Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Birthday, Death, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
Today would be Mum’s 94th birthday.
And even though she died in 2015 – aged 83 – there is a part of me that still thinks she could have lived to this age if her heart operation hadn’t gone the way it did.
Not that the surgery was bad … the problem was that Mum’s heart condition was caused because of an illness she had as a small child and no one had realised its impact until things started to go a different way in the operation than anyone expected or had planned for.
But if that hadn’t happened … I fully expect Mum would be alive.
Actually, not just alive, but living.
Slower – for sure – but still curious, interested and engaged in life because as I’ve said many times, she always told me to be interested in what others are interested in, which was a belief she didn’t just follow, but lived every day.
In a perfect world, she’d now be living with us in NZ … and despite her being fiercely independent, I think she would have done it.
I even think she would have loved it.
Being nearer only son.
Seeing her only grandson.
Chatting to her daughter in law.
Patting the lovely – but slightly stupid – Bonnie.
God I would have loved to have witnessed this. To have witnessed her living in the peace and tranquility of our house in the trees. And while I am sure she would have occasions where she felt far from home – be that Italy or England – I really believe that would be countered by the safety, comfort and warmth she’d experienced being close to people who love her and that she loved.
I always remember how much she loved me coming home to visit her.
How she loved how the house because a cauldron of noise as I – and my friends – filled it with laughter and chatter.
And while we would have ensured she had her own space for her own life, I suspect that she would have spent more time with us than alone. Or she would once we told her we loved her hanging out with us – as I also suspect she’d be so worried she was crowding us out, she would stay out of her way.
Because Mum always was doing more for others than herself.
Looking out for them.
Wanting to do the best for them.
And while that is kind and generous and loving – I wanted her to feel cared for.
I wanted her to feel loved, protected and put first.
And while we had our moments of niggles as I tried to do this for her – while she did all she could to resist it – towards the end we had found a place of harmony and understanding which meant the world to me, because that is how we were for most of our life together and how I would have loved to have seen our life together if we had ever been able to bring her to NZ.
But alas that didn’t happen.
In fact, when Mum died a lot that I am quoting in this fantasy extention of my family life, hadn’t happened either.
We hadn’t left China and moving to NZ wasn’t even on the radar.
Hell, we had to move to America and England before that was to happen – and even then that was motivated as much by COVID as it was by Colenso.
Then there’s the fact we had only just had Otis … and don’t even get me started on Bonnie.
And yet, that image of Mum with us resides in my heart. I’d truly have loved it and so today – in her honour – I’ll be cooking a dinner that I know she would have wanted to cook for us.
Nothing fancy, but a true Italian pasta sauce – simple and yet delicious as hell.
Because the one thing Mum taught me was that love isn’t complicated, it’s just showing you care.
Happy Birthday Mum, I love you so much.
I wish I had more photos of you that I could use in these posts.
The fact I don’t just reinforces how you have gone and how much I miss you.
So a big kiss to you and to Dad.
You’re forever with me.
Rx
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Dad, Death, Gambling, Goodbye, Life, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad
This is a weird post but I watched something recently that reminded me how grateful I am I was present for two of the worst moments of my life.
When I was younger, the idea of being with my parents when they were about to die was horrific to me. Not because I didn’t love my parents – but because I did.
Massively.
I’ve written a lot about how wonderful they were.
How grateful I am to have had them as my Mum and Dad … for their unshakeable love, support, encouragement and care – even when I pushed my luck with all that to the absolute extreme.
And it was that force of love that made me think being there when they were about to die, would be the worst pain I could ever experience.
And I was right. It is the worst pain. But it would have been even worse if I’d not been there when it was the end.
Because being with loved ones at the final goodbye is not really about you. It’s about them.
Letting them know they can go without being alone.
That the people who care for them the most are there to give them the love, support and acceptance they need to make their final step.
Is it horrible?
That doesn’t even come close to summing up how bad it feels.
Is it important?
Neither does that …
Because being with a loved one at the most tragic of times helps prepare you for welcoming in the memories of the best of times.
It won’t happen immediately.
It won’t happen without incredible pain and sadness.
It may – like it did for me – require therapy to help you deal with it.
But it will happen.
Because underpinning all of it is the knowledge you were there when they needed you most.
They say when you put a dog down, the last thing they look for is you.
That you are the person who has always given them the sense of safety and love that lets them live the happiest of lives.
Of course, humans are not dogs … but that sentiment feels right.
The ultimate demonstration of love is being with someone at the most painful of times you could both ever face.
And while I appreciate that some people will be physically unable to get there … and while I truly understand the idea of doing it is horrific and tragic … I implore you, if there is a chance to say goodbye at the final curtain – do it.
It is OK to feel scared.
It is OK to be upset.
It is OK to not know what to do or say.
But I assure you, going will make you feel better in the long run.
Because at the end, we all want to feel we showed how much someone mattered to us and we all want to know we meant something to someone … which is why I am eternally grateful I was able to be at my Mum and Dad’s side when it was the end for them. And while it took a long time to move past the final days that relived over and over again in my head – and while I hate I have to refer to the same few photographs I have of them over and over again – I am so happy my mind is now filled with the colour and joy they added to my life.
