Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Dad, Mum, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Parents, Paul
While I grew up in a very middle-class family, our income was definitely not.
There was never much money around and there were some seriously tough times.
One of them – the worst of them – will stay with me until I die. It was horrific and traumatic and had a huge influence in how I live my life.
I should point out none of this was not because my parents were out spending beyond their means. While they had good jobs, they didn’t get paid much at all and so they faced a constant battle to make ends meet.
Not that I knew any of this when I was young.
My parents ensured I never went without.
Only when I got older did I see what they sacrificed to ensure I didn’t have to.
It’s a big reason for my work ethic.
I know … I know … many of you think I haven’t got one, but I do. Honest.
And it’s not because I don’t want to be in the same position they found themselves in [I mean, I don’t … but it had nothing to do with their work ethic, which was huge] … it’s because I don’t want to feel all the sacrifices they made, were in vain.
That despite all that, all they ever wanted for me was to live a life of fulfillment is incredible.
Hell, they even backed me when I explained to them why I didn’t want to go to university – which was something I know was important for them.
It’s probably why I have been so open to living around the world … because deep down, it is something I imagine would have made my parents proud. Even more so given it has enabled me to forge a life free from many of the things they had to endure.
Because that’s another thing they wanted for me.
Security.
But not through the repetition of something I didn’t enjoy, but as a byproduct of something I did.
I’m 53 and still coming to terms with how amazing my parents are.
It’s also why I feel a bit guilty as to how I was as a kid.
Because I liked stuff.
Expensive stuff.
OK, by today’s standards it is nothing … but back in the early 70’s and 80’s, it was. Even more so when your parents didn’t earn much.
Raleigh Grifter. Tin Can Alley. Astro Wars. Etc etc.
I discovered a lot of it because of the Argos Catalogue.
My grandmother had it and when I went to see her, I read it religiously.
Cover to cover. Forwards and backwards.
For me it was like a bible … a portal to another world. One filled with possibilities and opportunities that I didn’t even know were a possibility.
The other way I found things I liked was through friends. Specifically, my best friend, Paul.
You see Paul had 2 things that inspired and influenced me.
One was an older brother and sister who owned things that were so outside my frame of reference, they could have been made by an alien lifeforce from the future.
The other was wealth.
Put simply, his parents were loaded.
They had TWO cars.
Their house had TWO bathrooms.
Their house had TWO televisions.
Their house had an electric organ annnnnnnnd, they had this.
Yep, that’s a Hostess trolley.
Actually that looks like the Hostess tray, which I assume came out prior to the trolley … which had room for plates, not just food.
For those who don’t know what it is, it’s a machine designed with compartments to keep different food warm.
Not in the kitchen … but at the table!!!
It’s like a hotel buffet … lift off the lid and the grab the warm food inside.
The advertising used to say, ‘The Hostess With The Mostest’. Which is shit, yet also ace.
Owning one could only mean one thing … you had events at your house where lots of people would come and eat and to me, that was peak-posh.
Now if I’m honest, I don’t know if I ever saw them actually ever use it – maybe for family Christmas, but that would be it – but the fact they had one and my parents wouldn’t even have enough plates to fill one, was a big sign to a little boy that his family were doing a hell of a lot better than we were.
If I’m honest, I kind of knew this already …
They would go out to dinner every week, we would go to a $4.99 Berni Inn steak and strawberry dinner once a year.
They went on overseas holidays every year whereas we didn’t go anywhere for year after year after year.
But I was never jealous – not even when Paul came back from HK with the first ever Casio Calculator watch. Not just because my parents made sure I didn’t go without – especially in terms of love – but because Paul’s family were/are like a second family to me.
[That said, I was jealous of his Fisher Price Garage, Speak & Spell and Race & Chase … but he let me use those a lot, so I got over it pretty quick]
However since someone sent me the picture above of the Hostess Trolley, I’m wondering if I’ve been keeping my jealousy deep down. Because despite having not seen or thought about that product since I was probably 10 years old, I really want it.
Not a new one, but one from the early 1980’s.
Not because we’d use it – and we wouldn’t have even turned it on if my parents had it – but because back in 1980, I saw that as a real symbol of status and I’d like to own one.
