Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Agency Culture, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Comment, Communication Strategy, Creative Development, Creativity, Culture, Cunning, Differentiation, Emotion, Empathy, England, Entertainment, Experience, Football, Happiness, Honesty, Imagination, Innovation, Insight, Interviews, Love, Loyalty, Management, Marketing, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Paul, Planners Making A Complete Tit Of Themselves And Bless, Point Of View, Presenting, Sentimentality
So a while back I was invited to do a talk for Isolated – the TedTalkesque site that raises money for charity.
I could have revisited a presentation I’d written I the past, but I thought I would take the opportunity to write the presentation I’ve always wanted to write …about why Brian Clough was so amazing.
Now I could have written a thousand slides, but as Isolated in linked to creativity, I decided to make it slightly relevant to that subject by framing the presentation about ‘why the creative industry needs more of Clough’s attitude towards success’.
Whether I pulled it off is anyone’s guess and frankly – I don’t really care – because I got to write about Cloughy, but if you fancy checking out a long, rambley, over-sentimental and biased talk about Clough and Nottigham Forest, then head over to Isolated and hear me bore you half to death.
Now I appreciate the idea of hearing my voice could be too much for you to deal with, and if that’s the case, I have an alternative plan …
1 Donate money to Isolated … because it’s for a good cause.
2 Look at the deck below.
Now I admit you won’t get much out of it just seeing the deck without my accompanying narrative because it’s my usual random ‘picture’ rubbish … plus the gifs don’t work.
And where there is some writing, the lack of context means it may come across as some sort of z-grade psychobabble [even though it is all from interpreting Clough’s beliefs and philosophy over his near 20 years running Nottingham Forest] … however if you can put that all aside and want to look at some amazing pics of some amazing Forest players over the years, then it may be the best presentation you’ll ever see.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Hopefully.
Anyway, it’s Friday so just humour me and even if you don’t agree with what I say [which would be hard because there’s no chance you’ll be able to work out what I’m trying to say, because even I’m not entirely sure] know my goal wasn’t to get your agreement, but just to write a presentation about Nottingham Forest and the incredible Brian Clough.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Comment, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Home, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Otis, Paul, Resonance
So the time has come to close the door on the house I grew up in for one final time.
I’ve written the reasons for why this is happening in the past – as I have the reasons why the house was, and always will be, be so important to me – but it is the beginning of a new chapter for my family and my Mum and Dad would be so happy.
Anyway, we went to visit her one final time.
While the garden remained pretty much as my parents left it – thanks to us having a gardener visit every fortnight for the past 4 years [and we’ve taken a couple of things from there to plant in our new home so we will forever be connected] – going into the actual house was a very different feeling.
Part of it was because there was nothing in it.
No furniture.
No people.
No noise.
And so the overall effect was the house felt smaller … more fragile … and yet, as I walked through each room, there were so many emotions going through me.
As I watched my son run through the place holding his toys, I could see me – probably at his age – doing the same.
I saw where my Raleigh Grifter was waiting for me in 1989, on Christmas day.
I could see where my Dad – and then Mum – would sit in the lounge, on their rocking chair.
I could hear my Dad shouting ‘it’s ready’ from the kitchen our Saturday Beefburger was ready for scoffing down.
I could see my old clock radio when I was in the ‘small bedroom’ and my big stereo when I got ‘upgraded’ to the bigger room.
I could see the bed Mum and Dad slept in … where I would sit by them and chat throughout my time in the house.
Mum and Dad’s bedroom was especially poignant to me.
Regardless what happens in the future, it will always be ‘their room’ as they used for the entire time they were alive [and I was around].
Below is a photo of their empty bedroom that I took.
I’ve superimposed another photo of Otis that I took on the day after Mum died.
He’d just flown with his Mum overnight from Shanghai and he’s lying on the side Mum used to sleep on, looking at a painting of a mother and her child that hung above her bed.
He never got to meet her in person – he was supposed to a couple of weeks later when she recovered from her operation.