That they still do.
And I know they would love that too.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Career, Children, Comment, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Love, Loyalty, Mental Health, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, R/GA
This is my last post for a week because I’m away for the next 10 days.
I know. Again.
And as ridiculous as my travel itinerary has been this year, this trip is the most ridiculous of them all.
Not for where I’m going, but why.
And with whom I’ll be rubbing shoulders with.
But that’s for another day – especially as this post is earnest-as-fuck and my trip is arguably superficial-as-hell [even though it’s not] – so I’ll see you a week on Tuesday and until then, remember that sometimes the best way to show you care about someone is to not do anything special for them.
Read on, it will hopefully explain all …
So as toxic as social media is, there are still moments where good things shine through – and I saw one of them this week.
It’s this:
Now whether this is a real message or not – I’m not sure. But what I do know is it not only reflects the sort of situation many people are experiencing right now, but it’s how I hope I’d respond if Otis ever found himself in a similar situation.
Too often – especially with parents, or more specifically male parents – we try to ‘fix’ problems that our loved ones face. And while it no doubt comes from a good place, sometimes all we need to provide is reassurance that we love them, we’re proud of them and we empathise with the situation they face but don’t judge them for it.
No pressure.
Not expectations.
No forcing yourself into their situation.
Just love, empathy and – I can’t stress this enough – normality.
If you’ve done a good job with your kids, they will hopefully work it out for themselves or ask for some help if they can’t. And while being interested in what they’re interested in is important – that doesn’t extend to making demands of them or adding additional pressure to them.
This is even more important when a child is in a situation they didn’t ask for or hope for … of which losing a job is one of those situations.
Too often redundancy suggests the individual failed, rather than the company.
This is not by accident.
Companies love to suggest this narrative as it means the focus of attention is on the individual rather than the organization and the shame attached to redundancy keeps the person quiet so the company can act in public like all is well.
I talked about this in The Observer Newspaper back in 2020 when when I found myself being made redundant by R/GA … and while my ex-employer generally treated me OK, I still heard comments from people that seemed to suggest I should feel embarrassed I lost my job and was being professionally irresponsible speaking so openly about it.
Look, no one wants to lose their job, but it happens – and it’s going to happen a fuckload more as corporates increasingly value short-term profits over long-term trust and responsibility – which is why my attitude at the time was the more people knew I was on the market, the more likely I would find someone who wanted to take me off it.
And I was lucky because that is exactly what happened.
But a lot has changed in the past 4+ years in terms of how companies operate … and given I have a young son who will one day need to find his own career path, I guess that’s why that Twitter/X message made such an impression on me.
But the real lesson in it is that it doesn’t matter how old you are … everyone needs to feel there is someone out there who sees – and values them – for who they are, not what job they have or what things they own.
That doesn’t mean you provide blind faith.
Nor does it mean you offer false promises or hope.
It simply means you know when the best thing you can do to show how much you care, is to do absolutely nothing special for them.
Because at a time where there is so much ‘performative’ compassion, sometimes, the greatest gift you can give someone is ‘mundane normality’.
Something I now realise my parents were also brilliant at doing.
See you on Tuesday the 27th.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Cars, Dad, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Friendship, Love, My Childhood, New York, Paul
So recently I talked about how I was in New York I saw a bunch of things that triggered some deep nostalgia in me.
First was the bank of payphones at JFK airport … but then there were 2 cars.
The first was this bright yellow VW Golf soft-top.
On one level, it stood out simply because it’s bright yellow and it was a super sunny day.
But it was more than that …
Because not only did it seem to encapsulate what I thought America was like – specifically California, based on various TV shows I would watch as a kid – but it reminded me of what Paul’s Mum drove when we were growing up.
OK, so hers was more mustard than yellow, as I remember it.
And it was most definitely not a stop top … not in bloody Nottingham.
But they were the first family I ever knew that had TWO cars and that was the one that would ferry Paul and I to various activities as we grew up … so it is almost entirely associated with positive memories.
Of course, part of the reason my feelings towards this car were so positive is likely because of it’s excellent condition. It meant I didn’t have to face how old it was which meant I just connected to how present and perfect it was.
Which kind-of explains why this other car stopped me in my tracks as I was walking down a backstreet in Chelsea.
That is a Jaguar XJ-S.
Another old car in utterly excellent condition.
At the time it came out, it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
Sure, now I know it was influenced by their iconic E-Type, but as a kid it was like it had come out of outerspace.
Powerful … sleek … aggressive yet sophisticated. It was a car that was seemingly designed for the rich, famous and fast living, so it was no surprise when Simon Templar – from the British TV show, Return Of The Saint – drove one in every episode.
As a kid, The Saint was cool as fuck.
Sure, 40+ years later I realise he’s basically a Temu-James Bond character … but back then, I wasn’t old enough to watch Bond movies, so The Saint was the closest thing I had to an accessible, real-life-relevant TV/Movie hero.
