Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Daddyhood, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood
So the emotional rollercoaster of posts for this week continues.
Yesterday was a hate-fest.
Monday was a love-fest.
And today?
Well, today is a sentimental-fest.
And the reason for that is simple … I turn 54 today.
FIFTYFUCKINGFOUR.
By any evaluation, that’s fucking old – especially for someone working in adland – and yet it’s because of adland that I don’t feel my age, as the photo below demonstrates. Kinda.
OK, so there’s times where I most definitely do – a 1000 years old to be precise – but for the vast majority of the time, advertising keeps me young.
I love being surrounded by talented and creative people of all ages and backgrounds.
I love being around the noise and wildness of culture in all its forms.
I love being exposed to ideas untainted by logic or conformity.
I feel lucky to still be doing this and to still be excited by it …
Now of course part of that is because of the people I work for and work with. Or should I say, how the people I work for and accept who I am and the ‘ways’ I approach stuff. I definitely realise not everyone experiences this, but bar a couple of times in my career [and a couple of written warnings] I have. Hell, Metallica’s management even told me I’d proved it wasn’t just Rockstars who were immune to maturity.
I think they probably meant it as an insult, but I said “thank you” which confuses them to this day, hahaha.
But the reality is, as I sit here turning 54, I increasingly appreciate how lucky I am.
Obviously not just in work, but in pretty much every aspect of my life.
Now, contrary to popular belief, I have – and do – work hard for it, but I also accept the benefits I’ve enjoyed are beyond anything I imagined and likely more than I deserve.
But this is where age plays her ‘karma’ card.
You see the older you get, the more aware you are of the time you have left.
I’m not saying I’m going to die tomorrow – in fact, given I’ve lost 40kg in the last 10 months, I’m probably going to live a lot longer than I was this time last year – however I’ve certainly got less years ahead of me than I’ve lived so far, which means I’m forced to accept there will be limits on what I will be able to do-and-try-and-mess-with in the future.
And that’s where aging sucks … because when you’re someone like me – a curious, emotional, excitable, immature, ambitious-as-all-fuck, only child – you find taking no for an answer almost impossible to accept.
But it gets worse [and I’m not talking about the photo below]
You see on top all this, I’m in this wonderfully ridiculous situation where – despite being in my 50’s – I’ve entered an entirely new phase of my creative journey … one where I’m playing in a completely different world of creative possibilities … one filled with a completely different world of creative talent who all have invited me to play with a completely different world of creative expression in a countlessly different and new ways.
Not just on my own, but with them and for them.
I still pinch myself that this is happening because it’s insane.
Fucking insane. But I absolutely love it.
And what is even more insane, is I work for a company – Colenso – who give me the space to go off and do it over and over again.
Who the fuck does that?
Ignoring that the reason why they probably let me do that is because it gets me out of their hair – it means I get to work with a bunch of brilliant people at Colenso creating stuff very few agencies in the World could ever pull off before travelling to different parts of the world to work with a bunch of brilliant artists on projects that every agency in the world wishes they had a chance to work on … let alone pull off.
Does that sound smug?
Too fucking right it does, but do you blame me??? To have this situation at any age would mean you’re winning, but to have this at my age – where things keep getting more interesting and intriguing – is the sort of good news where you would want to smash that person right in the face.
But you don’t have to worry about that because life is doing it for you.
Because everything I’m doing right now, is opening doors to new things I also want to do.
It’s like I’m on a highway where there are endless side roads that all offer to take me to places where there are other new adventures and creative possibilities and frankly, I want to go down each and every one of them to see where they lead. But the reality is I can’t, because not only do I know each one would have their own side roads of opportunity for me to explore, I’M TOO FUCKING OLD TO BE ABLE TO EXPLORE ALL THE ROADS I’M CURRENTLY ON NOW.
Do you have any fucking idea how painful that is for me?
How frustrating that is for me?
It means I have to prioritize and sacrifice and I absolutely suck at that.
Recently I did a stage set design project for a famous musician. They had me work with a famous Broadway set designer and a famous video director.
It was one of the most thrilling, imaginative, informative, expressive and educational projects of my entire career … making me rethink how I saw creativity connecting and engaging people.
I absolutely, fundamentally loved it.
All of it … and want to explore more of it.
But can I? Not really, because I’m working on a bunch of other things I also find fascinating and I don’t want to miss out experiencing that by losing myself in something else.
Am I being greedy, selfish and a bit of a twat?
100%. This is the epitome of ‘first world problems’, but it’s my birthday today so I’ll whine if I want to and you’ll just have to accept it.
But while I know I’m being a spoilt little brat, it does cause me anxiety. I feel time is running out and I’ve finally been given the keys to the gadget shop. In fact the only thing that helps me get a grip is knowing how happy my parents would be knowing I’m in this position.
Not because they want me frustrated but because it means I’m living what they hoped for me:
A life of fulfilment rather than contentment.
I’ve written lot about this over the years but it basically translates to spending more of your time doing things that fill you up rather than empty you out.
To be honest, I didn’t really understand what it meant until I reached my mid 30’s, but now I realise what a gift they gave me in terms of living and evaluating the choices I had for my life. Because rather than defining success simply as salary, job title, possessions or even comfort … they wanted to make sure I knew it was about valuing and respecting the actions and activities that let you feel you’re growing and evolving.
