Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Apathy, Attitude & Aptitude, Bonnie, Childhood, Family, Food, Health, Holiday, Mental Health, Rosie, Walking
As many of you know, over the last year, I’ve got healthy.
Through exercise and a very regimented and controlled calorie/sugar/carb diet [except on Christmas and Birthday’s where I eat a whole loaf of Sourdough with salted butter and raspberry jam] I’ve lost over 46kg.
Or said another way, I’ve lost the equivalent of my 10 year old son.
Not only that, but maybe the first time in 40+ years, I am in the healthy BMI range.
Yes, I know the whole BMI system is currently being evaluated because frankly, it’s not fit for purpose, however this is still a huge thing for me.
But not the biggest thing. Oh no …
Because despite now eating well, dressing better and basically being in the best health of my adult life, the biggest difference in me is this:
Yep, that’s my walking chart for January. Or should I say, for most of January.
And full disclosure, of the days shown, 10 were during the festive break and another 10 days were when I was not allowed to drive due to my eye problem.
But, even then, I walked over HALF A MILLION STEPS in 28 days.
HALF A FUCKING MILLION.
That’s 19,000 a day!!!
And you know what, I loved every step of it.
I walk before work.
I walk on client calls.
I walk in the lunch break.
I walk when I get home after dinner.
I’m a fucking walking machine, and yet a little over a year or so ago, I’d have probably driven to the shower if I could.
Of all the things that have happened on my health journey, my love of walking has probably been the most surprising. But what it also has done is reveal how I used to manage stress.
Truth be told, I never thought I suffered with stress.
Sure, there were the odd times it was tough, but generally I thought it was all OK.
However when I decided to sort myself out, I would continually catch myself walking to the fridge. Not because I was hungry, but because I was looking for a distraction or a diversion from something related to work.
I’d deal with my ‘auto-pilot fridge visits’ by forcing myself to go for a walk instead … however over the weeks I realized how often I was out pounding the streets which revealed to me, arguably the first time, how much stress I was probably dealing with throughout my life.
I should point out that when I say ‘stress’, I don’t mean anything like so many people have to deal with.
For me, it was more mundane stuff … like how I was going to write a deck or how was I going to cram all my meetings in.
But here’s the strange thing …
Despite walking so much, I somehow am able to do so much more.
Not because I have more energy – I’m not really sure I do – but because I have more inner calm.
I call it ‘Zen Ferocity’ … which sounds far too new age bollocks, but in essence means by being calmer, I have been able to put more intensity into what matters rather than what distracts.
Of course this shouldn’t be a surprise as there’s so much evidence on how running helps the mind … but when you have gone from walking to the fridge to walking 19,000 steps a day, it’s still a gratefully received fist in the face.
But what this walking has also done is prepare me perfectly for welcoming this into the Campbell home:
Meet Bonnie.
Or to give her, her full name – courtesy of Otis – Bonnie Bourbon Biscuit. [But we’ll just be sticking with Bonnie, hahaha]
She was only 24 days old in that photo and we don’t get her until April … but we have a very excited household.
Even our beloved Rosie may have thought she was cute …
Maybe.
And while I know owning a dog is a very different proposition than owning a cat, I can be sure of one thing.
She’s not going to be wanting for walks.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Brands, British, Comment, Communication Strategy, Creative Development, Creativity, Distinction, Family, Fast Food, Innovation, Luxury, Marketing, Marketing Fail, Mum & Dad, My Childhood
When I think of the ads I saw when I was growing up, there are so many for categories I just don’t see – or don’t see much – any more.
Cream Cakes.
Carpet Stores.
Digital Watches.
Stranger Danger Campaigns.
Maybe they’re still happening and I don’t know it because I don’t watch much TV … but given I work in the industry and I don’t hear about them – let alone see them – it does feel they are campaigns of a bygone age.
But of all these category of ads, one that is burned into my mind is Smash.
Smash was a mashed potato brand.
It came in a packet and by adding boiling water and stiring vigourously, you’d get masses of creamy mash.
The original ‘fast food’.
This approach to food prep was space-age technology back in the day … which is why the ads featured alien robots who were so impressed with the technological advancement that Smash represented, they chose not to invade Earth because they felt they couldn’t compete with our innovation, despite the fact the humans they had been secretly watching were – to put it lightly – thick as shit, given their traditional choice for mashing spuds.
