As it’s the end of the week, I thought I’d send us off into the weekend on a positive.
Admittedly, a positive for me, but hopefully the joy will spread to you in some way.
So as I wrote about a few weeks ago, I lost my wedding ring. I have no idea where or how, but having walked the streets, gone through the bins and checked the newspapers – I had to accept it had gone once and for all.
Obviously, I was devastated – made even harder by the fact it was made by fusing my Dad’s wedding ring [one of the only things I had from him] with the one Jill gave me on our wedding day to create something both deeply personal and very sentimental.
However, while I wish it had not gone, I’ve been able to find a way to move forward by creating something new.
And old.
You see, because I’d lost a lot of weight, I’d needed the ring to be resized a few months ago and as part of that, I’d been given a bit of Dad’s wedding ring that had been cut away.
That little bit has been able to be reused in the creation of the new ring which Jill added to, by giving me some teeny, tiny fragments from her original wedding ring that she had redesigned a few years ago.
And to make things as perfect as they can be, it was all crafted by the jeweller who took Dad’s and my wedding ring to turn it into something very special and unique for me.
Of course, it’s not the same as the one I sadly lost, but it’s also an extension of it – which not only makes me feel very lucky, it also helps me feel ‘whole’ again.
How crazy is it that because I lost weight, I was able to still have a bit of Dad’s ring still. And how brilliant is it that my wife thought of a way to connect it back to our original special day.
Amazing.
Though I’ll be considering supergluing it to my finger because even though it was a mistake – and my family were nothing but loving and supportive about it – the feeling I let them down by being careless still stings. Albeit this new version soothes the pain of that a lot.
Not because there’s much financial value, but the human value is priceless.
Have a great weekend, I know I will.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Fatherhood, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Nottingham
When I was in Nottingham recently, I walked a lot.
Not simply because that’s what I do these days, but because it had been 18 months since I was last there and I sensed it would be even longer till I’m next there.
I walked around the streets I grew up in, down the roads my friends grew up in … through parks, past shops, along roads I’d only ever driven past when I was older. It was quite an emotional thing and I was left realizing how lucky I was to grow up in West Bridgford.
I never properly understood that.
For me, it was simply where I grew up … but because I’ve now lived in many places, across many countries [and because it was very sunny when I was there – ha] I appreciated what a special place it was. It is.
Of course, a big part of that is how much it has developed over the years – filled with cafes and independent shops, where previously there was just a ‘hot potato’ cafe and a Boots Chemist – but still, it always felt a haven to me. And in many ways it still does.
Not that I have any intention of moving back there. Maybe once I did … but no more.
The place, as much as I like it, is one filled with ghosts and memories – and while there is a lot to be said for that, I don’t know if I would ever be able to look past that if I moved back.
But it will always be important to me … it will always be a part of me … because it holds the house I grew up in. A house filled with love, memories, laughter and pain. A house where my parents ashes are scattered around their beloved garden.
I drove past the house a few times when I was there.
And I looked at it, feeling it was calling out to me.
A lot has changed since I lived there, but it still has the garden planting pot attached to the house that my Dad built and still has the note we left in the garage when we sold it. That last bit was added to the terms of the sale. That they couldn’t remove it for 20 years … which, having visited it 18 months ago, they have thankfully respected.
I loved that house.
I loved that street.
And while everything is the same, everything is different.
Which is why I was so happy when I went to pay a visit to the cemetery where my parents funerals were held.
Neither were religious and neither had their ashes there, but it was obviously a significant place for me – even if associated with deep sadness – which is why I had ensured I honored their life by having plaques made to be placed on display.
One for Dad in a beautiful rose bush.
One for Mum in a bright sunflower bed.
And then, for both of them, this …
A bench in the grounds of the cemetery, looking out onto the gardens.
It was very emotional finding it.
It felt very personal being with it.
A reconnection to my parents, my childhood, my home.
I’d looked for it – and the rose/sunflowers – last time I was there but couldn’t find it.
The cemetery is vast and would take days to walk everywhere, so was sad when I went away empty handed. But this time, I was determined and while I still couldn’t find the flower plaques, I somehow stumbled on the bench and it made me so happy.
Suddenly my parents were in the present. We were all together again.