Ironically, not so I can feel ‘I’ve made it’, but to remind me what I used to think success was. Not to ridicule myself, but to be grateful and thankful to my parents for all they did for me, including keeping my feet – and taste – [mainly] on the bloody ground.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Bands, Bangkok Shakes, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Education, England, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, Nottingham, Parents
So on Sunday, my beloved Dad would have been 85.
Given he died at 60 – and I’m 53 – that means he has been gone for almost half of my life.
And in some ways it feels it.
Memories made up of different moments from the distant past.
But when anniversaries approach … the context changes.
Backgrounds become foregrounds … and despite all the years I’ve had to come to terms with things, they still have the power to take me on an incredibly emotional rollercoaster.
Part of that is because of our history … the other part is because of what I wish I could share and discuss.
He always had questions.
Not for judgement but connection.
OK, mainly for connection – hahaha.
And with so many things having happened in my life since he passed, I can only imagine all the things he’d want to know about.
God I’d love that.
I’d love to watch his eyes as he met my wife, my son …
Saw the life we live, have lived and plan to live.
Feel I’d made him proud.
Because so many of the decisions in my life have been driven by my desire to do just that. To feel my actions and behaviours would be things that made him feel a sense of pride.
Of course I’ve done stuff that would not come anywhere close to gaining that reaction, but in the main I think he would believe I’ve made him proud more times than I’ve disappointed him … but then my Dad, like my Mum, saw their role as encouraging me to always chase fullfilment rather than choose conformity or contentment.
And they did.
Sure, there were some gulps when I told them I didn’t want to go to university …
And when I was going to spend 10 years of savings all in one go on guitar amps …
But once they knew why I was making those decisions, they supported me.
Proper support. Encouragement. Interest. Help.
It was only when I was older that I realised how lucky I was, how this was not ‘normal’ parent behaviour.
So on what would be my Dad’s 85th birthday, I’d like to talk about a story of this encouragement.
I’ve written it before, but – to me – it’s a moment where his [and Mum’s] reaction changed the course of my life in a good way.
I was alright at school.
I was one of the cleverest in the thick bunch and one of the thickest in the clever bunch.
So basically bang in the middle.
But I worked hard. I put in effort. And the teachers knew I really tried.
However when it came to exams, I was a disaster.
Didn’t matter how hard I revised, the moment I was in a situation where I felt ‘everything came down to that moment’… I fell apart. While my parents did all they could to help – including getting me extra lessons – I now realise it was probably driven by anxiety … however in 1986, anxiety didn’t exist so while my school work continued to be good, exams still continued to be a major problem for me.
Nothing highlighted this more than when I was sent to the local careers advisor.
I told them I wanted to be a lawyer or a journalist [more on that in a minute] but the moment they looked at my projected qualifications – despite my solid schoolwork – they said:
“Have you considered a career in catering management”.
Now there is nothing wrong with catering management. I have some friends that work in that industry who love it. But even then I knew absolutely that it wasn’t for me. And at that moment, that careers advisor stamped all over the hopes and dreams I had for the future.
Aged just 16.
Of course I sort-of understand. They said what they saw from the ‘data’ in front of them … however while I appreciate they couldn’t give me any false hope, pointing me in a direction I had no interest in was equally as bad. Despite this all happening 37 years ago, I still remember the lack of interest he showed in understanding me. I was just another kid he was contractually obliged to see. Another kid he had to ‘tick off’ his register.
I left that building in a bit of a daze.
I caught the 45 bus back to Mum and Dad’s.
I remember the day because it was the day Andrew and Fergie got married.
It was sunny. Except in my head and heart.
Frankly I was devastated. I had – in my mind – been told the most I should aspire for was what I imagined at the time, a ‘mediocre’ life.
(I appreciate this would not be necessarily the case, but I was young and at the time, I just had my hopes crushed and so I only saw stuff in black and white)
When I got home, I found Dad in his chair watching the pomp and ceremony.
He loved the history of the Royal Family, but didn’t really love the Royals … so when he saw me, he could tell something was up. I tried to fake it at first. Put on a smile. Not just because I was trying to process what had just happened … but I didn’t want to disappoint him. But my Mum and Dad knew me well and so slowly I let things out.
I remember he listened intently. Taking it all in. And when I got to the point of ‘catering management’ he asked what I thought of that. And I probably cried … because it was absolultely not what I wanted to do.