So you can imagine my glee when my Uncle Andrew turned up at our house one day driving an XJ-S as his new company car. [He was a high-flying sales manager for American Express, which is why he got this beast compared to classic company car of the age, the Ford Escort]
OH MY GOD … it was like a movie star had come to visit us.
But it got even better, because Uncle Andrew said my Dad could take it for a drive …
HOLY FUCK!!!
So even though it was quite late, I was allowed to squeeze in the backseat – while still wearing my pyjamas – while Dad positioned himself in the drivers seat, accompanied by his brother-in-law before we sped off.
And while we were only gone for about 10 minutes, one part of that one-off trip is burned into my memory.
Dad drove us down the ring road and as we approached the roundabout, I remember him saying to Andrew:
“The brakes are a bit spongy”
To which my Uncle leaned over to see the speedo and said,
“That’s because you’re doing 100mph”.
My Dad was both shocked and impressed, whereas I – on the other hand – was in awe, both of the car and my Dad.
ONE HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR.
IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE!!!
You have to understand, our family car was – if memory serves me – either a bottom of the range Ford Escort, a bottom of the range Leyland Marina or an absolutely horrific Fiat 128 … or said another way, a car that couldn’t hit 100mph even if you were going down a steep hill with a tail wind behind you and even if it could, it would be so loud and the car so shakey, that your body would be crushed to smithereens before you reached a stop. But here we were, in a car that was not only able to reach ‘rocket speed’, but was able to do it with such smoothness and luxury that you didn’t even realise what was going on. Basically, you imagined it was what Concorde would be like it it had 4 wheels and could go on British roads.
I can’t remember what year this happened but I remember every bit of what happened which is why when I saw that Jaguar XJ-S on the street, it immediately took me back to that night. With my Dad. Sharing a moment neither of us ever had experienced before.
A bonding moment that I treasured then and treasure even more now.
Which is why – whoever the owner of that Jag is – thank you. You gave me a chance to have a little road trip with my Dad in NYC and I’ll forever be grateful for that.
Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Birthday, Emotion, Love, Mum & Dad, Nottingham
As people who know me will know, I can be a sentimental old fart.
And nothing sums it up more than this …
That shop you are looking at is in Nottingham.
A few weeks ago, I was there and had some time to just walk around the streets.
It’s weird being in a place you identify so strongly with, but feel such a stranger.
Given how many countries I’ve lived in, there’s a bunch of places around the World that ignites this feeling in me, but Nottingham takes it to another level.
This is where I was born. Where I was raised. Where so much of my identity was forged.
So where many people may walk past that bubble tea shop and not give it a second thought, I remember it as the jewelers where my parents bought me my first ‘good’ watch.
A watch that cost over 100 pounds … which was beyond anything I could ever imagine, both in terms of how much a watch could cost or that my parents would – or could – spend that much on me.
I remember it very clearly.
I was about to turn 18 and – after the watch I wanted turned out to be ‘shite’ – my parents decided that as this was going to be their present to me, we should go to a place where the people knew what they were doing and could ensure I got what I wanted.
So we went there …
And while I can’t remember the name of the shop, I remember the experience of being in it.
They were so helpful and kind. But more than that, they were excited for me.
They were seeing a boy with his Mum and Dad getting a watch for what was a very significant moment in his life
Significant because it meant I was officially an ‘adult’.
Significant because this was my first ‘proper’ watch.
Significant because my parents were acknowledging their only son enter the next stage of life.
Significant because this shop was the one we chose to help be a part of all of this.
It’s why – despite the fact he subjected me to one of the weirdest, wildest and most amazing professional experiences of my life – I have a deep respect for Clotaire Rapaille … the French [if you hadn’t worked it out already by his name, haha] consultant.
Part of his approach is to identify the first memory or exposure people have towards a brand or product – believing it plays such a pivotal role in how they will see that for the rest of their life – it provides the most powerful and meaningful foundation for how to engage them.
For example …
He was the guy who got Jeep to make their headlights round, reflecting horses eyes.
He was also the guy who helped Nestle turn Japan – a traditional tea drinking nation – into one of the biggest coffee drinking places on the planet, by getting them to spend 20+ years introducing ‘coffee flavours’ into all manner of their food products.
He was also the guy who – having been paid an OUTRAGEOUS amount of money – presented me, on behalf of the client we were both working for at the time, a single piece of A4 with half a page of writing on it.
To this day, I’m still not sure if it was the work of a genius or the greatest rug pull ever … but we adopted a lot of his viewpoint and, I have to admit it worked. In fact, it had such a profound effect on me, I adopted his approach as part of mine from there on in … and still do it to this day.
Which may all help explain why people in Nottingham might walk past that shop and see a place selling Bubble Tea – and may think it has only ever sold Bubble Tea – I, on the other hand, see a place that represents coming of age.
A place that provides me with warmth, love and family … and if that doesn’t explain why I’m a sentimental old fart, nothing will.