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: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Community, Context, Creativity, Culture, Emotion, Empathy, Happiness, Harmony, Humanity, Inclusion, Japan, Love, Perspective, Resonance, Respect
Over the years, my wife has told me all she wants me to do is listen to her when she faces challenges, rather than try and fix them for her.
I suspect she is not the only woman who has had this conversation with a man.
And while she knows the reason we do it is out of love, she finds it annoying-as-fuck.
Fortunately we’ve been together so long that its finally got in my thick skull, hence I now listen rather than automatically run to ‘fix’ mode.
The point of this is that I think a lot of advertising needs to adopt this trait.
Too often we think we can solve everything.
Marketing.
Politics.
Poverty.
World hunger.
You name it, our ego believes it can solve it.
But there’s something quite magical in embracing problems rather than trying to solve – or go around them.
Sure, we’re paid to help clients move forward … but that doesn’t always have to be from tackling issues head-on … sometimes, it comes from realizing some problems don’t – or can’t – be solved.
Recently I read something that embodies this perfectly.
A ‘solution’ that doesn’t fix the issue, but deals with it with dignity and grace.
It’s not unique, I’ve seen things like this before and have written about some in the past … but where they tended to be addressing issues in a private environment – such as care homes and parks in the Netherlands – this is something where the public are actively encouraged to be part of the solution.
Except it’s more than that.
Because they benefit as well.
In connection. In understanding and – at a time where there seems to be less of it about – in humanity.
It’s not just magical and beautiful, it’s important. For everyone.
Filed under: Comment, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad
I know, I know … I said I was away for a week – and I am – but I couldn’t let today pass without me acknowledging it, because today is the 10th anniversary of my Mum passing.
I’ve written a lot about this over the bast decade.
From what happened … to how it messed with me … right thought to how it changed how I do things and look at things.
And while all those things are still there … a decade later the feelings are far less connected to darkness and far more about the light.
I have to say, I am so relieved.
Mum was a wonderful human.
Full of compassion and curiosity.
Driven by a real sense of respect and justice for all.
For a very gentle, quiet woman, she was a force that you felt through her actions, her choices, her emotions and – when necessary – her words.
But most of all, I think of Mum as an incredibly dignified person and nothing reflects this more than how she prepared for what she feared most.
You see Mum was going into hospital for a heart valve operation.
It was a pretty common procedure, but at 83, she was aware things could happen.
She’d already delayed the operation by a few months to ensure I could be with Jill when Otis was born – another example of her selflessness – but even though things had initially gone well, sadly the condition of her heart was far worse than expected and within an hour of coming out of theatre, it ruptured and Mum died.
I’m so, so grateful I was with her and that she knew that.
She’d told me a few months before that her greatest fear was that she may die alone – like her sister-in-law had tragically experienced.
And while I would give anything to have her back, knowing I was there – as I was with Dad – has definitely helped me deal with the loss.
But it’s what happened after she passed that reaffirmed one of her greatest traits.
Her dignity.
Something she valued very much. Even in death.
You see, when she had died, we were going through some draws back at her house. In there, I found a book she’d been compiling featuring all the account numbers associated with her, all the contact information of her friends, and a compilation of stories and articles that she wanted me to see or know if the worst happened.
To do that both blows me away and breaks my heart …
Blows me away for the incredible generosity of wanting to ensure in my darkest hour, I am not being further impacted by the complication of trying to find or access information.
Breaks my heart because not only did it represent her acknowledging the potential of her death, but that she did it alone.
I don’t know how she felt doing this, I just hope that any emotional struggle she felt was softened by knowing she was doing something that was important to her. Important because I – as her only son – was her world.
She never left me in doubt of that. Ever. Even when we had little disagreements over the years …
Because the undeniable fact was she loved me and I loved her.
And I still do.
I’m so grateful and honoured she was my Mum.
Which is why, as much as today is a connected to something deeply sad in my life – she’d be very happy to know, the feelings I have today are far more associated with love than tragedy.
For all she did.
For all she was.
For all she continues to be in my life.
I love and miss you so much Mum.
Give Dad a big kiss from me.
Rx
Filed under: Collegues, Comment, Context, Culture, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Friendship, Honesty, Love, Loyalty, Parents, Perspective, Reputation, Resonance, Respect
Maybe it was because I was in a sentimental mood.
Maybe it was because some feelings were triggered.
But one day, I found myself feeling very emotional.
There were two things that did it …
One was the mother and son rendition of Creep that I wrote about recently the other is what I am writing about today.
In essence, it’s a love story … albeit a tragic one.
A story about friendship rather than romance or family.
And while there are many twists and turns spanning over the 12 years of the story, you never doubt that the driving force behind it is to honour an increasingly complex relationship.
I appreciate it is almost an hour long. I appreciate its a Thursday. But I do hope you watch it.
Because while the film is defined as ‘a crime documentary’, it is so much more than that.
It certainly isn’t as the hyped-up, click-bait, thumbnail suggests.
