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Yes, it’s Friday.
And yes, it’s the first of May.
But neither of those things are as incredible as this …
You see, on Sunday, it will be 20 years since I started this blog.
TWENTY BLOODY YEARS!
That’s before the iPhone.
And Android.
And Facebook.
And the Kindle.
And the financial crisis.
And before Pluto lost its planet creds.
AND BEFORE WI-FI WAS PUBLICLY AVAILABLE … so a very long time ago.
I still remember why I started it …
It wasn’t for any attempt for notoriety or popularity, it was more to do with survival.
You see I’d got a job that – frankly – I was woefully under-qualified for, and because it demanded so much of my time and energy to make sure I didn’t completely fuck it up, I needed an outlet for all the ideas and thoughts that were going around my head that I just didn’t feel were right for what I needed to do at that time.
Not because I was sure I was going to use them later … more because I needed to feel I was still connected to the stuff I loved while also believing that if I didn’t find a way to get them out of my head, they’d maybe be no more space left for anything new to enter my head.
And so this blog was born.
Reading through the first few posts not only reveals the times we were living in, but also the headspace I was in.
Trying to balance making sense of stuff happening around me while also needing an outlet for stuff I was feeling or thinking … which, in many ways, set the tone for how this blog has been for over 2 decades.
Which George recently described as, “the blog version of TK Maxx”.
He’s not wrong … and in some ways, I really like that.
Sure, among the almost 5000 posts I’ve written, there’s a lot of [to keep the TK Maxx analogy going] cheap and nasty shit in there … but there’s also a few ‘designer label’ gems hidden amongst it all.
At least for me.
Stuff that made me think, challenge or question stuff in ways that I had not imagined or considered before.
Stuff that ended up impacting how I did things and how I still do things.
Stuff that forced me to articulate what I believe, not just what I feel.
Maybe those posts meant nothing to anyone but me. Hell, maybe no one even read them. But while every post I’ve written reflects something about who I was – or am – those ‘self-defined gems’ have a special place in my heart because they represent a moment where I felt I was growing and learning.
It’s why I always enjoyed the comment section, because for all the overwhelming piss-taking I received, the vast majority always ‘encouraged’ me to look deeper, wider or longer at issues I’d written about. And I loved that. I loved how the people who commented always kept me on my toes … which is why one of the unexpected pleasures of writing this blog for so long has been seeing how my opinion on certain subjects has changed or evolved over the years. It’s served as a great reminder about the importance of always exposing yourself to others perspectives, opinions, experiences and standards, even if the goal of it is simply to be really sure about what you think or believe.
In many ways, that’s the biggest surprise of 20 years writing this blog.
I never expected anyone to comment on anything I wrote, because I started it just for me.
A private place to express my thoughts and idiocy.
But then Andy discovered it and he sent an email to everyone at Cynic and some of our clients announcing it and then the mayhem started.
At that point, blogging had become a big thing. A good thing. A community of people who wanted to help and contribute to what others were doing. A lot of this was down to the great Russell Davies and his iconic blog … a place that not only brought people from all over the world together, but inspired others to start writing their own as well.
It was a place that not only exposed me to a lot of brilliant people I’d never have known about without his blog – people like Gareth Kay, Paul Colman, Northern Planner, Rob Mortimer, Marcus, John Dodds, Lauren, Age to name but a few – it also brought people to my blog who helped add to the texture, lessons and perspectives I was writing about.
I will forever be grateful to Russell for that … especially as most of the people he inadvertently introduced me to, not only still exist in my life but I have met them all IN THE FLESH.
Alas the blogging community, like most things in life, has moved on with maybe only Martin and I still churning stuff out via that platform. [Well, he curates, I churn] And while technologies advances allows strategists to be even more connected in even more ways, the energy of the community is not the same as it was back in the early days of blogging.
Now it feels more aggressive.
More sharp elbows and self publicizing.
Wanting the spotlight on them rather than the work they do.