Alas it didn’t work out that way which is why this photo is so precious to me and why I feel, in a weird way, they did get to be together – hugging each other tight – if only for a second.
Another thing that got me, was when I went to the garage.
When we were having the house refurbished because we wanted to help a family live in a good area, we wrote a message on the wall about how much that house meant to us.
Well, when we checked at the weekend, we saw the tenants had left their own note and I have to say – it got to me because while my life is moving on, it was built in those 4 walls and I hope it does the same for anyone and everyone who lives there.
Thank you Mum.
Thank you Dad.
Thank you house … you will always be treasured.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Audio Visual, Before Fame, Childhood, Content, Context, Creativity, Culture, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Freddie, Happiness, Jill, Love, My Fatherhood, Otis, Paul
Happy 2019!
I hope you had a fantastic time with loved ones.
I also hope 2019 is a very special year for you all, for all the right reasons.
While I’ve been back at work for 3 days already – which were spent in bloody Miami – I have to say I had a wonderful time, even if I didn’t get as many gadgets as I hoped I would.
That said, I’m not making any plans for the year ahead.
I’ve seen too many best intentions get ruined before the end of the first week of a new year to fall into that trap.
But it’s fair to say I do have some hopes for 2019.
Some are professional, but most are mainly personal.
More than that, they’re personal because it involves people I love rather than for myself.
I know … I know … who the hell am I?
The reality is I’m doing OK.
That doesn’t mean I don’t still have a huge drive to go further, but right now, my hopes are for others for the year ahead.
Of course the main people I’m focused on is Jill and Otis.
In September Otis will start ‘proper school’ and we just hope he gets into one that follows the values his Mum and I believe in. We never realized finding a school for him would be so hard … but when you don’t want to go private, don’t want religious associations and don’t want the focus to be so academic his creativity is impacted, I guess it was never going to be easy.
So we have our fingers crossed and will deal with whatever happens.
Which is why I am also focused on Jill.
As much as Otis has impacted my life in so many wonderful ways, it’s Jill who will experience the biggest change once he goes to school.
It’s Jill who has stayed with him throughout his formative years.
It’s Jill who has spent the days with him every week, playing and educating and just generally looking after him.
Their bond is a beautiful thing to witness and I know she feels being a mother has been the most fulfilling thing she has done in her life.
So now what does she do when she leads him to the next stage of his life?
Of course there will still be loads they do together, but I want to give her the backing to find something that fulfills her, whatever that may be.
I know it won’t be the same as helping raise our bundle of energetic joy 24/7, but I am excited to see what she will do.
She is extremely talented, creative and compassionate – and while I know she doesn’t want to start her amazing cake company again – we have discussed some things that she is excited by and I’ll be backing her all the way for whatever she chooses.
I say this because I recently saw the photo at the top of this post.
It’s a photo of Queen drummer, Roger Taylor, looking at the Freddie Mercury statue he has at the bottom of his garden.
The statue that was on top of the London theatre when their musical, We Will Rock You, was performing.
I have to say, I found the photo very poignant.
Apart from the fact it’s wonderful he wanted to keep the statue of his old friend – I can’t imagine what it must be like to see it every day.
Does he look at it and think about all the amazing things they did together?
Does he look at it and mourn the loss of someone he loved like a brother?
Does he look at it and feel the sadness of memories he will never experience again?
Growing old has many benefits – including not giving a damn what others think of you – but it can also act as a bitter pill when the things around you … the things you brought into this world … start taking on a life of their own.
At these points you can either sit back and focus on the change or lean in and explore the possibilities.
For the past 30 years of my professional life, I’ve been fortunate to always embrace leaning in to the possibilities – possibilities that has seen me live around the World and meet an endless stream of wonderful, creative individuals.
While I have no intention of stopping that approach to living, I do want to make sure that in 2019, Jill gets the drivers seat because apart from her generosity in letting me do so much of the steering, the reality is she was the one who helped us navigate to where we currently are so I know by handing over the driving to her, she will go to somewhere wonderful and fulfilling and no one I know deserves it more.
