Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Corona Virus, Family, Jill
After a week of listening to me in ‘work mode’, Jill said my job consists of me having lots of conversations where I ask one of 4 questions …
“What’s the creative opportunity?”
“Are you excited by this?”
“Where’s your energy at?”
“Why are we being so nice?”
So as much as I thought there were certain enjoyable byproducts of working from home’ due to corona … mainly that I get more sleep, I travel far less and spend much more time with the family … now I’m not so sure.
Suppose it’s revenge for the Jillysim blog I set up years ago.
God knows how she’ll review me by the end of this week.
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Update:
So last night Otis got a fever.
He has been quarantined for the last 2 weeks with a nasty cough so this fever – which falls within the 2 week incubation period of corona virus – has caused us some concern.
While kids are thankfully, much better placed for recovery, we will be keeping a close eye on him – and ourselves – so this is the last post for a few days.
See, corona virus isn’t all bad after all.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Brand, Brand Suicide, Chaos, Comment, Communication Strategy, Confidence, Corporate Evil, Crap Marketing Ideas From History!, Creativity, Culture, Customer Service, Daily Mail, Emotion, Empathy, England, Equality, Family, Guns, Home, Human Goodness, Insight, London, Love, Loyalty, Luxury, Marketing, Marketing Fail, Packaging, Parents, Perspective, Relationships, Relevance, Resonance, Social Divide, Standards, Unfair Life, United Nations, Wankers
So today, I start working from home due to the devastating spread of corona virus.
As someone who has lived through SARS, avian and swine flu, you’d think I would be fine with it … but the way the government and media have responded, I have to say has left me on edge.
It feels like 28 Days Later – as we hide, hoping the invisible virus won’t get us while looking suspiciously at anyone who is outside or has a casual sneeze.
Personally I don’t think the government are taking it seriously enough.
I also think a lot of people are being way too blase about it.
But what’s worse is that while many of us are going to be inconvenienced, the elderly, the homeless, the single parents, the temporary workers, the unemployed and the small business owners are going to face a horrific time and no one seems to be creating plans for how they can cope.
I’m addition, it’s showing the worst of society.
From that fat, lying, cheating bastard who is the President of America – to the rapid increase in gun purchase in the USA [seriously, WTF?] to the disgusting locust like behaviour going on in across supermarkets all over the World.
I tell you what, any of these people who ever negatively judged immigrants, refugees or boat people better not do that from now on.
Though what’s the betting they’ll claim their situation is different.
I guess they’re right.
Refugees, migrants and boat people are trying not to die. They’re just trying to continue living in comfort and wipe their arse with 3-ply.
But through it all there have been signs of humanity showing their best side.
Coming together.
Uniting.
Looking out for others.
From the wonderful singing that is happening on balconies across Italy to Waitrose making sure all small business suppliers are paid the next day to LVMH doing this …
Given there are some companies you’d expect to jump to societies help who are acting like absolute wankers, it’s even more amazing LVMH are acting so swiftly and generously.
When this all passes, some companies will discover profit before people ends up costing them profit and people.
It’s a strange time but we will get through it – but what will make it better is if we can find ways to help those who feel left behind.
I’m working on something and there’s options already in place for the elderly – like this – but if you have more ideas, please let me know.
Most of all, look after yourself.
So far, 2020 has a lot to improve on.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Daddyhood, Family, Love
A few weeks ago, I got a black cab from Camden Market back to work in Shoreditch. As usual, I struck up a conversation with the cabbie and somehow we got on to the subject of our kids.
Out of nowhere, he said he felt he was a huge disappointment to his children. He wouldn’t be able to leave them much when he died and he believed he had totally wasted his life.
I was slightly taken aback but he obviously needed to talk so I asked him why he said that.
He replied he regretted so many decisions he had made through his life. Opportunities he had let go because he was too scared to grab them and now he has nothing because his whole life is spent putting food on the table rather than building something more valuable for his family.
