Filed under: 2026, A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Children, Complicity, Culture, Daddyhood, Dance, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Family, Fatherhood, Generosity, Happiness, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents, Respect
A few years ago, I wrote about how some people think they have the right to judge your kid.
And your parenting.
I also noted how I’d been suckered into validating their commentary.
Until I came to my senses.
The story is Otis was – and still is – an energetic kid.
When we lived in Shanghai, LA and London, we would go out a lot and he would be a whirlwind of excited, happy energy.
It was – admitedly – relentless.
Whether 3pm or 3am, he seemed to always want to play, smile, laugh, do things with his adoring parents.
Often, when we were out, we would see people looking at him running around the park, shouting to himself … and then saying to me, “he’s got a lot of energy hasn’t he?”
And while they weren’t saying it as a diss, they weren’t saying it as a compliment either.
What makes it worse is I would reply with a weary, “you better believe it”.
Then one day I realised what I was doing.
My son … my wonderful, brilliant, joyous son was being judged by his Dad.
Worse, he did it to let perfect strangers feel justified in their fucked-up judgement.
What the hell?!
Otis wasn’t doing anything wrong … plus he was 2 or 3 years old for fucks sake.
More than that, he has always had a very strong sense of justice and fairness and so the last thing he would ever want to do is cause others discomfort.
And he wasn’t, he was just running around … exploering and experiencing the World.
I felt an immense amount of anger – more at myself, but definitely at the ‘critics’ as well – and vowed that would never happen again.
And it didn’t and it doesn’t.
Because when anyone said/say’s that to me about Otis, I now reply … “I know, isn’t it great”, and they always look at me before slowly nodding, either because they feel they have to or because they realise the problem isn’t my kid, but their increasingly small mindedness and old-person energy.
I say this because I recently watched this …
I am sure there will be people out there who will say it’s unprofessional.
That her actions are encouraging her child to be more ‘needy and demanding’.
That she just made a huge career limiting move, undermining all the hard work she has put in.
And they’re entitled to their opinion except it doesn’t matter.
Not in the slightest, however much you think it does or tell yourself it does.
Hell, even if you were one of the judges critiquing her dance, it doesn’t … because while you may have a certain amount of power in your hands in terms of what the implications of her actions will be, the reality is they won’t care.
Because whatever you think is more important than their child, you’re wrong.
They may do things you wouldn’t.
They may value things that you think they shouldn’t.
Their child may need things you would never consider.
But it’s NOT YOUR CHILD so it literally doesn’t matter.
In fact, unless you think the child is in real danger – or a cause of real danger to others – you should be minding your own business. And even if they are in – or causing – danger, your actions should be pointed to people who can legally or professionally help, rather than think you have unconditional rights.
I love what this gymnast did.
For me, it was beautiful both in terms of her talent and her love.
Even more so, at a time where Linkedin is overflowing with people acting like ‘winning justifies any sacrifice’.
With AI impacting our lives in increasingly dramatic ways, ‘family’ is the one thing AI can never replace.
It will try.
But it will fail.
Because while family is universal, it’s deeply personal and individual … which is why the best advice for anyone thinking of discussing/judging/commenting on the innocent actions or behaviour of a child that isn’t yours, is this.
“Are you the parents of the child?”
If not, SHUT THE FUCK UP.
You’re welcome.
Good news: I am away until Friday so you can enjoy a few days peace after that rant-fest.
You’re welcome. Again.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Dad, Death, Family, Love, Parents
OK, so we got to the end of the first week of 2026.
Or should I say the 3rd week … but you know what I mean.
Anyway, I started the TWENTIETH year of this blog with a couple of nice posts.
Then I followed it up with a couple of things that were frustrating-the-fuck out of me.
And now I am going to end it with something deeply personal to me.
Today is the 27th anniversary of my dad dying.
That not only means he has been out my life for just under half my life, but in just 5 years – I’ll be the age he was when he died.
As I’ve written before, when I turned 50 I went through a real emotional wobble believing that meant I only had 10 years before I too died … and while I’ve thankfully got past that, it increasingly shocks me how young he was when he passed.
Now I’ve written a lot about how much my Dad meant to me … how much he means to me … so this time I’m going to post something else altogether. Not because I don’t want to celebrate my Dad, but because I think this celebrates him in a way he would both want and respect.
To do that, you need to watch this …
This not only hit me, it made me really think hard.
And I get it and I think my Dad would have loved it.
Don’t get me wrong, I wish my Dad was still alive with all my heart and soul.
I miss him every single day and I hate I haven’t been able to share any of the past 27 years of my life with him.
But while he is still in my life and still relevant in my life, I know he would want me to refer to him as dead rather than ‘passed away’… not just because he wasn’t religious in any way, but because the word ‘death’, honours him and acknowledges him with greater dignity and love than any of the more ambiguous terminology that is often used to soften the reality rather than respect it.