I know. I know … sounds bonkers doesn’t it, so have a look at this early ad to see what I mean:
OK, so it was bonkers.
But as you can tell, it was all most definitely tongue in cheek, however – as demonstrated by the fact I am writing about them decades later – the alien robots soon became iconic in British society.
Still are in fact. At least for people of a certain age.
But despite this – and despite being 54 years of age – I’ve never eaten Smash.
Not knowingly, at least.
Not because I don’t like it or don’t like the idea of it … but because my parents never allowed it in the house.
Just to be clear, it wasn’t because they were against such manufactured ‘convenience’ food – we used to eat Angel Delight for fucks sake – but because compared to boiling some spuds and mashing them, it was too expensive.
I say all this because recently I walked past a Prada store and saw this.
Now I am sure they didn’t intend to create the ‘luxury version’ of the Smash alien robots, but they’ve created the luxury version of the Smash alien robots!!!
And while this decision could open a lot of conversations about a lot of different subjects – from the changing definition of luxury, the influence of nostalgia, generational creativity and the overall decline in the quest for originality – the biggest thing it did for me was prove my parents were right in believing SMASH is an expensive indulgence for people who want to short-cut their way to satisfaction rather than earning it.
Or something like that. Probably without the judgement on the character, motivations and aspirations of those who would bung it on their evening meal plate.
Still would give my left arm to eat some.
Which is why Prada would probably be disappointed to learn that their ‘robots’ have made hungrier to eat SMASH mashed potato than to buy and wear their clothes. Or worse … anyone seen wearing a Prada coat can be called a ‘Jacket Potato’.
In terms of branding disasters, that has to be up there with these classic [bull]shitshows.
Filed under: 2024, 2025, A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Colenso, Colleagues, Contribution, Crap Marketing Ideas From History!, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Home, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Marketing, Martin Weigel, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Nottingham Forest, Otis, Parents, Paul, Paula, Relationships, Resonance, Sport, Strategy, Sunshine
So this is it, the last post of the year.
Can’t believe it.
Looking back on 2024, I have to admit that generally it’s been a really good year for me.
+ The family are happy and healthy.
+ I’m happy and unnervingly healthy.
+ Work has been good and rewarding.
+ My team have been [generally] bloody wonderful, haha.
+ I got to travel a bunch to work with talented people on awesome projects.
+ I experienced stuff I’ve never had the chance to do before, which at my age is epic.
+ I was part of some creativity that’s right up there with some of the best stuff I’ve ever done.
+ This blog – albeit by its ‘questionable standards’ – had some pretty decent posts. Kinda.
+ I got a bunch of new tattoos and a new car – albeit one that was crashed into within a week.
+ Forest stayed in the Premiership and – so far – are doing better than the last 2 seasons.
+ And last but by no means least, the Tories got kicked out of government in the UK.
So, with that list of achievements and experiences, I can say this year, by all accounts, has been a pretty epic year for me.
Now I completely appreciate my privilege in being able to say this when so many are having such a hard time, but I can’t deny it happened … and while I’m obviously grateful for it, I also know it is as much down to luck than any so-called ability I may or may not have.
That said – and in no way am I trying to suggest this ‘balances things out’ – there’s been a few things that have been very challenging for me and my family to deal with this year. Not just in terms of the shit the World is going through right now … but things much closer to home.
The loss of our dear Rosie after 17 amazing years, the break-up of my best friend’s marriage after almost 20 and the horrible, premature death of a dear client placed a huge toll on us/me emotionally and professionally.
And while we know ‘life goes on’, that doesn’t mean they don’t leave scars … scars that I/we are still experiencing and dealing with today.
Each of these tragic events had a very destabilizing effect on me/us … amplified by the fact that in the case of Rosie and Paul/Shelly especially, they were long-term ‘stability pillars’ for us and now they are irrevocably fractured.
I should explain what I mean by ‘stability pillars’ …
Put simply, they were entities we could rely on – or lean on – through good times and bad.
An emotional life-raft, as it were … and given we have chosen to live so far away from so many of the people and places we feel most connected to, it meant we probably had an over-reliance on their involvement in our life.
An over-reliance that we may have taken too much for granted. Thinking it will never change or go away. Naïve maybe.
Now don’t get me wrong, we have friends in NZ and enjoy living here, but it’s different … partly because we’re not from here, partly because we’re still relatively new here and partly because we know we won’t be here forever.