And given so much has happened since my Dad passed in 1999, it was a moment for me to bring them up to date and introduce them to the life their beloved son has managed to pull-off. I say ‘pull off’, but the fact is, they gave me the lessons and encouragement that helped so much of it happen.
I miss my parents.
I miss West Bridgford.
But what this visit reinforced to me is you can take the boy away from his roots, but you can’t take the roots away from the boy.
And I’m so, so grateful for that fact.
When I was in London, I went to Borough Market.
It had been years since I’d last visited, but the allure of TikTok videos saw me heading there early one Saturday morning.
I knew I was going to go a bit crazy with eating stuff – but in my defense – I live in NZ so I knew I wouldn’t be doing it very often.
When I arrived, I basically attacked it with military precision.
By precision, I mean I went straight in … sampling everything I had seen on the socials as well as anything that caught my eye.
And a lot caught my eye.
Breads.
Sausage Rolls.
Specialist sandwiches.
Fruit covered in chocolate.
Fancy pants pastries.
Doughnuts with exotic toppings.
You name it, I spent a fortune buying it, scoffing it and – if truth be told – being disappointed with it.
Not all, but most.
In fact, the best thing I ate was the easiest to make … the strawberries covered in chocolate.
Admittedly they were fucking good strawberries – and how can you go wrong with chocolate? – but even so, to have that as the tastiest thing I put in my mouth that day is pretty sad. That said, it does explain why that stall allegedly clears 20,000 quid profit a day.
A DAY!!!
[I know that sounds mad, but it came from a person in the know so don’t shoot the messenger]
What blew my mind was how packed it got …
People of all ages and places flocking to it like it was a new type of religion. Except instead of bringing bibles, they brought their cameras, smartphones and selfie sticks to flood their socials with more appetite illusion.
Me included, obvs.
Anyway, as I approached the whole experience like it was some sort of bizarre race, I was in and out within 2 hours … which is good, as I then proceeded to walk 29,000 steps to offset what I’d put in my mouth, but if it was based on taste rather than calories, I reckon I could have got away with about 40 steps.
Another reminder social media may wet the appetite, but its reality rarely satisfies.
Filed under: Augustine, Bassot, Birthday, Bonnie, Cannes, Jill, Love, Nottingham, Paul, Paula, Relationships, Tattoo
So today is the last post for about 3 weeks.
No, it’s not because I am still upset about the loss of my ring – I am, but I’ve found a way to move past it which I’ll write about when I’m back – it’s because I’m about to go on a mass of travel, including talking at Cannes with Paula.
But in addition to all that, I feel I’ve reached a point where I have nothing to write about.
If I think about it, that’s stupid … because I NEVER run out of things and right now – with things like Dream Bigger – I’ve got more good things to write about than I have in years.
Which means I really need a bit of a break … and while the next 3 weeks will be the opposite of that, a change is as good as a rest so expect me to come back fizzing with stuff to shout about.
Of which 86.32% will be my usual pants.
The rest may be pretty good.
Talking of pretty good, I should highlight all that’s going to happen while I’m away.
First – of course – is my birthday. My 55th fucking birthday, which is nothing to celebrate whatsoever, hence it’s pretty convenient that’s the day I fly out of NZ.
Secondly, it’s Jill’s birthday on the 15th … which, yet again, I am missing. I could say that is my gift to her, but I’m gutted to be missing her special day. She is a truly special human … and the longer we are together, the more I appreciate all she is and all she does. She deserves so much more, but I hope she knows I love her with all my heart, even if I somehow seem to always be away on her most special of days. And then – as the final birthday fuck-up – I get to miss my mate Paul’s birthday.
What is even more ridiculous is I’ll be in Nottingham 2 days before his big day and yet – in another demonstration of my terrible planning skills – I’ve managed to make sure I’ll be gone just as he celebrates his double 5 day.
Bloody hell, I’m missing so many important dates, I just hope I make it in time to be on stage with Paula.
[Not just because we have a speech to do, but because I’ve not seen her in the flesh since we spoke at Cannes way back in 2023!]
Given the last few weeks have seen people leaving [Martin, Augustine and Lizzie]. lost wedding rings [me], broken toes [Otis], COVID [also Otis] … I’m quite nervous about getting on the plane, so to ensure you don’t miss me too much – you can listen to me blather-on the OnStrategy podcast when Fergus came to New Zealand.
