Filed under: Childhood, Comment, Dad, Family, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, New Zealand, Otis, Parents
So today would have been my beloved Mum’s 90th birthday.
NINETY!!!
My god, it seems impossible.
What’s bizarre is that while Mum died at age 83, I never considered her old.
She looked very well.
She was active and sharp.
She retained a huge interest in what society was interested in.
But of course, underneath her heart was failing – more specifically one of her valves was.
And yet despite that, I still find the idea of her turning 90 shocking, even though it’s just 7 years on from when I last saw her.
Of course a lot can happen in 7 years.
7 years ago we were living in China.
I was working at Wieden+Kennedy.
And we’d just become parents.
To think in-between then and now we’ve moved country 3 times, I’ve changed jobs 3 times, we’ve called 4 houses home and I’ve entered a world of creativity where I’m interacting with individuals/bands I never would have imagined in a billion years I’d be working with … I guess seven years has a lot of capacity for change.
But despite all that, I remember my time with my Mum clearly.
The good. The not so good. The happy. The devastating.
But underpinning all of that is just what a brilliant human and Mum she was.
From playing tennis with me on our small patio in the back garden through to encouraging me to still go on my life adventure when she so easily could have asked me to stay … my Mum’s selflessness was one of her defining characteristics.
As I wrote when she died, this generosity towards others continued after she passed.
I still remember finding a notebook where she had meticulously detailed all the account numbers, phone numbers and people I should contact now she was gone.
Which means in the lead-up to the operation we hoped would give her a better life, she was preparing for it maybe not to.
That breaks my heart.
The idea of her being alone in the house, writing these things out for me is almost too much to cope with.
That she could deal with her mortality with so much dignity, grace and love for me … that she would put her emotions to one side to make sure life would be easier for me, in my darkest moments … is a definition of love that is overwhelming in its generosity.
She even had found the time to cut out articles on people I knew from my childhood that she wanted me to know better.
Who would do that?
I’ll tell you who … my Mum.
My beautiful, kind, compassionate and loving Mum.
And today she would have been 90.
God I wish she was here to celebrate it.
We’d either all be in the UK or we would have brought her here.
She would love this house. The quiet … the nature … the peacefulness.
And as much as she loved our home, maybe she would have been in the right frame to make a leap. To come live with us.
I don’t know. Mum was fiercely independent so maybe she’d be against it, but I have a feeling there would have been a chance.
Towards the end, we had found a new rhythm to live by. We’d always had a wonderful relationship but over the years a few niggles had entered into our interactions. Nothing much. Likely less than most. But when you have never had it, you notice it more.
However the last few years were different. It’s as if we had finally recognised that the things that irritated one another weren’t being done to annoy one another … they were simply our ways of trying help each other, even if we didn’t understand it. And from that moment, a new peace and acceptance came. It felt good. Conversations that had previously triggered us, were now open and easy. It was lovely and it’s for that reason I think Mum may have said yes to coming to live with us.
Sure, the house we live in doesn’t have the garden of the house she helped us buy, but I think she’d like it just the same.
I hope so.
I know it is a long way from England, but she was up for going to the North Pole to see the Northern Lights when she was 80.
So I’ll be thinking of that today when I celebrate her milestone.
Her, living in the house with her son, her daughter-in-law, her grandson and cat-in law.
Ahem.
Because while I know she’s not on this earth, she remains with me and that is some comfort.
It’s why I have 90 yellow roses being delivered to work today.
So 90 people in the office can take one in her honour.
To give to a loved one to show how much they mean to them.
Something that lets my Mum’s spirit be alive in the World.
Because while I know she wouldn’t like the attention, she would forgive me for the sentiment.
So Happy 90th birthday to you, my dearest Mum.
I love and miss you so much.
Give Dad a big kiss from me.
And know I am so glad you were my Mum.
Rx
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, Love, Otis
I was going through some photos when I came across this …
It feels like a million years ago, but it’s less than 2 years ago.
It was taken around Christmas 2020 …
We were living in England and we’d recently bought that house.