And despite my family all being incredible lawyers, he asked, “why aren’t you looking at music?”
This was a revelation for a whole host of reasons.
One … the idea of a career in music was so far outside my frame-of-reference that it sounded even more crazy than me saying I wanted to become a lawyer.
Two … while I had been playing the guitar – and done some gigs for a few years – I always assumed my parents saw it as a hobby. Or worse, an educational distraction.
And if that wasn’t amazing enough, then he said something that changed my life.
He told me he loved me.
He told me exam results don’t define the future of me.
He told me a person who only spent 15 minutes with me knows nothing about me.
He told me history was littered with people who achieved more than others said they would.
He told me he wants me to chase what I’m passionate about, not what others want me to be passionate about.
He told me he sees how hard I work and how much I can – and have – achieved because of that hard work.
He told me he and Mum will always do what that can to support me.
He told me he was proud of me.
This is all I needed to hear. Because all I wanted was to be seen. Recognised for my effort and interests not just my school results. Actually that’s wrong, just seen for my exam results.
Of course I knew whatever I did wouldn’t be easy … but I never expected it to be. But here was my Dad – followed by my Mum when she came home from work – telling me he loved me and believed in me, despite what some careers officer thought … and that changed everything.
Within a few years, I got the 3rd highest mark in law across the country.
Within a few years I became a session guitarist for a bunch of 80’s popstars.
Within a few years I was in a band that signed a record deal with Virgin.
Within a few years I started a career in an industry that has helped me experience a life beyond my wildest dreams.
My Dad did that.
My Mum did that.
And in later life … my wife did that.
I’m not saying I didn’t work hard for it … I’m not saying I didn’t have many twists and turns along the way … but they were the reason I was able to go for it.
A belief in me that is probably more than the belief I have in me.
Never blind and blinkered … but also never dismissive or undermining.
What a gift.
What a Dad.
Happy birthday. I love you and miss you so much.
A kiss to you and Mum.
Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Content, Context, Emotion, Empathy, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest
First of all happy birthday to Queen drummer, Roger Taylor.
He turns 74 today – which used to sound ancient, but now I’m 53, sounds terrifyingly close.
Hopefully when I’m his age I am also living my best life … though what that is, is evolving in ways I’m trying to work out – haha.
But this post is about my hometown, Nottingham.
I went there a month ago on my way to Cannes and I have to say it was a very emotional trip.
Part of this is because it was the first time I’d been there on my own since my Mum died.
Part of this is because it was the week after a terrible incident in the city where 3 innocent people were killed.
And part of this was because of a personal situation and challenge that I was – and still am – trying to work through.
In my few days there, I went on a bit of a history journey … visiting places that meant so much to me as a kid.
From shopping in Victoria City … visiting Rock City … passing my old schools … picking up some food from the local Asda, where my parents would shop every Friday evening … going to the crematorium to see the memorial for my parents … paying homage to the Nottingham Forest football stadium … right through to popping in and seeing my childhood home, that resulted in me bursting into tears in front of the new owner as it was much more impactful than I had dared imagine.
Yeah, it was one big sentimental and emotional journey.
But amongst all the memories, there was something that popped up that I wasn’t expecting.
Something I thought had died and I’d recently written about.
This.
Yep, Raleigh Bikes were back.
Better yet, they were on Maid Marion Way … a thoroughfare of the city that meant everyone would see them.
OK, they aren’t what they used to be – they’re owned by a Dutch company for a start – but they exist and are still based in Nottingham.
As I wrote in my post about Raleigh last month … seeing this brand that defined and promoted my city to the World, die was incredibly tough.
When you’re a kid you look for signs you’re living in a place that is full of promise and hope … a place that let’s you feel you have a bright future … and in my earliest days, with Raleigh making globally known bikes and Nottingham Forest being Kings of Europe, I did. But then, when Forest fell away and Raleigh died, it shook me to my core.
I appreciate that’s the sort of melodrama only a young kid can have, but I wasn’t too wrong to be fair … so seeing the brand alive in my city – especially after a week that saw the whole county in mourning for the needless death of so many – gave hope.
A sense that even in the darkest times, we can move forward.
Given how fucked the UK is right now, that’s worth its weight in gold.
And I’m happy. Because while I don’t live in Nottingham, I’ll always belong there.
