Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Bands, Bangkok Shakes, Childhood, Culture, Music, Nottingham, Paul, Queen, Relevance, Resonance, Respect
When I was a kid in Nottingham, there were 3 independent record shops I continually went to.
WayAhead, Rob’s Records and Selectadisc.
OK, part of this was because there were no major record shops in Nottingham at that time – Our Price, Virgin and HMV all arrived [and left] years later – so unless you were happy with the extremely limited range available in Boots, they were your only options.
Not that they were a ‘lesser’ experience to the big chains. Far from it.
In fact WayAhead became my Mecca because it was a pure rock and metal store. The only one in Nottingham … a place that loved the music rather than just sold it. A place – when I look back – that not only helped forge my identity as a teen, but gave me a space where I could feel safe and supported in it.
It’s also the location where I queued up all night just to ensure I could get Queen tickets for their Works Tour. So the memories are deep and strong.
Rob’s Records was a second hand store up a small alley called Hurts Yard.
WayAhead used to be a few doors down, but they moved to a much bigger location when [1] metal music became mass in the mid-80’s and [2] the shop couldn’t fit customers in because too many people were crammed around the Pinball table and Track and Field arcade game that was in the front of their store. [See photo above]
But I digress …
To be honest, Rob’s Records was a shambles.
Messy … cramped … records stacked tight in big boxes and plastic bins placed literally all over the place. But it had cheap records so I’d find myself in there searching for some rare Queen albums or singles… normally after having a fried chicken lunch from the place that was a cut-price KFC in name, cleanliness and taste.
And then there was Selectadisc.
Set over 2 floors, it was the music lovers, music shop.
A dimly lit, warm cocoon that incubated you from the world outside.
In fact, it was considered an institution by record/vinyl fans all over the world thanks to its continued support for new and up and coming bands.
That said I didn’t love it … it loved The Smiths for a start … but it did have a lot of variety. It also had a great noticeboard where people could put up ads … especially for musicians for bands. We found our first singer, Rob Reid, from an ad we put up there … someone who helped give me some of the best times of my teens and who I am still in touch with to this day.
All of these places were like a wonderland to me.
I may have entered from the street, but I found myself on a different planet.
I would spend hours there on a Saturday… listening, talking, looking, reading. Occasionally even buying.
And while Rob’s Records and Selectadisc didn’t offer me the same community as WayAhead … they mattered to me. A lot.
Sadly, only Rob’s Records remain … but what caused me to write this post is because I recently saw a photo of the upstairs of Selectadisc and it stopped me in my tracks.
Not because of the memories it ignited.
Nor because of the state of it.
But because of its size.
Specifically, how small it was.
I appreciate when you’re younger you overestimate size … but this wasn’t when I was a child, I was in my teens.
And even though it wasn’t my fave record shop, I still remember it like it was a Cathedral of Sound.
Maybe it was because it was bigger than both WayAhead and Rob’s Records.
Maybe it was because it was on 2 floors where the others were just on one.
Or maybe it was because it offered me an escape from normal life to a place that was filled with sound and people who shared a similar love to it as me.
There’s never been a place like those record shops for me.
The closest was Funan Mall in Singapore – a whole building dedicated to selling electronics and gadgets.
A place where I could happily spend hours just looking at the latest new tech that had come in from China … where Jill sent me to after I’d proposed so I could calm down from the intense emotions of the morning.
But even then … even with all that … those 3 record shops in Nottingham will be where a part of my soul resides.
A place that was educational, recreational, and experiential.
Society is worse off without these places.
Yes, I know culturally they have been replaced by a bunch of other places – from the barbers shop to the chicken shop – but records shop were more than a place to hang and talk, they were a place where you grew.
So even though this photo of Selectadisc highlights how small it actually was … it’s impact on who I was remains huge.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Attitude & Aptitude, Cats, China, Culture, Emotion, EvilGenius, Family, Fatherhood, Happiness, Hong Kong, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Love, Loyalty, New Zealand, Nottingham, Otis, Parents, Relationships, Rosie, Shanghai, Singapore, Stubborness
So on Saturday, it will be our cat – Rosie’s – 16th birthday.
Sixteen. For a street cat from Singapore, that’s amazing.
What’s also amazing is that she’s still in pretty good nick.
Yes, you can tell she’s getting old.
She’s slower … less mobile and definitely sleeps more.
But by the same token she remains cranky, vocal and remains as demanding as ever.
And if another cat comes anywhere near our house, she goes full gangster mode … hissing, growling and acting like she’s ready to fight despite the fact she’s behind a glass door.