We knew we weren’t going to be in it for long as I’d accepted the job at Colenso … but we wanted to enjoy it as much as we could while we were there.
And so we did.
But the snow added a new dimension to the experience.
It came down a lot over a few short days and so for the first time since I had left the UK 25 years earlier, I was in a place that had enough snow to mess about with. For Otis, it was the first time he could … the first time he properly experienced snow … and after he’d accepted it was bloody cold, it was a bloody challenge to get him back indoors.
Oh the fun.
Snowball fights.
Building snowmen.
Slipping and sliding.
It was amazing.
All topped off by us getting into our giant hot tub in the garden to get warm, while it snowed around us … which was a bizarre – yet awesome – feeling.
And while that house is pretty much isolated in the countryside, so the small roads were all ice rinks, something about that week made the whole thing even more special for us.
A chance to connect to that house. To build a memory with that house. To be a family home.
And yet, when I saw that photo it seemed like another life.
A world away from the one we live in now.
Yet it’s still our home.
We may well one day return to it.
And we still utterly love it and its garden.
Lots of people talk about their ‘forever home’. I get it …
But the reality is while a place you grow roots in, is very important … the thing we forget is we have to do the work. It doesn’t happen by itself. Those 4 walls require the interaction of the people in it to build something worth remembering it for.
And while that house only had us in it for 6 months [so far] that photo will forever remind me that sometimes, that’s all you need.
Filed under: Advertising, Amsterdam, China, Comment, London, Love, Martin Weigel, New Zealand, Paula, Planners, Planning, Relationships, Resonance, Wieden+Kennedy
For someone this old, working in adland this long … it’s amazing how few friends I have in the industry.
Oh I know tonnes of people – you can’t help it when you keep moving countries every couple of years – and I love soooooo many of them, but in terms of actual mates, it’s not a massive amount.
However despite this, there are two people who have that moniker.
They may wish they didn’t.
They may wish I wasn’t about to advertise that fact.
But the brilliant Paula Bloodworth and Martin Weigel are most definitely two of them.
Obviously they need no introduction.
They’re 2 of the best and most respected planners in the World and have a body of work entire global agency networks would kill to have. But the thing many people don’t realise is that underneath it all, they’re just amazing humans who are also insanely talented.
Obviously we all met at Wieden and worked together on various projects across the network. But it’s more than that. I met a lot of amazing people at Wieden but I just clicked on a different level with those two.
That doesn’t mean we always agreed with each other.
In fact, the opposite is probably a better reflection of how we were … but there was something between us that meant we not only trusted and respected each others judgement, we felt we ended up in better places for the debates.
And we did.
And we still do.
Because even though only Martin is still at Wieden, we still talk a lot.
In fact we have a video call every week.
London. Amsterdam. Auckland.
And all we do is chat, laugh, debate, disagree and wonder.
And occasionally bitch, hahaha.
But what they may not realise is how they make me feel.
You see I have no problem asking them for their point of view and they have no problem giving it to me.
Except it’s not some wannabe intellectual wank-fest [which is good, because I’d always lose] it’s thoughtful, compassionate and – dare I say it – loving advice.
In short, they look out for me.
They tell me when they think I am wrong.
They tell me when they think I am right.
But most of all, they tell me things to think about to encourage the outcome that I hope for.
When I was made redundant, they were the first people I spoke to.
When I am moving to another country, they’re the first people I chat to.
When I want someone to bounce stuff off, they’re the first people I reach out to.
In an industry obsessed with pathetic intellectual swordsmanship, these two wonderful, beautiful, talented bastards swap weapons for compassion.
They make me a better person and colleague – albeit to Colenso, clients and Metallica.
And they ask for nothing in return.
Which reinforces they’re brilliant people but maybe not as smart as everyone thinks they are.
They’ll probably hate me being so gushing in this post given they both like to hide their public emotions in a black hole … but it’s true.
I love them.
I love their partners.
I love their multitude of animals.
But most of all, I love they’re in my life.