Filed under: Apathy, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Childhood, Context, Corporate Evil, Culture, Emotion, Empathy, England, Entertainment, Football, Mediocrity, Music, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Paul, Queen, Sentimentality, Sport, World Cup
Recently I came across this photo of the old Wembley being demolished …
And while I know the new stadium is better – albeit with terrible wifi/phone signal access, which is ironic given it’s sponsored by O2 – there was something about that photo that made me sad.
Of course it’s because I’m a sentimental fart.
Because despite seeing my beloved Nottingham Forest gain promotion in the new stadium, that old one has even more significant memories for me.
Live Aid.
Seeing Queen there.
And the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert.
Not to mention Bruce Springsteen, Madonna and countless other bands and singers.
Then there’s watching Brian Clough lead Nottingham Forest out for their various cup finals.
There was something magical about that old stadium when I was growing up.
It was the pinnacle. Where World Cups and Legends were celebrated and made.
And while there were other venues around the World that could lay claim to a similar standing … this was mine. In England. In our capital. A way to reinforce that for all the Madison Square Gardens and Giant Stadiums out there, we had ours. We still mattered. A bit.
Now I should point out I’m not saying this from a xenophobic ‘ENG-GER-LAND’ perspective … I mean it more in the same way I viewed Raleigh Bikes in Nottingham.
And while we replaced Wembley with a new and improved version – which is far more than Raleigh managed to do – there’s something about that photo that still hurts.
Not because I don’t love change – because even though I’m a sentimental, old fart, I do – but maybe because the replacement feels a bit soulless. Designed to look the part without ever really demonstrating they understand what it takes to be the part. Efficiency over character. Optimisation over soul. Money over memory.
I get this is probably only felt by people of a certain age.
I get the times have changed and so Wembley is not as unique as it once was.
But what shapes our identity is often the weird, the inconvenient and the personal symbols of possibility … and somewhere along the line, we’ve been made to think these aren’t as important as efficiency and complicity. Of course the irony of this thinking is that this is the sort of shit that is keeping us down rather than lifting us up.
Or maybe that’s exactly what some people intend it to do.
Jesus, I’ve become a conspiracy theorist now. That’s all we need.
See you tomorrow. Unless the FBI pick me up before then.
Filed under: 2023, Advertising, Agency Culture, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Cannes, China, Colenso, Colleagues, Comment, Context, Corona Virus, Creativity, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fashion, Fatherhood, Holiday, Individuality, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Martin Weigel, Mum, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Otis, Paul, Paula, Peace, Prejudice, Relationships, Relevance, Resonance, Revenge, Review, School, Shanghai, Travel, Trust, Truth
So with all the focus on Otis’ 9th birthday, I only just realized this is going to be the last week of this blog for this year. Which means you get a month off and then – when I come back – I will be entering year number 18 of writing my rubbish.
EIGHTEEN YEARS.
An adult.
And will my posts reflect that maturity?
Errrrm, probably not.
In fact a while back, I got called ‘immune to maturity’ by Metallica’s management which they quickly followed up with, “… and I bet you think that’s a compliment.”
That’s why we’re still working together after 7 years … we understand each other so well, ha.
2023 has been an interesting year for me.
Definitely more highs than lows.
In many ways, it has been a standout year for me – both personally and professionally.
I feel almost embarrassed to say that. I totally appreciate how many people are suffering right now. I have friends in tough places and there’s those dealing with everything from mental health challenges through to terrifying conflicts … which just reinforced how privileged and lucky I am.
For the first time in my life, I started this year with a resolution, and it was to say ‘yes’ to everything I was asked to do.
I don’t know why I decided to do that – maybe it is because for all of NZ’s magic [of which there’s tons] it can sometimes feel a pretty isolated, inward-focused place – so to counter that, I decided 2023 was the year of yes and I got to do a lot of that.
Saying yes let me travel literally around the world for work … including some countries/cities I’d never been to in my life. [Not to mention, having the gift of visiting my childhood home again, even though I burst into tears when the lovely new owner opened the door, haha]
I got to speak at a bunch of ace conferences. from Cannes – with my mates Paula and Martin – the magnificent State Of Social in Perth right through to the WWD World Fashion Conference in China [with the incredible Phoebe Philo and, bizarrely, being interviewed by Fashion TV] with a whole bunch in-between.
