and everyone at Colenso …
Thank you.
For all you are and all you have done.
It’s been 5 pretty fucking awesome years. At least speaking for us, ha.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Childhood, Children, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Otis
Recently I heard an interview with the Led Zeppelin singer, Robert Plant.
Of course, Led Zeppelin is a long time off – but as I wrote here – his and the bands place in musical history is cemented.
Anyway, in this interview he talked about his kids – and his grandkids – and it got me thinking.
Despite the fact he is 77 years old, I never imagined him as a grandfather. To be honest I’d probably not thought of him as a father either. But of course he is, which made me wonder what it must be like for his family.
I am sure they just see him as ‘dad’ or ‘granddad’ … but even then, they must know he holds a huge place in millions of people’s hearts and minds.
But more than that – as he talked about going on small tours for the sheer fact he loved playing live – I wondered what his family thought of it.
Is it weird?
How do they connect the family member with the man on stage?
Do they see it as a family member doing their hobby or still holding court as a legend of music?
Having spoken to a friend – who photographed and interviewed Rockstars and their kids – I suspect, depending on their age, they find it amusing, confusing and wonderful. Something they know their family member has always done, but is about as far from their world as they could get.
But that’s not the point of the post, it was the fact they would always be able to hear him and see him even when he’s past.
Whether at his Rock God peak or in his older age, he would always be present.
Not just emotionally … but visually and sonically.
And while I appreciate that could have moments where it is hard, I would imagine it would also be reassuring.
I don’t have that with my Mum and Dad. In fact – apart from photographs – all I have is one short message my parents sent me on voicemail on a birthday.
Dad had had his stroke by then and Mum was trying to help him get the words out to send me best wishes. It’s both beautiful and heartbreaking and I know they’d love me to have had other things to wrap myself up in.
Which is why this blog is important to me.
Because for all the rubbish it spouts, it is me.
My voice. My thoughts. My conflictions. My beliefs … even when they change over the years.
But it’s not enough.
And while I’ve been ending all my talks with an image of my son … I want to do more. I want to make sure that when I’m gone, he has the choice to hear more of his old man. Not because of what I say, but more for him to know how deeply I love him and how proud I am of him.
Hopefully, he knows that already but I’ll never be able to express just how much he means to me … which is why I’ve decided to do the Temu version of Robert Plant in so much as from now on, if I am invited to talk at presentations or anything in the public domain … I’m going to make sure part of that is me saying what he means to me. Not for any performative stance … but just because should he ever be in a situation where he needs to hear his old man’s voice or to be reminded what he means to me, all he has to do is turn to the internet.
He may not want to, and that’s cool.
But – as I know my parents would have wished for me – he could if he wants to.
And sometimes, that’s all you need to feel a bit more peace about knowing you won’t always be there for them.
I say this as both a warning and an invitation to anyone who wants me to come speak at their conference/podcast or seminar, haha.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Children, Complicity, Culture, Daddyhood, Dance, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Family, Fatherhood, Generosity, Happiness, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents, Respect
A few years ago, I wrote about how some people think they have the right to judge your kid.
And your parenting.
I also noted how I’d been suckered into validating their commentary.
Until I came to my senses.
The story is Otis was – and still is – an energetic kid.
When we lived in Shanghai, LA and London, we would go out a lot and he would be a whirlwind of excited, happy energy.
It was – admitedly – relentless.
Whether 3pm or 3am, he seemed to always want to play, smile, laugh, do things with his adoring parents.
Often, when we were out, we would see people looking at him running around the park, shouting to himself … and then saying to me, “he’s got a lot of energy hasn’t he?”
And while they weren’t saying it as a diss, they weren’t saying it as a compliment either.
What makes it worse is I would reply with a weary, “you better believe it”.
Then one day I realised what I was doing.
My son … my wonderful, brilliant, joyous son was being judged by his Dad.
Worse, he did it to let perfect strangers feel justified in their fucked-up judgement.
What the hell?!
Otis wasn’t doing anything wrong … plus he was 2 or 3 years old for fucks sake.
More than that, he has always had a very strong sense of justice and fairness and so the last thing he would ever want to do is cause others discomfort.
And he wasn’t, he was just running around … exploering and experiencing the World.
I felt an immense amount of anger – more at myself, but definitely at the ‘critics’ as well – and vowed that would never happen again.