Like those TikTok videos that show men loving family dogs they didn’t originally want their family to have … I was in a similar situation.
I didn’t really want us to have a pet.
Not because I’m a bastard, but because Jill and I were living in Singapore and I didn’t know how long we’d be there and I just was worried about the hassle of bringing it with us.
But Jill had always had pets and I wanted her to be happy, so while she originally wanted a dog, we settled on getting a cat.
She threw herself into the search.
It wasn’t just about getting any cat, she had to feel a connection to it … so after visiting various pet shops with their over-priced, pure-bred snooty moggies, she came across a little street cat that had been found by a family and was wondering if anyone wanted to adopt.
Jill went to see it and it is here that street cat did the best move of their life.
As Jill lifted her up to her face, Rosie moved her head forward so their noses touched.
Despite the fact Rosie would not show such love and tenderness for about 6 years, that ensured the deal was done and we were now a cat family.
I still remember sitting in a cab outside the apartment as Jill went to pick her up.
I was a bit anxious and nervous and eventually the door opened and there she was, in her little cat bag, where we both wondered what the fuck we had in store for each other.
And while there have been some annoying, painful and scary moments … it’s been generally nothing but joy.
Put it simply, I bloody love that cat.
There’s things I’ve done for her that I wouldn’t do for anyone. Literally anyone.
What things? Well how about some of this …
In HK we paid someone to pat her so she didn’t feel lonely. I did a project for an airline on the condition they flew her in the crew quarters rather than the cargo hold. We built ‘penthouses’ for her to hang out in. I gave an entire presentation about what a client can learn from her and her ways. I even got my office painted with her – and some of my colleagues moggies. And that’s just the tip of the sad-cat-bastard iceberg.
That said, every year I worry this is the year … the one where we have to say goodbye.
And while I know that will happen eventually, she’s doing OK.
Yes she needs some blood pressure medication, but apart from that, she’s in pretty good nick.
That said, I remember when we were moving to NZ I was worried that would be it.
Despite having flown from Singapore to HK … HK to Shanghai … Shanghai to LA and LA to London … London to Auckland is a whole different beast.
But bizarrely it wasn’t just the distance that worried me, it was that there was a stopover in Singapore – and given she was originally from there, my nihilistic side told me it was written in the stars that if there was any place she would reach the end, it would be where she started, like some fucked-up circle of life. Which – to be fair to me – is kinda what happened when Otis was born and my wonderful Mum died a few months later. Which – given I knew she was ill – was something my nihilistic side had also started to feed into my head.
Except with Rosie, it thankfully didn’t happen. [Fuck you, nihilism brain]
Better yet, we knew it hadn’t happened at the time because we had paid for a service that ensured at every stage she was checked and photographed.
Hell, even when we ended up in MIQ in NZ – where we spent longer in quarantine than she did – we got bombarded with pics of her and she looked to be having the time of her life.
Jetlagged … but happy, thanks to brushes and treats that I had already got sent to the quarantine place before our arrival.
But if you think this proves how much she means to me, you’re only partially right.
You see, at her age – which is 80 in human years – my attitude is she’s earned the right to do whatever she wants to do.
Which is why I’ll get up at 3am if she decides she wants a treat at 3am.
Which is why I’ll give her my chair if she decides she wants to be under the aircon.
Which is why I’ll buy her an extortionately expensive outdoor beanbag because she loves sitting outside in summer.
If we were her servants before, we’re her slaves now and I’m OK with that.
NZ is good for her.
She has a lovely, comfortable peaceful life.
Lots of places to go hang out, a big deck to sit and watch the birds and loads of food and water. And treats.
And where in the past you always felt she was disappointed in you, now you feel her gratefulness.
A cuddle here. A lick there. Meows, headrubs and sleeping on your hip.
Hell, she’s even totally chill that Sky – Otis’ budgie – is in the house.
It’s a lovely feeling.
A family feeling.
And while we give her so much, she’s given us – and me – more.
Happy Birthday my dear Rosie. Keep proving the critics wrong and us on our toes.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Confidence, Culture, Emotion, Empathy, England, Environment, Football, Fulfillment, LaLaLand, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Parents, Shanghai
For reasons not worth discussing, I recently saw this …
Yes, it’s from a very, very long time ago … but it’s still a bit bizarre to see ‘Electronic Mail’ being touted like it is the cutting edge of tech.
But of course, once upon a time, it was.
A dawn of a new future with new possibilities.
Where – according to an Apple ad of the time – mail would travel at the equivalent of 670,000,000mph to anyone and anywhere in the World.