I told him that I thought putting food on the table of your family instead of running off to follow selfish pursuits was one of the most honourable things you could do. I also reminded him that if he didn’t take an opportunity when it was there, he must have had good reason for it and shouldn’t be hard on himself.
Lastly I reminded him that nothing is written in stone and good things can always happen when you least expect it to which he burst into tears and repeated he had wasted his life.
We chatted some more until he came to my drop off point. He had calmed down a bit by then but was obviously still very emotional.
He didn’t want to charge me because he said he’d been a “silly bugger” to which I told him he would only be that if he didn’t charge me.
After paying the bill, I said something I didn’t expect to say myself.
I asked him if he wanted a hug.
He paused for a moment and said he would.
So at 4pm on a Friday afternoon, we both got out the cab and we hugged for a good 30 seconds on the corner of Clifton Street.
I told him his kids loved him and valued what he did for them far more than anything he could leave them and maybe he needs to talk to them about it rather than hold it in and blame himself for things he hasn’t done wrong.
He looked at me, wiped his eyes, told me he needed that and said thank you – to which we shook hands and off he went.
The whole journey probably was no more than 20 minutes but it has deeply affected me. Maybe it’s because I don’t want anyone to feel that way about themselves. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of a very personal and sad time in my life. Or maybe it’s because I thought that could have been me if I’d not had a bunch of luck along the way.
I wish I got his name.
I wish I could check up on him.
But most of all, I wish Mr Cab Driver feels better about who he is and what he’s done because a man who works to take care of his family is worth so much more than a man who gives his kids everything except love, encouragement and time.
This parenting thing is hard work.
Worth every second, but hard work.
So if you are one or want to be, don’t be hard on yourself. What you do is amazing already.
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Just to be clear, the point of this post isn’t for me to talk about my [occasional] acts of decency – which is why I’ve removed the ability to leave comments – but to remind everyone its good to be open and talk, so if you’re carrying a weight of worry on your shoulders – or know someone who is – try and open up about it. I know there will be lots of people who will do what I hopefully did for Mr Cab Driver. Ta.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Brand, Business, Culture, Daddyhood, England, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
I know it’s ridiculous to feel sad about a store closing … especially a store I hardly ever went in and when I did, it was obviously catered for women rather than men, but the news Mothercare has closed has made me sad.
I don’t know how many times I entered that store.
I definitely remember walking in the one in Victoria Centre, Nottingham, with my Mum when I was a very small kid … but I probably never entered another store until 40 odd years later when I was going to be a dad.
Ironically that was in Nottingham as well, even though we were living in Shanghai at the time.
But there’s a significant reason why this store means so much to me, because that’s where I found out I was going to be having a baby boy.
We were in the UK on holiday and my kind, wonderful wife wanted my Mum to feel part of the journey. Her idea to do that was to have a scan that would tell us the sex of the baby and have the doctor write it down, put it in an envelope and let my Mum tell us over a nice lunch.
That morning, before the scan, we were having breakfast and trying to come up with names. We were finding it much, much harder than we had anticipated and were pretty happy that if it was a girl, she was going to be named Eden, Edi for short.
Excited, we went off to a non-descript industrial park where Mothercare was. Inside the store was another company that could scan pregnant women and tell them the babies gender.
It was there my Mum saw her grandson for the first time. She was transfixed by what she saw on the screen. Not just because of who it was but because she had never seen a scan like that in her life. When she had me, it was all “find out when they come out” but here she was, sitting in a room with her son and daughter in law, watching her grandchild move around while still inside their Mum’s tum.
It was an incredibly moving moment for all of us and I will always love my wife for having that idea and always treasure that day.
And it’s for this reason I’m sorry to see Mothercare go.
I know there are a ton of reasons for its failure – but it’s also where I got to share a moment with my Mum that I’d never had before and will never have again. A moment that, were she alive, she would remember as clear as day.
A pivotal moment.