And it didn’t and it doesn’t.
Because when anyone said/say’s that to me about Otis, I now reply … “I know, isn’t it great”, and they always look at me before slowly nodding, either because they feel they have to or because they realise the problem isn’t my kid, but their increasingly small mindedness and old-person energy.
I say this because I recently watched this …
I am sure there will be people out there who will say it’s unprofessional.
That her actions are encouraging her child to be more ‘needy and demanding’.
That she just made a huge career limiting move, undermining all the hard work she has put in.
And they’re entitled to their opinion except it doesn’t matter.
Not in the slightest, however much you think it does or tell yourself it does.
Hell, even if you were one of the judges critiquing her dance, it doesn’t … because while you may have a certain amount of power in your hands in terms of what the implications of her actions will be, the reality is they won’t care.
Because whatever you think is more important than their child, you’re wrong.
They may do things you wouldn’t.
They may value things that you think they shouldn’t.
Their child may need things you would never consider.
But it’s NOT YOUR CHILD so it literally doesn’t matter.
In fact, unless you think the child is in real danger – or a cause of real danger to others – you should be minding your own business. And even if they are in – or causing – danger, your actions should be pointed to people who can legally or professionally help, rather than think you have unconditional rights.
I love what this gymnast did.
For me, it was beautiful both in terms of her talent and her love.
Even more so, at a time where Linkedin is overflowing with people acting like ‘winning justifies any sacrifice’.
With AI impacting our lives in increasingly dramatic ways, ‘family’ is the one thing AI can never replace.
It will try.
But it will fail.
Because while family is universal, it’s deeply personal and individual … which is why the best advice for anyone thinking of discussing/judging/commenting on the innocent actions or behaviour of a child that isn’t yours, is this.
“Are you the parents of the child?”
If not, SHUT THE FUCK UP.
You’re welcome.
Good news: I am away until Friday so you can enjoy a few days peace after that rant-fest.
You’re welcome. Again.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Humanity, Love
One of the members of my wonderful gang of misfits – James [Bennett, not Tucker] – recently showed me a website that is a testimony and celebration to the best of humanity.
Not because it’s slick.
Not because it’s academic.
Not because it’s beautiful.
But because it’s pure.
A place where you get to watch clips that few people have ever witnessed. One after another.
There’s a couple of reasons why the ‘watch count’ is so low.
One is because what you see is nothing more than an everyday moment that someone captured and decided to upload. The other is because the people who uploaded them didn’t even think [or know] how to name the clip … so you end up watching a stream of stuff that have titles like: IMG 4856 or DSC 3957, basically the number given to the clip by whatever recording device they filmed it on.
So with that in mind, when I said it was ‘pure’, you’re assuming I meant ‘pure shit’, aren’t you?
And if you do, you’d be wrong.
Because in this world of bombast, hype, clickbait and superlatives, these clips pull you in because they’re none of that. They are a celebration and testimony to humanity at its purest because they capture something innocuous that meant something important to whoever uploaded them.
We all have those things …
Memories that would mean nothing to anyone else but to us … they play on an endless loop in our hearts or minds.
A first bike ride.
A school sports day.
A cuddle with your pet.
A plastic bag in the wind.
A stupid race in shopping trolleys.
Cycling down a hill to get the speed so you can jump over your mates.
A Sunday where everyone is in the same room, doing different things and yet together.
Every clip is a different moment. Someone else’s moment. And yet it is yours too.
The reason the title of this post – and the website it refers to – talks about astronauts, is because when you go to it, the experience can feel like you are one. Miles up in the sky … peering through the little window of your rocket down onto the planet you left behind.
Except they don’t mean the planet you left literally … they mean it emotionally.
Because we fill our lives with noise, distraction, acceleration and, far too often, bullshit … meaning we often forget, miss or ignore the fleeting moments that ultimately make – and made – our lives, ours.
The things that are seemingly small, but ultimately made a big impression on us – regardless how long it lasted.
All the videos come from YouTube and were uploaded in the last week or so.
Each one is unnamed, unedited, and unseen by anyone, except you.
It may only last a few seconds, but the feeling may never leave.
Humanity has never needed us to be astronauts so much. Enjoy your trip.
Your journey into space commences in …
10.
9.
8.
7.
6.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.