Even now, that sounds impressive … but back then, it was revolutionary.
Prior to email, if you wanted to send a card … a letter … a document or whatever, the only way was to trust the competence of the mail service.
And if you were writing to someone in another country, then it would take weeks before you had any chance of it being received.
We call it ‘snail mail’ now … but back then, it was just mail.
The reason I’m writing this is that time always creates change.
We might not like where it takes us.
We might find it hard to adapt or embrace.
We might not like the time-frame it’s working to.
But whether it’s good or bad, the thing you can be sure of is things will change.
The reason I’m saying this is because I recently read something on The Athletic.
Not only was it about my beloved Nottingham Forest, it was written by someone who is also living in NZ. That means there’s 2 of us here – which is the same amount of fans as there were when I lived in Shanghai and Los Angeles, haha.
Anyway, they wrote this:
“The past two seasons need putting in a box marked “Vintage”. It’s only so often in football fandom that circumstances gel to give you a gift like this period. Dramatic, successful, joyous but mainly the sense of togetherness and belonging. All praise to Steve for being the key man that’s made it happen and in particular the way it’s felt.
History suggests it won’t stay this way, maybe another year or two if we’re lucky, because expectations get in the way and start twisting the behaviour and attitudes of all parties. Sad but hey it’s all part of the cycle.
The positive point I’m making is that this has been as good as it gets really, outside of unexpectedly rising to the absolute top (e.g. Forest 78-80; Leicester winning the league), so let’s be sure to savour it while we’re in the moment! And hopefully the moment has another couple of years to run.”
I loved it.
Not just because that’s exactly how following Forest over these past 2 years have felt, but because life often follows a similar path.
The reality is we often never realise we’re living in a golden period of our life.
Often, we only realise it as we sense it passing us by.
And then we panic … trying desperately to hold on to something that is only partially – if we’re lucky – in our control and likely already has left the station.
Worse, we can end up putting all our effort trying to recreate something we had, rather than create what can be next.
That doesn’t mean our focus should be blindly running forward and ignoring – or not valuing – what is happening around us, but it does mean we should appreciate we can’t stop time … because as ‘electronic mail’ has shown, even the most exciting times of our life can end up becoming the most mundane.
Life is hard.
It’s not fair.
Sure, for some, it way harder than for others and effort doesn’t always translate to achievement or progress, which is cruel as fuck. But as I have got older, I’ve learnt to appreciate something my parents used to say to me when I was young.
“The more interested you are in life, the more chance you have of enjoying a good one”.
First of all, note they said ‘chance’.
No blind promises, more an attitude to life.
Secondly, when they said ‘interested’, they meant ‘invested’.
Not just in terms of being curious about what’s going on, but committing to being in it.
Trying stuff.
Exploring stuff.
Appreciating what you learn from it – good, bad or indifferent.
And finally, their version of a ‘good life’ was – as I’ve said many times – a life of fulfilment rather than contentment.
Where you go after the stuff that makes you feel alive, rather than what makes life comfortable and easy.
It’s why I adore they said ‘enjoy’ rather than ‘have’.
Not just because it acknowledged time will continually challenge and change our contexts and beliefs … but because it means you recognise, embrace and value the good moments while not letting yourself get so lost in them that you are removing yourself from the possibilities of the future.
Nottingham Forest spent too long being lost in the past.
Always judging themselves by it, which meant never being able to live up to it.
An invisible hammer continually bashing everyone down.
But Steve Cooper has changed that …
Sure, he’s not achieved a fraction of what Clough did, but apart from the fact he’s only 4 years into his managerial career, he has done stuff even Clough wasn’t able to achieve.
For example, the togetherness between fan, club and manager is – even in the eyes of ex-Clough players – better than it ever was at our European peak.
In essence, he took the values of the club to liberate the future of it … enabling a new generation of fan to take the club to somewhere new and exciting. Something that represents their future, not just a recreation of another generations past.
It’s so exciting to see it.
It’s so exciting to share it.
It’s so exciting to be a part of it.
Now I know what some of you will be thinking, I’m reframing achievement to set lower expectations. But that’s the point …
When you try and hold on to things already past, you’re stuck in limbo.
It’s why I’m revelling in what Forest are doing right now.
I know it won’t last forever, but to experience something so magical is more than I ever dared to dream.
Sure, it’s not the same as last time.
But that doesn’t mean it’s any less wonderful.
Even more so that it is happening in the present not in my memory.