She’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.
So happy 2019 to all … I’m excited to see where we all end up in the next 12 months, even if my blog posts will continue to bring the excitement of possibility down to a slow, painful crawl.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Agency Culture, America, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Comment, Creativity, Culture, Cynic, Dad, Daddyhood, Deutsch, Differentiation, Emotion, Empathy, End of Year, England, Family, Fatherhood, Friendship, Goodbye America, Goodbye China, Grand announcements, Happiness, Hello America, Holiday, Home, Innocence, Insight, Jill, LaLaLand, London, Love, Martin Weigel, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents, Paul, Planners, Planning, R/GA, Relationships, Rosie, Sentimentality, WeigelCampbell, Wieden+Kennedy
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So this is the final post of the year.
It’s been a big year for me and the family.
Then again, it was a big year for the family last year too.
However, whereas 2017 saw us leave Shanghai and Wieden+Kennedy – something that was truly emotional for all of us – 2018 has seen us go from sunny LA, working at Deutsch, living in a house by the beach and driving a custom made Audi to being citizens of cold and rainy London, living in a much smaller house in Fulham, working at R/GA [with some sprinkles of Metallica madness in-between] and traveling by tube to and from everywhere.
And we haven’t been this happy in ages.
Don’t get me wrong, there are things we definitely miss from our life in the US – people, the weather, Otis’ school, free soda refills and bacon mainly – but this move was right for us for a whole host of reasons, personal and professional, and we enter 2019 with the full expectation we’ll still be here when 2020 comes around.
I hope.
It’s funny, when I read the final post I wrote for last year, it is apparent that change was in our minds. We didn’t think that openly, but it seems it was there.
Of course, moving to a country and then leaving in just over a year is not the best thing.
It’s financial stupidity for one.
But these things happen and we are very happy for the amazing experience, though I must admit I’m even happier my wife, son and cat are still talking to me.
Fools.
But while our environment has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same.
Your ability to trash everything I write on here, for one.
And to you all, I say a huge thank you.
Sure, being told I’m a bad dressing, musically ignorant, gadget tosser every-single-day can get a bit tiring, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because amongst the insults, there’s often pearls of gold in there.
Stuff that makes me think about things a different way.
Stuff that influences how I think about things I never thought about.
Stuff that just keeps me on my toes and interested about stuff.
And I love it.
I love that people come here and share a bit of their time and opinion with me.
Yes, I appreciate moving to the UK and still posting at 6am is screwing up the flow of the comments given the East Coast of America is asleep and can’t insult/join-in until much later … but the fact so many people still write makes me feel very fortunate.
While I have loved the ability to move countries and cultures so many times – and hope to continue doing it, just not for a bit – the reality is that is makes your friendship network difficult.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m very fortunate we have technology to keep me in touch with the wonderful people I’ve met in every country we’ve lived [whether they like it or not] and this year I got to catch up with people I’ve not seen in years – from Freddie to Paula – but there is something about having a level of constancy that makes you feel settled.
Bizarrely, this blog has provided me with a bit of that.
Even with people I have still yet to meet.
[Though I met Marcus and Neil Perkin this year and that made me so happy]
While I would never suggest I am your friend, you have been to me – in many ways and at many times, both at moments of darkness and happiness – and I want to take this opportunity to say thank you.
To all of you.
Even you Andy.
When I started this blog way back in May 2006, I never expected anyone to read it, let alone comment so the fact some of you still are – regardless that many Police officers would call it abuse – I’m grateful.
I’m excited about next year.
It will be big.
Not because we’ll be moving … or I’ll changing job … but new things will be entering my life.
From my beloved Otis starting proper school – which literally is screwing with my head – to the much-talked-about-but-not-much-actually-done Weigel/Campbell officially doing its thing in addition to the exciting adventures and exploits my wonderfully beautiful family, my bloody amazing friends and fantastic new planning team will get up to that will make me feel even luckier than I do already.