Of course, I get that’s ultimately our choice and decision, but the point is for all the positive things that have happened to us and for us this year – and there’s more than we could have hoped for or maybe even deserve, at least in my case – the impact of those 3 important relationships, have left an indelible mark on the year for us.
Which leads to why this holiday season is so important for me … for us … and most likely for the people involved and affected by the events that have happened.
I cannot tell you how much I’m looking forward to it. Not just because it’s a break, but because it’s a chance to unite, gather, refresh, restore and replenish.
I absolutely get others deserve – and most likely need – it more, but it still is very important and valuable to us too.
Fortunately, not only will we be getting it, but by living in NZ – which, as I wrote here, is the best place in the World to have it – it means we will have the space to truly embrace it and I’ve never been so grateful for it.
Talking of grateful …
This year was only possible because of the people around me.
From my family and friends, through to my colleagues and [some] of my clients, haha.
But it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge the people who read my rubbish on here.
And while I no longer allow comments, I know there’s still a bunch of people out there who do thanks to the data, the emails or the sarcastic texts. [Hello Andy!]
I’ve been writing this for almost 2 decades and in many ways, it has forged the glue of connection that has made our constant moving around the World a bit easier.
A way to never feel too alone. Too isolated. Too new.
That may sound dramatic, but it’s true.
Which is why I want to offer my thanks to each and every one of you for all you have done for me – even if it’s just occasionally read what I write.
I’m grateful for your interest and commentary and hope the holidays will be as good to you, as I hope 2025 is good for all of us.
Just with mine being a little bit better than yours … hey, I’m an only-child, so what do you expect? Haha.
In all honesty, I have some specific plans/hopes for next year. Plans/hopes that could give me a different perspective and experience in my – and my families – life. Whether that happens is anyone’s guess, but I’m quite excited to see if I can pull it off. See what we may discover and experience if it happens, both individually and as a family.
But before that can even happen, it’s time to rest …
So with that, I say ta-ra.
See you on the other side.
For year 19, starting Jan 13, 2025.
Happy holidays everyone. Wherever you are. Whatever you celebrate.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Cats, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Hope, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis, Paul, Respect
This week has been a week of pretty heavy posts.
But given the standard I normally write at, this has – if I may say so myself – been pretty good. And hopefully today will top that off, albeit in a pretty emotional and confronting way.
Let’s see …
When I was young, I remember thinking that I never wanted to be with my parents when they died. My belief was the pain of watching them go would be too much for me to deal with. That seeing their final moments would leave an indelible scar on me for the rest of my life.
Thank fuck I came to my senses …
Because while their deaths were – and continue to be – the worst days of my life, I’d have been haunted if I’d not been by their side.
It could have happened.
It could have happened easily given I was living in different countries when they passed.
Australia for Dad. China for Mum.
But for reasons I’ll be eternally grateful for, I was there. With them. Able to tell them how much I loved them, was grateful for them and would do my best to honour them.
Because even though I was drowning in a sea of overwhelming grief as I witnessed them take their final breaths, it was the moment I understood – with absolute certainty and clarity – why I had to be there.
For them. And for me.
A few years before Mum died, her sister-in-law passed away. It was unexpected and she died at home on her own. To be discovered the following day.
Mum was understandably very upset about this. Not just for the loss of a woman she liked very much, but that her final moments had been on her own. That she must have been so scared. So desperate to be surrounded with the people she loved.
One day, while visiting from Shanghai, Mum confessed how she feared this would happen to her. That she’d be alone. I’d never heard her say something like this before and it genuinely haunted me. Not just in that moment, but till the end.
My Mum was an amazing woman. She had endured a huge amount of hardship through her life and all I wanted to do was look after her. But she was also fiercely independent, so it was always hard to get her to accept anything from me. In her mind, I had to focus on my life – not hers – which is why revealing her fear was so heartbreaking.
You see, not only was she acknowledging her own mortality – which was devastating to hear, let alone for her to say – she was admitting there was something I could do for her, even though we both knew it was something that was almost impossible to ensure.
What made this even more emotionally charged is that we both knew that this admission had ‘slipped out’.
Mum spent her life trying to protect me from pain and inconvenience at all costs – from her gentle words to try and coax me out of my delusion that Dad would miraculously get better after his devastating strokes through to me finding notes she’d written prior to death to make sure it was easier for me to handle her affairs – so the pain of hearing her fear was no doubt matched by the pain she felt for causing me sorrow.