But then, the industry seems to value those who talk about the work more than those who actually make it … which kind-of highlights why the industry is in the state it finds itself in but refuses to acknowledge.
Emperor’s New Clothes anyone?!
Screenshot
That this blog is 20 years old blows my mind. I never thought it would last that long, mainly because I never gave much thought about how long I’d be writing the thing. It’s not always been fun – when I was receiving a lot of anonymous hate that resulted in me deciding to stop allowing comments was definitely a low point – but all in all, the whole experience has been pretty glorious.
In many ways, this is one of the longest committed relationships I’ve ever had.
And one of the most successful, hahaha.
The fact there are some people who have been reading it for almost as long as I have been writing it, is madness.
Have they no taste?
Have they got nothing better to do?
Or maybe they’re stuck in prison and this is part of their ‘sentence’.
The good news for them is there’s no way this will still be a ‘going concern’ in another 20 years … at least not in terms of how regular I’ve been writing posts for the past 2 decades. Not because I am running out of things to say [albeit Andy said I have only ever written 3 posts and just keep re-writing them in different ways] but because I’ll be – hopefully – doing other things with my life.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always be grateful to advertising … it has given me a life I never could have dared to imagine … but I am increasingly spending more and more of my time working and collaborating with artists and I feel that’s where my future may be. Not because I don’t love what I do, but because I find their definition and expression of creativity even more interesting, challenging, open, provocative and progressive than where our industry is choosing to head.
But that’s not going to happen yet. Hell, it may not happen at all – I could get fired by all the artists tomorrow for all I know – which is why for the time being, I’ll keep happily juggling my two ‘lives’ while churning out daily blog posts at the same time.
Sorry, hahaha.
That said, the point of continuing this blog is different to what you may think and why I originally started it.
Because while it has helped me grow, learn, make new friends and even help build my professional reputation [which is hilarious when you read some of the stuff I’ve churned out, like this!] … it delivers something that is even more important to me.
Connection to my family.
I know … I know … that sounds weird-as-fuck, but what I mean is this:
A few years ago, Jill said that while she rarely ever reads my blog, when she does – she can hear my voice because of the way I write.
Put simply, how I write is how I talk … so when she reads my posts, it feels like I’m with her.
And she liked that.
Add to this that I’ve shared deeply personal and important moments in my life – from getting engaged to getting married, to Mum dying, to becoming a Dad, to getting Rosie – and Bonnie – to saying a tearful goodbye to Rosie, to moving from Singapore to HK to China to America to London to New Zealand [so far] … which means moving from cynic/WPP to Sunshine to Wieden+Kennedy to Deutsch to R/GA to Colenso [not to mention all the other highs and lows that have impacted or been introduced to my life over this period, be it death, covid, friends, family, health, books, chaos, and/or multitudes of weird, wild, crazy shit] … and this blog is no longer just a place where I rant rubbish, it’s a place my family can have me close even when I’m no longer here.
That means a lot to me.
Not because I want them to need me, but because I like knowing they can access me should they ever need me.
Or if Otis ever wants to introduce me to whoever becomes important in his life.
It’s why I’m going to keep writing it and why I’m going to move it to a free domain again, to make sure it always stay up … because what originally was a place just for me, has become a place that offers connection to the most important people to me.
And with that, I want to say a big thank you to everyone who has ever visited or commented.
Whether you meant it or not, you’ve given me far more than I ever imagined or hoped for.
Thank you. Love you. Grateful for you.
I like food. Actually, that’s wrong, I fucking love food.
Not the fancy stuff, just classic, everyday comfort shit.
It’s why one of the only ways I was able to get healthy was by ridding myself of all temptation and shut it out my life.
So, no ‘cheeky’ bites.
No ‘super small portions’.