When Forest won the playoff final to get back into the Premiership after 23 long and painful years, some genius played the track ‘Freed From Desire’ by Gala. It wasn’t just the perfect choice of song for us, it conveys one of the most valuable lessons for life.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, England, Football, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Paul
I know with a headline like that, you think I’m going to announce some major revelation to do with health.
Or happiness.
Well, in some ways I am … just not what you may think.
This is about football … and while it’s a good few weeks since the Premiership ended, it’s taken me this long to calm down.
As you all likely know, my beloved Nottingham Forest got promoted last year to the Premiership after 23 painful years away. More than that, they got promoted after being at the bottom of the Championship after 7 games – where they only had one point – before our manager, Steve Cooper, joined and took us on a fairytale that no one could have imagined.
Of course we knew it would be hard to compete – especially with our team being made up of 5 loan signings – which is why I convinced myself that as long as they were enjoying themselves, I’d be happy with whatever happened.
Now I know I was utterly lying to myself.
It was a tremendously hard season. We had – in the end – over 30 new players join us [which was needed given we didn’t have a proper starting 11] so it was no surprise we were whipping boys for all the teams we faced in the first few weeks.
3-0. 4-0. 5-0. 6-0.
Then we had a couple of wins.
West Ham and – amazingly – Liverpool.
We had faith. And then the bad results kept coming and the media increasingly wrote us off.
Then we had major injuries to key players that were going to last for months.
Worse, we were hearing our beloved Steve Cooper – the man who had achieved what over 20+ managers couldn’t – was going to get fired. Other managers were being sounded out. The old dark days were coming back with a vengeance.
I don’t mind admitting, I couldn’t read about the team.
Everything was bleak and negative and it actually was affecting my health.
I was getting down. Weekends were getting ruined. The feel-good factor was done.
I tried to convince myself that football just doesn’t matter.
The only positive was the Forest owners kept faith with Steve.
Sure, part of it was because they couldn’t find a better alternative, but at a time where clubs chopped and changed managers like people change their clothes – it was a little bright spot in an otherwise dark situation.
That said, I wouldn’t have blamed them if they had.
Yes we had terrible injuries but we couldn’t win an away game if we bribed the officials.
Then we had a little run of positive results and it was amazing how I felt my entire body change. Mentally and physically. I felt excited to read articles about them – and how they played – again. Sure, there were still some negative stuff, but when we reached the highs of 13th in the table [even though 13th-20th was separated by a few points] it felt good.
Then bad times came back.
Losses.
In the relegation zone.
Pundits revelling in our downfall.
But somehow we put ourselves in a position to get out and with 2 games left, we were in 16th, two places above relegation. Of course, being Forest, we only needed to slip up once and have a team below us win – and we would literally swap places with them.
Worse, if any of the teams below us ended up on the same points, we’d still go down because those early games gave us a goal difference that was one of the worst in the league.
If that wasn’t hard enough, our next game was Arsenal.
2nd in the league … and the teams around us had easier games.
Sure, if we lost it wouldn’t be 100% relegation and sure, it was at home … but given our final match was away, the chances of us pulling off a miracle were low.
But against all odds, we took the lead on 19 minutes.
The Forest ground was utter pandemonium … WE WERE WINNING … but we also knew we had the worst record of losing from a winning position and Arsenal had the best record of winning from a losing position.
But we got to half time still up … which meant we would guarantee safety which meant we would still be in the Premiership for another year.
Then the second half started.
And unlike other matches, we kept doing pretty well.
The team wanted this. They wanted to play their final game at the City Ground in a way that would honour the fans unwavering support over the past 9 months.
And to be honest, so they should … because even fans of all other teams have said what an amazing atmosphere our fans create at the City Ground.
But I’d seen us fuck up too many times so with 12 minutes to go, I went on to instagram and zoomed through reels to take my mind off things. I knew the game would be over at 6:32am NZ time and my intention was to not look till my iPad said it was that time.
Did I manage to do that?
Nope … but I did manage to last a few minutes at a time.
And then at 6:31am I couldn’t hold back any longer and flicked over to the BBC where I saw the letters FT under the score, signifying full time.
Signifying we had won. WE HAD WON.
And, in a surprise to myself, I burst into tears.
Massive tears. Tears of relief, pride, happiness, shock and calm.
What made this even more surreal was that while this was all going on, I was lying in Otis’ bed as he was in ours with a bad head cold.
So there I was a 52 year old bloke … in an 8 year olds bed … crying at a football result and that’s when I truly knew how invested I was in that team.
How they represent more than just kicking a ball around a pitch, but my identity … my cities identity … our hopes, belief and values.