How’s that for a Monday post then eh?!
So today is my beloved Paul’s birthday.
While I wish I was able to celebrate his special day with him, knowing we were together so recently helps minimise the disappointment that I can’t be today.
Especially as we got to experience two incredible events together in the space of a week.
Watching Forest win promotion to the Premiership and seeing Queen in concert at the O2.
It was like it was arranged by a higher power. It was amazing.
And as I wrote a few weeks ago, I needed it.
I don’t mean the experiences – though they were amazing – I mean spending time with him.
I’d not seen Paul for almost 2 years and that may be the longest we’ve ever gone apart.
That would be significant for me at any time – but with my parents gone, Paul is the person who has been in my life the longest and so not being near him takes on added significance.
He has always been my best friend, but now he’s even more than that.
Put simply, I love him.
Every single thing about him.
From his infectious immaturity to his evolution into Frothy Coffee Man.
And even though every bit of trouble I’ve ever got into my life can be traced back to him … he is so important and special to me and I hope he knows it.
One day we’ll live close to each other again, but till then – happy birthday Paul. I hope you have an absolutely immense day and are spoilt like buggery by Shelly … and I look forward to the time we can celebrate together again.
Love ya.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Comment, Jill, Love
I’ve written a lot in the past about how Valentine’s Day is more about fear than love.
I’ve written about how I purposely proposed to Jill before Valentine’s Day, rather than immediately before it.
I’ve also talked about how for the first 10+ years of our marriage, we never spent this day together.
But today I’m going to do something different.
Don’t get me wrong, I still hate Valentine’s Day – or at least, the way it tries to shame people into engagement – but it’s time to write something that honours the day.
You see right now, I love my wife more than I may ever have loved her.
That’s not some rose-tinted glasses bullshit, it’s true.
Now of course I’ve always loved my wife … but we’re at a place where things just feel even more special. Of course we’ve had our ups and downs – mainly caused by me – but we’re currently in a place where I feel we’re stronger, closer and more united than ever.
I won’t lie, it feels wonderful.
Not that things weren’t great before, but there is a different calmness that now sits between us. I can’t quite explain it, but it even more special.
I don’t know how this happened.
Maybe it’s due to our age.
Or maybe where we live.
Or how we live.
Or maybe it’s to do with Otis.
Or – most likely – it’s more to do with the choices and priorities I’m making.
But whatever the reason … the foundation feels like it’s even stronger than ever and after almost 20 years together, that’s an amazing thing to feel.
I always knew I was going to marry someone from ‘overseas’.
Maybe it was because my Mum was Italian or because my parents kept reiterating a life of adventure existed just beyond England’s shores … but it always felt inevitable I’d end up with someone not from England.
To think we went from meeting in Australia to living together in Singapore in 6 weeks seems even more incredible as I get older.
Of course that was all down to Jill.
That she was willing to take a leap of faith for a bloke she hardly knew.
A bloke who needed an emergency operation within 3 weeks of meeting so the first time she ever spoke to my Mum was to say, “hello, Rob is in hospital”.
A bloke who said, “we’ll only leave Australia for 2 years” and then proceeded to move her further and further away every 2 years … forcing her to start again while I walked into a ready-made world, thanks to work.
It’s easy to give platitudes early in a relationship … but to still feel lucky and grateful so long into a relation is – at least to me – a sign of something special.
And that’s what Jilly is.
A incredibly special human.
I love her. Always have. But even more today.
And while I could go on, I know she would rather I didn’t.
Mainly because – unlike her husband – she hates being the centre of attention. So instead I’ll leave you with one of the most beautiful stories of love I’ve ever read.
I’ve written about it before.
And I appreciate many would think it’s incredibly sad.
But nothing captures what true love is, like the last sentence. However, just like the real thing, you have to go through a lot to really understand it and earn it – which is why I ask you to read the whole piece, rather than just skip to end for the one-night stand version of it.
Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone.
I hope you have found or known love like Dan Aykroyd has.
And if not, there’s always time.