She was that sort of person. A wonderful, compassionate and considerate human. A woman who would genuinely give someone her last £1 than keep it herself. Which I admit, annoyed the fuck out of me sometimes. Ha.
And that’s why I’m so grateful I was with her when the worst happened. As I was with Dad. And if you look back to March/April 2015 on this blog, you will read the anguish and pain I went through. But among all the desperation and loss, you’ll also see clues why I was so happy to be there on one of the worst days of my life.
Because while the idea of not having to see your loved one’s die, makes some sort of sense – the reality is quite different.
In fact, I’d go even further.
As bone crushingly devastating saying goodbye to a loved one is, it’s not as agonising as you would feel for not being there.
You see at that point, it’s not about you – but them.
However you feel has to place second-fiddle to their needs and situation.
For them, knowing they’re not alone at their final moments gives them peace. A way to leave with love rather than just fear. It doesn’t matter if they’re conscious not, they know and I can say this with absolute certainty.
As I said at Dad’s funeral, when we arrived to be by his side after an urgent call from the hospital, we found his body in the throes of turning off all the lights. Imagine someone walking around their old house and checking that all the windows were closed, all the lights were off and all the doors were locked. Making sure everything was done before they left for good. That was Dad and his body had almost finished its final check bar one little candle flickering in the night. But the thing was, he wasn’t going to blow that out till we were there … till we could tell him he could go … that we loved him … that we were grateful for all he had done for us … that we knew he loved us.
And when we did that, we watched him metaphorically blow out that final light out without fuss. A dignified, quiet passing, leaving us distraught with the loss but happy we were together.
Which is why I am so glad I came to my senses about not wanting to be there when my parents died. Because if I did that, not only would I have left my parents to experience fear instead of comfort and loneliness instead of love, I would have spent a lifetime trying to come to terms with what I’d done. How in my selfishness, I’d left people I loved – and love – at their most desperate and alone, at a time where they arguably needed me most in their life.
Of course, for some, they don’t have the option to be there.
Sometimes it’s because of circumstance, sometimes because of situation. And to them, I hope they are able to find some sort of peace because I can’t imagine the pain and burden that must inflict on them.
Now I say all this for 2 reasons.
One. Because tomorrow is the 9th anniversary of my wonderful Mum dying.
Two. I recently read an article that brought all this back to me … but through a perspective I’d never considered – the final days of a pet.
As you know, I bloody love my cat Rosie.
She’s basically my first real pet … and while we originally got her to keep Jill happy, she has become a true member of the family.
I’ve turned down jobs because of her.
I’ve started companies to bring in her favourite food for her.
I’ve taken big freelance jobs to aid her movement to new countries for her.
She is very, very special to me.
She is also, very, very old … and while she is generally fit and well … for the last few years I’ve wondered if this is the year we have to say goodbye.
It will happen eventually. I mean she turns 17 this year. SEVENTEEN. And my worst thought is having to one day take her to the vet to put her down.
And despite the lessons I’ve learned from my parents passing, my initial thought was if we had to do that for Rosie, I’d not be able to be there. It would be too hard.
And then I read this.
[Whether a pet owner or not, please read it]
Of course it should have been obvious.
Of course it should never be even a consideration.
But while we treat pets like members of the family, at the worst moment – many of us disassociate ourselves to try and protect ourselves.
Forgetting that at that moment, it isn’t about us – but them.
Yes we will be devastated.
Yes it will be horrific and hard.
But how do we think it is for them?
To face your final moments and not see the person who has been there loving them and looking out for them must be terrifying and confusing. Alone in an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar people.
As the article states:
“You have been the centre of their world for THEIR ENTIRE LIVES!!!!”
“90 per cent of owners don’t actually want to be in the room when he injects them so the animal’s last moments are usually them frantically looking around for their owners”.
Frantically looking for their owners.
Take that in.
I don’t imagine its that different for people in their final moments.
They need us. They need us to feel they still have us. That their final moments are with love and not abandonment.
I know it’s hard. I know it’s horrific. But I also know it’s not about us – not really.
So I write this to say that should you be of the opinion you don’t want to be there … that the pain would be too much. Know I sympathise, but also know it won’t nearly be as painful or deep as the knowledge that you weren’t.
Give the people. pets and places you love a hug, call or kiss this weekend.