I was a mix of elation and exhaustion … resulting in me spending the whole day watching interviews of the footballers and fans revelling in their joy.
Joy for defying the odds.
Joy for proving the pundits wrong.
Joy for my great club earning the chance to keep getting better.
I love them. I love them so so much …
The team. The manager. The owners. The fans. The city they represent and belong to.
As the legendary Liverpool manager – Bill Shankly – once said:
Football isn’t a matter of life and death. It’s more important than that.
He wasn’t wrong.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Emotion, Empathy, Football, Leadership, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Resonance, Respect, Talent
One of the people who made my childhood so amazing was someone not connected in the slightest to my family.
Brian Clough.
Over the years I’ve written a lot about him.
How he led my beloved Nottingham Forest to glory no one could have ever dreamed about.
How he led the football league in terms of standards and reputation.
How he led the Nottingham through its darkest days of Margaret Thatcher.
How he’d serve me at his newsagents in West Bridgford on a Sunday morning.
How he put a city on the map again.
Hell, I even did a presentation about the management lessons you could learn from him.
He was a hero to me.
It’s because of him I travelled to the other side of the World to see Nottingham Forest get into the Premiership again. He made me love them so much. He made me feel the sadness of 23 years in the wilderness.
Now it is fair to say at the end of his management at Nottingham Forest, the effects of his alcoholism had taken hold. He was not who he had once been.
He said he drank because he got to celebrate more than most … but everyone knew. And yet, despite that, everyone still respected him.
Even at his last game at the City Ground – where we lost – the entire stadium, including the opposition fans, rose up to applaud him and shout his name.
Can you imagine that happening for anyone else?
Hell, even with his long successful reign at Forest ending in relegation, all the fans – and the TV pundits – still loved him. Still wished he could get better to stay on.
And while there are lots of stories that help explain why he was so loved, I heard two new ones recently that really showed how important character and principals go a long way in having people follow and believe in you.
The first is how he talked a man off a bridge who was planning to die by suicide.
He was driving home and saw a large group of people on Trent Bridge, congregated in a particular spot.
Rather than drive past, he pulled over – literally on the bridge – to find out what was happening.
There he found a Policeman trying to talk the man down.
From there, he took over, talking gently to the man.
Asking questions. Being interested in what he was going through. Offering to help.
At one point the topic of football came up and the man revealed to Clough he was a Notts County fan. Without missing a beat, Clough said that he liked them but he should come and see his team as they’re doing pretty well. [They’d just won the European Cup]
Eventually the man was coaxed down and the Policeman who was there nominated Clough for an award – such was his influence in bringing him down, and later he was given a certificate naming him ‘citizen of the month’ by the Police.
Clough was an enigma.
You never knew what you were going to get.
Hugely charismatic but with an ability to be ruthless and vicious.
By the same token, he was incredibly generous and compassionate.
He loved his family. He loved Peter Taylor [despite them having a huge fallout that resulted in them never talking again] and he loved helping those who needed help.
The story of how he took in 2 young brothers who were poverty stricken and in an abusive home reads almost like a soppy Hollywood story. Except it’s true.
However the other story I heard recently that revealed his generosity is from his last ever match as Forest manager.
The date is May 8, 1993, and James Scowcroft, was a youth team player for Ipswich Town.
Scowcroft would become a popular striker for them – making more than 200 appearances – but back then, however, he was 17 and yet to make his first-team debut.
This was an era when apprentices had a list of match-day chores and his was to look after the away dressing room. His job was to make sure everything was tidy and organised and he would go in five minutes before kick-off – while all the players were waiting in the tunnel – so he could get a head start making sure everything was ready for half-time.
That day, however, was different.
This is what James said:
To the end, he cared about the game and especially the youngsters entering it.
No wonder the BBC Commentator, Barry Davies, summed up that day – and Clough’s career – with this:
“Clough emerged from the tunnel and, always keeping it interesting, hugged a policewoman before taking his seat. I reported that by saying “An embrace for the law on his last home appearance. The man with the green sweater. Whatever his failings, whatever his foibles, he’s been a power of good for the game of football.”
It’s a pretty perfect summation.
Clough was flawed but he was also a genius.
Many thought he was a maverick, but there was always method to his madness.
And a big part of that method was his belief in the potential of others.
He would fight for them.
He would protect them.
He would help them.
This article from The Athletic captures so much of the great man … from his earliest days to his lasting legacy.
And it is a lasting legacy … hell, he has 3 statues of him for a start.
They say if you remember people, they’re still with us.
Well I remember him. He helped write a big part of my brilliant childhood.