It’s not bombastic or dramatic.
In many ways, the whole thing feels in slow motion.
I don’t mean that in terms of it how long it takes for the story to be told, but in how gentle and caring the people involved reveal themselves.
In many ways, it’s an important reminder that love, family, friendships and life are made up of beauty, fragility and – more often than we may want to accept or acknowledge – mystery.
And while we may not intend it.
And sometimes, may not even realise it.
The choices, actions and behaviours we make can leave the people we care about with questions they may never get to resolve.
Questions that can turn into scars that will never heal.
Or, like in this story, scars that can finally start to recover.
What is beautiful about this documentary is that it radiates humanity.
Everyone in it comes out of it with your respect and compassion.
You want these people in your life. You want more people like this in all of our lives.
And this is a reminder they’re there.
They’re all around us.
We just have to see them. Before it’s too late.
I hope it touches you as much as it touched me.
Filed under: 2025, A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Apathy, Attitude & Aptitude, Brands, Collaboration, Communication Strategy, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Fulfillment, Love, Music, My Childhood, Pearl Jam, Relationships, Relevance, Resonance, Respect
Following on from yesterday’s post about Duran Duran, we have another musical post.
Except this isn’t about exploitation and re-definition, this is more a ‘blast from the past’.
I know this is going to make me sound old – it will also make me sounds a total hypocrite given I’ve always loved music for its melody, rhythm and vibe rather than its lyrics – but I got sent this clip of a crowd at a Pearl Jam gig from a few years ago and I love it.
OK, so part of it is because I like Pearl Jam.
Another part is because I have always loved the song they’re performing – Black – which is on what I consider their finest album, Ten.
God, that album is magnificent. I remember being blown away when I first heard it – probably in the Tap and Tumbler, around the corner from Rock City where anyone going to Friday Rock Night would head before a night of head-banging.
But whereas back then, my favorite song was ‘Alive’ … the lyrics of Black pulled me in over the years.
“I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life
I know you’ll be a star in somebody else’s sky
But why, why, why can’t it be
Oh, can’t it be mine?”
Maybe it’s because I became more of a sentimental, romantic fool … but I find them so beautiful. And as I said, I’ve never really been a lyrics guy … hell, I can’t even remember lyrics to songs I wrote back in the Bangkok Shakes/Virgin Records days. But those … oh I fell in love with them, probably the first time I saw Pearl Jam live [1992] and heard the crowd sing them, like in the video above.
For someone who is not religious, when I hear a crowd sing, it becomes very spiritual for me. A transcendence into something I can’t quite explain. A feeling of deep connection with those around me with a deep belief we’re creating something special together. It’s why I also love pentecostal music … except, like most music for me, it has little to do with the words, and more the vibe and emotion.
But ‘Black’ is different …
Probably because it reflects a specific time in my life where I was balancing joy and pain in equal measure. Coming into a time of my life of freedom and exploration but also deeply aware of a darkness that was seemingly trying to engulf all that was important in my life. With that in mind, I can’t think of a more perfect band to create the soundtrack to your life like Pearl Jam.
And while watching that clip does take me back to those times, it is superseded by a general feeling of joy. Watching the crowd not just witness something special, but being an active participant in the moment. Acting like their own instrument. A crowd infected by audience members scattered all around who show and lead the way for them to form an impromptu orchestra of vocal harmony and cacophony. It’s fucking beautiful … amplified by the fact there’s few camera phones. Not experiencing the moment through a screen. But a total connection and presence.
Hey, I’m as guilty as the next person for videoing and photographing gigs … it’s a way to capture a significant moment you can enjoy for years. But I do wonder if it is ever quite as significant as you would get just being there, lost in nothing but the sounds and emotions you’re all creating and feeling together.
It’s why I find it interesting more and more artists are saying their concerts are ‘smartphone free zones’. Not because – like in the 80’s – they had sold the photographic rights to concert images to a 3rd party, but because when an audience looks at them through the screen, they feel there’s a barrier between them and the energy they get back from the crowd.
As I’ve written before – both here and here – it’s a two-way street.
And while some may say, “it’s not my job to make the band feel good because I’ve paid them money to make me feel good” they’re missing the point.
Because while it’s true money ensures you receive a certain level of passion, consideration, commitment and effort from the artist in their performance … the more you contribute to the experience, the more you all get out of it.
It’s why the best creative work isn’t made for clients who dictate and judge, but those who appreciate they play an important and integral role in creating the conditions for it to go – and get to – magical places.
In the creative journey, there is no room for passengers.
And yet, too many carry energy vampires and toxic stowaways.
The sooner clients get this, procurement departments get this, marketing practice ‘guru’s’ get this, media agencies get this and ad agencies get this … the sooner we will all be able to create moments that deeply connect to rather than just shout and bore.
It’s down to us.
It won’t happen by itself.
So what happens next is down to all of us.
One by one. Job by job. Meeting by meeting.
It won’t be easy, but my god … it will be worth it.