The building above is called The Chateau.
But this wasn’t in rural France – oh no – it was in deepest West Bridgford, Nottingham.
It was also a Berni Inn.
For those not of a certain age, a Berni Inn was a restaurant where you could get a steak main with a strawberry and cream dessert for £4.99
Sounds cheap doesn’t it?
Well it was, but they still made it feel like it was posh.
Hence restaurant names like, ‘The Chateau’.
We didn’t go there much.
In fact we didn’t go out for dinner anywhere really – except for the odd birthday.
But that’s not the reason I am writing about it.
It’s because it’s also the last place I ever went out for lunch with Mum and Dad.
I was living in Australia, but had flown back for Mum’s birthday.
Dad had had a stroke, but even though he couldn’t talk well, he was still able to walk – albeit with a wobble and a stick.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about the lunch, but I do remember it was lovely.
A gentle time as a family.
All together.
Enjoying a moment that we probably all secretly knew may not happen again.
There’s some things that stick in my mind …
Getting a taxi to the restaurant as we no longer had a car.
The surreal moment where I had to go to the bathroom with Dad to make sure he was OK [he was], which brought home the severity of his illness to me.
Dad managing to utter the word “knickerbocker” to the waiter/waitress when he was asked if he wanted dessert and he absolutely loved it.
For anyone who saw us that day, they would have just viewed a family – like the countless other families around us – having a nice lunch.
But to us, it was so much more.
A moment of normality at a time our lives were in chaos.
A chance to enjoy the privilege of the mundane.
An opportunity to be a typical family once again.
It was the last time it was to happen for us.
I miss it.
I miss them.
I’m so glad I have a photo to remember the day by.
Oh Mum.
5 years.
It was the worst day of my life.
The hope. The love. The nervousness. The concern. The fear. The confusion. The horror. The prayers. The goodbye.
A lifetime of emotions run over the space of 12 hours.
I remember every minute. Literally.
And while I try not to think about it, I will. I will go back to that place so that I can feel close to the last time I was next to you.
Holding your hand.
Whispering words of love and hope.
Telling you how I would ensure Otis would know you and that I would always honour you when the tragic events of the day played its final act.
Oh how I still wish it ended on a positive.
Everything was set up for that … we had plans, big and exciting ones … but no, a rare condition put paid to that.
I still feel there was some weird circle of life stuff going on – from the conversations we had in our last 6 months together to the fact Otis was born 3 months before your operation [so I’m extra grateful that the doctor agreed to delay the operation to ensure both things didn’t happen at the same time] to the tragic reality that you died in the hospital where I was born.
And while that all fills me with sadness – even now – it also let’s me feel things were done to completion. Where the things we needed to say or show were done right. Where I could say goodbye to you in a way where I have no regrets.
Of course I am sad that we have not been able to share and talk about the adventures of the last 5 years. The moves. The madness. The wonderfulness of your beloved grandson … but given Dad’s situation changed so quickly, leaving us in paralysis and so many things frozen in time, it is a ray of light in an abyss of sadness.
That said, I miss you.
I miss you so much.
I would give anything to have one more chat … one more hug … one more kiss.
I always felt it, but now you’re gone I’m even more thankful you were my mum.
Honoured even.
Everything I am is because of something you – and dad – did for me.
The support and encouragement.
The lessons and the ideals.
The patience and forgiveness.
You were the one that taught me the importance of caring. You were the one who taught me to be open with my feelings and emotions. You were the one who created the foundation for me to build myself upon.
Believing in me in ways – and at times – that seemed madness.
Offering your gentle confidence.
A quiet shelter.
The time, space and attention for me to grow, explore and share.
Nourishing and nurturing me.
I cannot put into words all I am grateful to you for, other than to say my life is filled with memories either created with you, designed by you or encouraged by you and that is the greatest gift anyone could ever receive.
I miss you.
Give dad a kiss while you’re holding hands.
Rx
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.
____________________________________________________________________________
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, 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.