Put simply, ‘passed’ sounds temporary and death represents permanency … and the reason that is so important is – as Labi Siffre so brilliantly articulates – the permanency of death not only justifies, but enables the full expression of grief because ultimately, grief represents the deep love you had for someone and the importance they played in your life.
And my god, did I love him.
So here’s to you Dad.
Dead, missed but absolutely not forgotten.
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.
Filed under: 2025, Birthday, Childhood, Dad, Death, Immaturity, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Old, Parents
So it’s June.
That means we’re 6 months into the year already – WHATTHEACTUAL?!
It’s going to be a big month for me …
I’ve got a bunch of big meetings, a bunch of big travel, the small matter of giving a talk – with Paula – at Cannes and turning FIFTYFUCKINGFIVE.
Jesus Christ … I am now, proper old.
I appreciate the difference between 54 and 55 doesn’t seem massive, but let me tell you it is.
You see over the past few weeks, I’ve been receiving letters from the UK about my pension.
I’d never really received these before so it seemed a bit strange … strange enough for me to call them to find out what the hell was going on. And that’s where 2 things happened that shook me to my core.
The first was that they were letting me know that I was approaching a time where I could either ‘cash them in’ or move them into a different scheme. Given I’ve not lived in the UK for most of my adult life, there’s not much in there so I’ve never really paid attention to it.
It was at this point I asked how could I cash it in if I chose to … to which the very kind woman on the end of the line said:
“You just contact us 6 weeks before you turn 55 and we make it happen for you”.
I paused for a moment before replying,
“We are 6 weeks before I turn 55”.
And let me tell you, she was as shocked as me with that news – albeit her shock was because she hadn’t checked my date-of-birth whereas my shock was I could cash in – should I choose – my fucking pension.
How was this possible?
Pensions are for when people are ancient.
A 1000 years into the future. How the hell am I eligible for mine now?
But I guess I am … because I am ancient.
So ancient, I’m only 5 years off when my Dad died – which is terrifying for a whole host of obvious and less obvious reasons.
Except I don’t feel 55.
In fact, I feel younger than I have in decades. I am healthier too.
But despite that – and the fact my maturity level still resides around 14 years of age – you can’t stop getting older however hard you may try, so no doubt I am on the path to playing bowls each afternoon, complaining about the kids in the neighborhood ‘for making too much noise’ and smelling of wee. Or something.
And just remember before you all take the piss out of me.
You’ve got all this coming … so don’t be too cocky, because the one good thing about getting old, is you don’t give a fuck about keeping your mouth shut.
Not that I’ve ever had a problem with that – which I’ve literally just realized why Rupert Howell used to say I was the youngest old person he had ever met.
Oh God, as Monday’s go, this one sucks balls.
Happy fucking June.
I’m turning 55 this year.
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?
How the hell did that happen?
The good news is that while I may look it, I don’t act it.
I’m not saying that, I was told it.
By managers of Rock Stars who said, ‘I was immune from maturity’.
And while they probably meant it as an insult, I took it as a compliment. I’m sad like that.
But the reality is, regardless how stupid or annoying I can be – or as young as I sometimes really think I am – I’m still closer to getting a bus pass than I am getting inside a tour bus which may explain why I often look at people and can’t believe how young they are.
Pilots.
Doctors.
Footballers.
Police Officers.
Hell, not that long ago I got on a plane that I swear was being flown by a child.
Seriously, they looked like they weren’t even old enough to fold a paper plane, let alone fly a massive real one.
Which is why recently – while reading about Nottingham Forest in the Evening Post – I saw an ad that has made me question whether it is more evidence I’m an old bastard or actually just another example of marketing bullshit.
It was this.
No, I don’t mean the funeral insurance – which was depressing enough – but the ad next to it.
The one that features an attractive woman who apparently is a ‘single senior’.
Now maybe my eye’s deceive me. Or maybe the woman in this ad is the recipient of South Korea’s finest plastic surgery. But how the fuck is she classified as a senior???
OK, it’s marketing and their track record of shaming women knows no bounds … but come on, when the hell did ‘senior’ become anyone over 30?
Sure, for a 15 year old, 30 is ancient-as-fuck.
And yes, the health industry labels anyone becoming a parent over 35 as ‘geriatric’.
Then there’s Chanel, who classify anything over 40 years of age as ‘vintage’.
But all those examples come from people and industries known for being fucking lunatics.
Whereas I – on the other hand – am not one.
Not really.
Which is why I can categorically state the woman in that photo is absolutely-not a ‘senior’.
Or I hope she isn’t.
Because if that was the case, not only would it mean I’m pre-historic, it would make me think the real reason Otis lives at home is not because he’s a 10 year old little boy, but because he’s actually an adult taking care of his decrepit old man in the last days of life.
Jesus, as Monday’s go, this one has gone especially dark.
So thank you Nottingham Evening Post. Asshole.