A moment where she got to witness the evolving of her family in front of her eyes.
A moment where the legacy of her and dad would forever continue.
But for me it’s something even more than all that. Because while we didn’t know it at the time, it was a moment where my Mum met Otis for the first time. The only time.
And for that, I’ll always be grateful to Mothercare and sad to see it go.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Parents
Today is the 21st anniversary of Dad dying.
That blows my mind as I remember how that day unfolded so clearly, it could have been yesterday.
The only good thing about all the years that have passed is that I can now remember the good times with him – when he was healthy – rather than just focus on the 3 years he was deeply affected by his stroke.
And because of that, I want to talk about a time I remember vividly with him.
I had done well at school and Mum and Dad said that I could have a toy for all my hard work.
I was pretty good at school but at exam time, I would freak out and basically become paralyzed with fear.
Anyway, Dad took me to Broadmarsh Centre in Nottingham.
Broadmarsh was – and still is – the inferior shopping centre in Nottingham, but it had a dedicated toyshop so off we went.
I was so excited.
I loved going on trips with Dad and to get a gift as well was mind-blowing.
I remember him telling me to look around and see if there was something I liked.
The problem was I liked EVERYTHING, but I knew we didn’t have a lot of money so I tried to choose wisely.
I remember there was a Dinky Toy, Bell Helicopter I liked.
It was orange but the cabin was blue and it looked cool.
I showed it Dad.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I nodded in wild agreement.
“Well we can get that then …”
And just as we were about to go to the till, my eyes spotted a die-cast Rolls Royce.
This was not a Matchbox car, this was something else.
A ‘to scale’ model of a Roller with doors that opened, a boot and bonnet that opened and a steering wheel that actually turned the wheels.
It was AMAZING.
It was also expensive … I think about £5, which back in the late seventies, was a big amount.
Dad saw me playing with it and asked, “Do you like that more?”
I nodded but felt guilty as I knew it was expensive and didn’t want Dad to spend so much money on me.
I remember him looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes and warm face.
He smiled.
“Well …,” he said, “… you’re looking at me with those moo-cow eyes, and you have done so well at school that maybe we can do it just this once”.
I was flabbergasted.
I was going to get the coolest car I’d ever seen.
I remember being so happy and showing Mum when we got home.
I remember hearing Dad explain to her I’d looked at him with these big ‘moo-cow’ eyes and he couldn’t resist.
I remember how happy they were for making me so happy.
And while it would be easy for them to think getting me a new toy was the reason for my joy – and it certainly contributed to it – the reality is I was happy because my parents were always caring, loving, supporting and encouraging.
The things they sacrificed for me is unbelievable.
Of course I didn’t realize it at the time, but what they did without so I could live with is amazing.
I hope they know that I worked this out.
I hope I told them when they were around.
My childhood was a blueprint for great childhoods.
I never wanted for their love or support.
I never felt they didn’t care or weren’t engaged.
My Mum and Dad were amazing to me … as teachers, carers, providers and inspirers.
Sure we had our moments – often caused by me being a cheeky or mischievous little shit – but even then, I never doubted they cared.
Never doubted they wanted the best for me.
And while Mum and Dad would have preferred it if I’d followed a career in law or medicine or a formal music education … they believed it was more important I lived a life of fulfillment rather than contentment.
It is a lesson I hope to pass on to my son one day.
Their grandson.
Oh how I wish they could have met him.
I don’t have many regrets but that is one of them.
So what I do instead is instill their lessons and love into his life.
So that while he may never meet them, he will always feel their presence.
Dad, I miss you.
I miss you so much.
I would love to tell you and show you so many things.
To see your reaction. To hear your questions.
You may have been gone from my physical life for 21 years, but you are still so deeply entrenched in my life.
It gives me strength when I face challenges.
Support when I feel alone.
Perspective when I get consumed by small things pretending to be big.
I love you.
Give Mum a kiss from me as you hold her hand.