No ‘just a taste’. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Instead, I replaced my diet with ridiculous amounts of spinach, mushrooms, chicken, fruit and chili flakes. And while that might sound horrific in comparison to what I used to consume, I’ve developed a bunch of different ways to cook it that – along with regular walking/running – has let me lose weight without feeling I am also losing the enjoyment of eating. [or the will to live]
But since losing over 57kgs and maintaining it, I’ve been slowly re-entering normal life … by which, I mean going to the odd restaurant rather than cooking everything myself. And I’ve generally been able to make good choices – without going over-the-top in terms of quantity – however it has also helped me realize that as good as I have been, there are some foods that I am incapable of offering any form of resistance.
If you’d asked me what I thought that food would be when I started this journey, I’d have answered ‘pasta, butter, cheese and salt’ without a moment’s hesitation.
But I was wrong, because if I see that on the menu, I can skip past it without any effort whatsoever.
But bread?
But sausages and mash?
But a fucking banoffee pie?
Nope. Not at all. The moment I see it, my brain shifts …
It starts by screaming ‘DON’T EVEN LOOK AT IT ROB’
Then, within seconds, it starts love bombing me with thoughts like, ‘Maybe you could have a teeny, little bite?’
And almost immediately after, it metaphorically grabs me by the cheeks, looks me right in the eye and tells me, ‘Eat it. You don’t go out often. Put it in your mouth and enjoy it. You’ve earned this. You deserve this’.
And I do.
And yes, I fucking adore it.
And while it’s true I don’t go out to restaurants very often and I am very, very good at all other times, the fact is I do this EVERYTIME I go to a restaurant.
EVERY. TIME.
And here’s the reality …
If I went to a restaurant every day, I’d do it every day. I am helpless to its power.
I love the taste.
I love the texture.
I love the feeling.
I love every single bit of it.
So, whereas I’ve found a healthy, decent alternative to pasta that satisfies my cravings … I haven’t found anything that comes close to that other stuff.
Sure, there’s plenty that claims it … but there’s nothing that comes close.
Which reveals that the biggest challenge with food is not just the taste, but the texture and context … and if the health food companies spent a bit more time on that, maybe more people would feel able to change their life.
But none of that – none of it at all – has anything to do with this post.
Not really. I wrote all that to justify this …
You see a few weeks ago, I was in the office kitchen when I found that tin of mushy peas.
I have no idea why it was there.
I have no idea how long it was there.
But I do know that if I couldn’t have them on chips and gravy – loaded with salt and vinegar – the next best thing would be to heat them up, put a big dollop of mint sauce all over them and, voila, get transported back to my youth at Nottingham’s Goose Fair where each year, we would eat them out of a stylophone cup and say – semi correctly – we were enjoying a big cup of ‘Culinary Jesus’™.
So I did.
Which means not only is there another ‘food’ I have to now add to the bread … banoffee pie … and sausage, mash and gravy kryptonite list, it’s another reason why my doctor is grateful I don’t live in England anymore … haha!
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.
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: 2026, Comment, Football, Loyalty, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Sport, World Cup
The football season is over …
I should be happy because not only did Forest get to the semi-finals of the Europa Cup, they will be in the Premiership next year … their 5th consecutive year in the top flight, which is their longest period since the Premiership began, way back in 1992.
Add to this the impending World Cup and I should be basking in football delight.
But I’m not. If anything, I’m suffering from PTSD.
Yes, I appreciate to use a term like that could be deemed disrespectful to those who have truly suffered – but it genuinely is how I feel thanks to the mental and emotional impact Forest’s season has had on me and the disgusting way FIFA are approaching the World Cup in the US.
Now you can say this is ridiculous. And on one hand I’d agree with you. But while nothing surprises me in the behavior of FIFA – and the US government – Forest has been a deep part of my life for pretty much all my life and while it may appear to have been a positive season, it’s been anything but.
Put simply, this season has been a shitshow.
The sacking of a beloved manager.
Followed by the appointment of 2 disastrous choices.
Resulting in us needing to hire a 4th manager for the season. FOUR!!!