I was a guest speaker at a bunch of institutions from Cambridge University, the Ecuadorian Advertising Federation right through to the House of Prada.
I got to be part of some incredible creative projects. From the huge: helping design the 72 Seasons world tour stage set for Metallica. The cheeky: offering the All Blacks rugby coach a free curry for a year if he brought home the World Cup, then taking away his naan bread because he didn’t. To the most awarded: watching the wonderful fools at Colenso pick up Gold gongs and Agency of the Year title’s all over the place.
Top that off with seeing 3 members of my team become parents for the first time [and another about 3 months into that magical journey] and to see the 3 newbies from overseas not only fit in with the gang like they were here for years, but make an even bigger difference than I hoped – and you can see why I feel it has been a hugely satisfying year for me professionally.
But it’s the personal side that made it truly memorable.
First of all, we’re all happy and healthy. Like properly happy and healthy.
Then, for the first time in 7 years, we had our first proper family holiday. And while It did not last long in terms of duration, the glow still is with me months later. Yes, I appreciate that sounds more sickly than being force fed 5047389 sticks of candyfloss, it’s true.
Jill started her new company, Tiny Riot … a jewellery company dedicated to say the words women feel, but don’t always want to say out loud. She also felt she had found her peeps … letting her feel she was part of a community she loves and thrives in. I cannot tell you how happy this makes me, especially as we know we’ll no doubt be moving to another country in the not too distant future, hahaha.
Just to be clear, that has not been decided yet, we just know it’s coming … especially as we’ve already lived in NZ longer than we have lived in the last 4 countries we have been in. But I digress …
Which leave Otis …
Brilliant, wonderful, fantastic Otis.
Well, he has flourished and blossomed this year.
From seeing his mates network evolve and develop … with their own codes, games and slang … through to watching him throw himself into new activities, like tennis and swimming, yoyo’s and messing about with Roblox, Reels and video games … to seeing him love his budgie, Sky [which he made me a t-shirt to wear on the Cannes stage to ensure I admitted I cared for it as much as Rosie, ha] and then of course, watching him deal with his dysgraphia diagnosis with positivity, openness and conviction.
Given I have seen adults literally burst into tears when they had to move desks at work – true story – seeing an 8, now 9 year old – embrace a challenge that will affect him for the rest of his life with understanding, openness and a desire to not let it define him or make excuses for him is honestly one of the most wonderful things I’ve ever had the privilege of witnessing.
[I also have to add Forest staying in the Premiership was a highlight, because while Jill and Otis may not like to hear it … that team are family to me, hahaha]
But of course, you can’t have good without bad and there’s been a couple of things that have shaken me deeply.
One in particular made me question everything I thought I knew and could rely on.
The impact it had on me was – and still is – huge. I would say it has been the most emotionally confronting situation I’ve experienced since my parents died. It has been that big.
What makes it even worse is that in reality, I may never really get over it as the impact affects me and my family for the rest of our lives.
And we’re the least affected in this situation.
It has taken me months to try and come to terms with what has happened … to try and accept things I thought I knew and could rely on, have failed.
If truth be told, I’m still working on it … because while I appreciate life can take unexpected turns, it’s why – and how others deal with it – that determines how you feel about it and in this case, they are the things that ended up being disastrously dealt with.
Which is why 2023 can never be seen as a spectacular year for us, merely a very good one.
And as I said, that is still a hugely positive outcome given so many are suffering in ways that make my pain seem insignificant.
Which is why I was so impacted by some graffiti that someone I vaguely know, told me about.
It’s this …
… they’re not wrong.
Which is why, while I know 2024 will face it’s challenges – especially with the US election and the likelihood America will lose its mind and vote for Trump [while acknowledging the Democrats have failed to find and develop a single worthy candidate in 4+ years] – I hope by this time next year, more people can say they had a more positive than challenging year because the World needs it. Because for all the hell that Covid subjected the planet too, the anxiety created by people [read: old, white men] who feel entitled to do and have whatever they want is arguably, even worse. And without wanting to sound like a hippie … some peace would be nice.
I know no one will have read this far, but then this is not for you … but I can assure you the last 3 posts of this week won’t be as indulgent, not for your sanity, but because I can’t be arsed to write so much rubbish again.