At the very least, it will help you sleep … and maybe, just maybe, you’ll wake up in time to see a brand, spanking new, exciting blog post from me.
But I wouldn’t bet on it.
And if you don’t like that, you can marvel at the latest ridiculous tattoo I’ve had done.
I say ‘ridiculous’, but every one of them is personal to me.
This one is for Bonnie, our pooch.
You see, when I was growing up, my favourite biscuit in the whole-wide-world was the Bourbon biscuit.
It was nothing fancy. In fact, it was probably a bit pauper – I think you could get a pack from Asda or Glens for 10 pence, albeit that 10 pence back then was probably like 10 quid now or something. Anyway, the Bourbon was 2 chocolate rectangular biscuits sandwiching a chocolate creme filling.
And it was fucking yum.
Or so I thought …
You see I had one recently and I have to admit, it tasted more cardboard than chocolate.
But regardless, when we learned our dog was chocolate brown in colour, I rallied the family around the idea of choosing a name inspire by my fave Bourbon biccie … which is my long way of explaining this.
I know. I know.
So with that, I’m off to offend the stylish South of France residents with my speech and tattoo. So until I see you in a few weeks, have fun with the peace and quiet.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Bonnie, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Family, Fatherhood, Jewellery, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents, Relationships, Resonance, Respect
On Friday I talked about the ring that had replaced my lost wedding ring.
A wedding ring that had been made to combine both my Dad’s wedding ring and the one given to me by Jill.
I wrote how this new ring had – thank god – been able to incorporate some of Dad’s ring [that I’d had left when I had it resized] as well as some things from Jill’s ring [that she kindly donated to me] so that it was something of real significance and sentimental value to me.
I treasure it.
It’s far more than the metal it’s made of.
But recently I saw something that reminded me why it is so significant.
This …
I don’t know why, but the thought I will [hopefully] know Otis more as an adult than a kid completely fucked with me.
Of course he will always be ‘my child’ but being the person I see every day … the person I watch growing up in front of me … the person he turns to for laughs, help, advice or an audience … the person who loves and hugs his dog … is something I treasure deep in my psyche and soul.
As I wrote before, while all parents know their kids grow up fast, what makes it tolerable is that as they develop … they learn or express new things that you adore, which helps offsets the sadness of seeing the old things you loved, fall away.
But there will be a time where you don’t get to see this growth every day.
Where you aren’t their World, you’re just a part of it. One associated more with the past than the present.
Back in 2016, I wrote about that – based on an brilliant article in The Guardian – and fuck me, if it was hard to deal with then, it’s even harder to accept 9 years later as we get closer and closer to a time he will move on, that you know is coming but wish wasn’t.
That doesn’t mean you don’t want your child to have their own life.
To forge their own interests and passions and journeys moving forward.
But the idea of being relegated to ‘observer’ is hard, even though – as my parents showed with me – it is one of the greatest gift you could ever give your child.
The values to live.
The lessons to progress.
The encouragement to explore.
The freedom to build write your own story.
What brought this all to a head was a video I watched of Michelle Obama recently, talking about her Mum.
“Wow, this went fast”.
Not just watching your child become an adult, but life.
And as much as Mae West said: “you only live once, but if you do it right … once is all you need”, the reality is life does go fast.
What makes it more bizarre is that as you get older … as life passes-by slower … it all seems to accelerate at the same time.
Which is why it’s so important to treasure and value what you have.
Not take it for granted.
Not get swept up with the things that – in the big scheme of things – don’t matter.
It’s taken me a long time to learn this.
It’s taken watching my wonderful, brilliant son grow up to really understand this.
Despite watching my amazing Mum and Dad pass, it’s Otis who has helped me appreciate time and life.
Not just with him, but with everyone around me.
Which is why that video of ‘knowing your child more as an adult than a kid’ hit me.
Not because that is bad, but because the moment is so special.
And while growing up is a good and natural thing – which I have obviously been trying to come to terms with for a long time, given I wrote this about Otis becoming an adult back in 2021 – it’s still a reminder that you rarely know you’re living the time of your life, until after it has passed.
It’s why both those videos may have been uncomfortable reminders.
But also beautiful gifts.