Which led to the constant mocking of the team, owner and management by media and opposition fans.
A season of almost unprecedented underperformance.
Endless unnecessary, self-destructive decisions that caused pain on and off the field.
The constant, realistic pressure and threat of relegation.
The tragedy of seeing players suffer injury and – in Elliott Anderson’s case – personal loss.
In fact, if it wasn’t for basically the last 6 weeks of the season, it could have been one of the worst seasons in the clubs entire history.
What made it even more worse is that after 3 seasons of fighting for our lives to stay in the Premiership, we had an unbelievably successful season last year – resulting in us getting into Europe for the first time in 43 years.
FORTY THREE!!!
This filled the fandom with excitement and dreams … the belief this was the start of a new era for the club, one filled with the sort of nights and memories that previous generations never got to experience but heard about from fans who were there for Forest’s magical run from the late 70’s to the late 80’s.
But instead, we faced a torrent of turmoil and the impact – mentally – has been huge on me. And no doubt countless others.
Is that ridiculous?
Of course it is … especially for me, given I have such a charmed life by all accounts.
However, the old Liverpool manager – Bill Shankley – once perfectly captured the impact a team can have on a fan when he said: “Football isn’t a matter of life and death. It’s more important than that”.
Now I’m not saying Forest are more important than my family, but it is far to say they feel like an extension of my family.
Over half a century they have helped define who I am and where I’m from.
They’ve forged memories and moments that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
They’ve created friendships and connections that are truly significant to me.
They’ve made me feel proud of the city I was born in and the team I support.
They’ve shaped my identity, values and beliefs about how the World game should be played.
Huge and important things and in return, I’ve given them time, commitment, money and belief.
I’ve stuck with them through the darkest of times.
I’ve celebrated them in the moments of glory.
I’ve travelled ridiculous distances to show my support.
I’ve got up in the middle of the night and early in the day to see them.
I’ve endured rain, sleet and snow to watch them get thrashed by lesser opposition
I’ve backed them, defended them and protected them when faced with unfairness or ridicule.
I’ve never wavered, even when they’ve tested my patience to the extreme.
It’s why I don’t ‘support’ Nottingham Forest, I am a member of them.
Admittedly not on the pitch, but definitely in terms of my thoughts, choices and considerations … which is why seeing them do so badly for so much of this past season, was like watching a loved one go through major illness. Where you’re there for them, but you wish you weren’t.
Not because you don’t care, but because you do.
Too much.
So there every moment of pain and discomfort destroys you with a similar ferocity.
Yes, I appreciate most of the players don’t come from Nottingham.
Yes, I appreciate all the players earn more than I could ever imagine.
Yes, I appreciate most of the team would move without hesitation in certain circumstances.
But while they play for my club, they are my family.
It’s why when they were going through their constant run of losses, it started to harm me.
Changed my mood.
Impacted how I behaved.
Affected how I was feeling
It’s also why, when they found their spirit – even if they lost the game – I experienced feelings of hope that were completely disproportionate to the reality of the situation.
Because when you support a team, the reality is it gets conflated with who you think you are.
Or hope to be.
Your hopes, dreams, ambitions and possibilities.
So, when they fail, you feel you’re failed too.
In terms of who you are, who you can become and who you give your time, love and support and time.
It’s a level of attachment that – if it was with a human – would be deemed as highly problematic.
Which helps explains why – despite the club taking a massive step backwards over the previous season – Forest fans are incredibly happy we will be in the top tier for another year.
Not simply because we love Forest, but because it means our ‘fan delusion’ can continue for another season too. Where all the hopes, dreams ambitions and possibilities we have for the club’s future represent the hopes, dreams, ambitions and possibilities we have for our own future too.
Because sometimes, it’s less about achieving our goals as much as it is knowing they haven’t been erased.
As they say, ‘it’s the hope that kills you’ … but it is also what keeps you coming back.