Being back in England has had a much bigger effect on me than I ever imagined it would.
I am grateful for it.
I am grateful for all I have.
I hope this holiday season and 2019 is one that is wonderful for you all too.
See you in a few weeks. [Yeah, don’t think you get so lucky to not have me come back]
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Context, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Friendship, Fulfillment, Happiness, Home, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Otis, Parents, Paul, Relationships, Rosie
When I was growing up, our back garden was a disaster.
Overgrown.
Tall grass.
Brambles.
Bushes.
Beautiful mayhem.
As a kid, I thought it was amazing.
Me and Paul would run in there and it felt like we were in the jungle.
From playing hide and seek to pretending we were soldiers, it could all happen there.
Then around the age of 5, Mum and Dad had an extension put onto the house and because the loan they took out for it was a bit more than they needed to have it built, they spent the rest on the garden.
Oh how they loved it.
They spent hours there.
Creating it. Cultivating it. Nurturing it. Admiring it.
My god, the way my dad treated his ‘sweet peas’ was enough to make me think he loved them more than me sometimes.
And while I still could play softball tennis with Mum on the patio, I always felt I had had something robbed from me – despite the fact there was a massive park down the road and huge fields of nothingness around the house.
So from there on in, while I could appreciate a nice garden, I always saw them as something that pushed me away rather than welcomed me in.
Until now.
I readily admit I had nothing to do with the garden we have in the home we have just bought.
I readily admit part of its appeal is that it’s mature, so feels natural rather than contrived.
And I readily admit I am still as shit and unenthusiastic about gardening as I ever was.
But my god, I am shocked at how much I love it.
I can stare at it for hours.
Sit in it for days.
Doing nothing but looking at it’s beautiful vibrancy and shades.
Seeing Rosie the cat stretch out on the deck like she has just hit ‘peak cat life’.
Watching Otis play on the swing hanging from the tree then looking at Jill picking up all the apples that have fallen from Otis’ adventure. Turning them into pies that we scoff or give to the neighbours in an blatant attempt to mitigate the mayhem we’ve caused in the first few months of living here with huge moving trucks blocking the road and electrical blackouts that we absolutely, definitely did not cause.
The idea of all this is about as foreign to me as you could get.
I’m a city person.
I like noise and bustle not nature and quiet.
Yet … yet … this is something very special.
Something I feel a real privilege to experience, which I acknowledge is only possible because of the privileged position I am in.
And while all these feelings could all be because of my age or because this house is our family home – regardless of the incoming NZ adventure – the impact of a simple garden has been far more than I ever imagined.
Which makes me think it could also have something to do with making me feel closer to Mum and Dad.
You see while our little garden at home was nothing like this, it was incredibly special to them.
Sure it was beautiful. Sure it was the fruits of their hard work and care. But it seemed to be a place that let them feel everything was going to be OK, regardless of the challenges.
And over the years, our wonderful little family faced many – but that garden always gave them comfort and joy.
A little piece of heaven.
Blossoming into radiant beauty and colour even after the harshest of winters.
Reminding them that the darkest times will always welcome a new spring.
And while as a kid I didn’t really like how that garden had robbed me of my jungle, I grew to appreciate it.
I saw what it did for my parents.
I still remember how my Dad stared in wonder at it after his stroke.
He’d been in hospital for months and was finally allowed home.
And while he needed a lot of care from Mum, that garden was like medicine for him. Helping him forget the pain he was in. Helping him forget the turmoil he was going through.
No longer able to talk.
No longer able to walk properly.
But here, facing the fruits of his love and labour, all was forgotten.
He was safe.
He felt nourished.
He was connected to something his body was not able to let him enjoy anymore.
He and Mum could transport themselves to a time and place where everything was OK.
And while I hope I never face the tragedy my Father suffered – and acknowledge this garden is from the toil of others hands – I feel I get what nature was able to do for Mum and Dad.
Because it isn’t just what grows in the garden, but what it helps blossom within yourself.