See you Monday. I hope, ha.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Brand, Comment, Communication Strategy, Creativity, Culture, Emotion, Family, Fashion, Fulfillment, Happiness, Health, Individuality
So as I wrote a couple of weeks ago, my health situation has had a profound affect on me.
Not just physically, but emotionally.
From actually liking myself a bit to suddenly being interested in clothes – simply because now I feel I have access to choice, whereas before I was left behind by it.
I know that might sound weird for a person who has seemingly only ever worn shorts/jeans, black t-shirts with weird logos on them and Birkenstocks … but while I love those items and still wear those items, I have to acknowledge some of this may have been influenced by their accessibility to me.
But now a whole new world has opened up.
Different shapes, different styles, different colours and different brands.
Admittedly, part of this has been helped by having a client who is the Godfather of Street Culture Fashion and who keeps sending me clothes from the brands he’s started/bought/owns … but maybe, for the first time in at least 3 decades, I not only can explore and experiment with fashion, I want to.
It’s stark, raving, bonkers.
And you know what else is crazy … they’re not too bad on me.
OK, I know I’m never going to be Mr Stylish, but I’m also not Mr Blobby anymore either.
It’s made everyone happier.
Me.
My family.
My friends.
My colleagues.
My clients … especially the fashion lot, who – maybe for the first time – are happy to be seen with me rather than just work with me.
But there’s one item of clothing that has now entered my life that really highlights the impact of this healthier lifestyle.
Again, part of it has been influenced by freebies – which in this case, the copious amount of NIKE’s I’ve been given over the years – but I’ve started buying socks.
FUCKING SOCKS!!! Who the hell am I?
But it gets worse, because they’re not the cheap, ultra-thin, black sock shit from the local supermarket that I’d have grabbed in the past [unless NIKE gave me some] … they’re socks like this:
Yep, designer-ish socks.
OK, so these are sweary socks – or KFC fan socks, depending where you look – but I have loads of different ones. In different colours. With different imagery and messages.
And I bought them.
With my own money.
And why did I do this?
Because – get this – I CAN COLOUR CODE THEM WITH WHAT I’M WEARING.
I find this both sickening and hilarious all at the same time. But I’m here for it, because it is a symbol that I am starting to care about myself in ways I never cared about myself. Not in some desperate need to look stylish – because we’ve already acknowledged I’ll never be that – but to remember than my health has given me choice.
Now I appreciate this sounds stupid.
And I appreciate most people have been this way for decades.
Plus – as a mate recently said – I acknowledge I’ve swapped one daft fashion addiction for another.
But for 53 years, I’ve never had a chance to explore this side of my character and so it’s all new, intriguing and fascinating. At least right now.
Of course it doesn’t mean I’ve ditched the birkies.
Or the jeans/shorts.
Or the black tees with weird logos on them.
It just means they’re more of a choice than a necessity and while there is a disgusting amount of superficiality behind what this has ignited within me, it’s quite an infectious feeling. Which is why I want to thank my family, friends, colleagues and clients for all their support and encouragement on this journey, because I couldn’t have done it without them. I should also thank them for not raising their eyebrows too much at some of the things I am turning up in each day, hahaha.
Hopefully you can tell from how much I’ve written about this subject in the last 4 months, that this has been an incredibly powerful and liberating experience for me. I may muck up in the future, but how I feel because of it is too strong for me to completely forget.
Which is why I can’t work out why health companies have not talked about this benefit in their advertising. Some may have mentioned it – albeit in very contrived and superficial ways – though most tend to either be utterly rational or all about body shape.
Now while I am sure those approaches connect to some audiences, from my perspective the most surprising and enjoyable benefit has been feeling I have been welcomed back into life. That I have choice. That I have a way to explore and express who I am and who I can be.
Or said another way, I get to play dress up, but for adults. And not in a weird way.
Well, not in the weird way some people could read that.
And while that may not sound exciting in words, for those experiencing it, it’s about as uplifting as you can get. Because you’re not just living life, you’re rediscovering it … but with all the experience and lessons from the years before. [But sadly, without the ability to exploit history to make loads of cash … damnit!]
As I’ve said before … should anyone be interested in knowing what I did and how I did it, just let me know. I’m no expert – and I still have a way to go – but I found a way to make it work for me and if it can help you, I will be happy to share.
No judgement. No expectations. And no recommendations on socks. Promise.