Yes, I know that sounds flowery-as-fuck, but it’s what they believed and nothing proves this more than how my Dad answered this question from me when I asked him why he changed careers – not jobs – so much in his early years.
His response was:
“I love you and your Mum very much, so I better enjoy what I’m doing because nothing would be so disrespectful to you both than being away doing something I hate”
Can you imagine how amazing that made me feel?
How loved?
And while I know he and Mum weren’t able to always live this attitude – especially when the family were facing challenging times – they both fiercely advocated, protected and supported this way of living my life, even though they also wish I had gone into law rather than – at the time – music, followed by advertising, haha.
Which is why I know my parents would be so happy for how I am feeling at 54.
[Not to mention relieved I have somehow managed to have a career … or whatever it is I have]
And while luck has played a massive part in me being able to choose – and live – what my wife calls, ‘the bigger life’, I would be stupid to ignore the influence of my parents and the industry I work in, for helping let this happen.
In fact, in many ways, what my parents and adland [not to mention Jill and the countless bosses, clients and colleagues] have given me is the greatest gift you could ever receive. Even better than the Raleigh Grifter I got when I was 10 – where I fainted in excitement on seeing it – which previously I regarded as the single best present you could ever get.
So while I appreciate no one is going to be ecstatic that they’re turning 54, I can look back on where I’m at and say “I like where I am” and if there’s anything to feel good about being as ancient as I am today, it’s surely that.
The ultimate privilege in fact … one that I am both fully aware of and that I am very clear on how lucky I am to have it. Especially when there are many people – including friends – who can’t feel that way through absolutely no fucking fault of their own.
So with that in mind, I’ll end this post by saying happy birthday to me. It might all fall apart tomorrow, but if it does – I can say it lasted a hell of a lot longer than anyone expected or predicted. And that definitely includes me.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Jill, Love, Paul
So this week is a week of important birthdays for me.
Mine.
Jill’s.
Paul’s.
However the good news for you, is that only my birthday falls on a day I write a post … so you will only have to endure one over-written post rather than the 3. Or as the old saying goes, ‘it’s my birthday, but you get the present’.
God … what a tragic start to this post.
Anyway … while I will leave you to spend the rest of the day desperately trying to get your huge gift to me in NZ in time, I will leave you with a post about love.
Not mine.
Not about someone I know.
But the sort of love that I think embodies what love is supposed to be about.
It’s about actors Jason Watkins and Clara Francis.
You might not know them – or you may only know them from some of the roles they’ve had – but recently they were in The Guardian Newspaper talking about their relationship … their families … love, loss and the pain of broken hearts and enduring relationships.
Put simply, it was one of the most beautiful expressions of compassion, love and consideration I’ve ever read.
Ever. Read.
Not just towards each other, but also towards their family, Jason’s ex-wife and the daughter they lost through sepsis.
You are left in no doubt they are incredible people and an incredible family.
One bonded tightly together … appreciating who each other is, what each other brings [and needs] and how each person works.
It’s a beautiful, chaotic, engaged and alive type-of-love … one where you’re left in no doubt why it works and why they have been able to continue when the loss of a child often results in the breakdown of many relationships.
In essence it’s a celebration of humanity … and I include Jason’s ex-wife in this, because in their darkest hour, she rented a flat near them so she could support them. If that sounds strange, bizarrely, once you’ve read the article, it all seems to make perfect sense.
There’s so many parts I love.
How Jason describes Clara’s family.
How Clara would ‘accidentally-on-purpose’ bump into Jason at the supermarket.
The way they would always keep an ear out for how the other was doing, even when life had moved on.
But it’s the way Jason talks about Clara that really gets me. Especially the last part of his last paragraph where he says:
“Clara illuminates any room. Every year, her light becomes brighter.”
I’ve written before how Jill doesn’t like being the centre of attention – even as a blog post, hence there is no accompanying photo of her even though I would love to – but the way Jason talks about Clara is how I feel about Jill.
But it’s more than a light for me, it’s warmth.
A feeling of where I belong.
Where I am needed and wanted.
Where I need and want to be.
He says so much more than that and I loved and hated every word because it’s just so bloody perfect.
I often struggle to find the words to express what Jill means to me. What she has done for me. But he has done it.
And while it is about Clara, it is also perfect about Jill. Except I can’t say it to her because they’re his words, not mine.
So I hope one day she reads this.
She won’t be happy I’ve made this about her, but I hope she’ll see past that to feel the words.
Of course, I hope she also knows this through my actions, but it’s nice for my heart to feel able to properly speak.
We’ve been together 20 years now.
We’ve gone through a lot.
And while there has been times I’ve sadly let her down, she’s never done the same to me.
Through thick and thin, she’s been a rock.
A kind, compassionate, super-supportive, super-strength, super-human.
Whatever the future holds, it’s brighter for having her in it with me … which is surely the greatest gift anyone could ever have?
So to my darling Jill.
Thank you for everything you are.
I love your strength, your smarts, your bravery and your love.
I hope you have a beautiful birthday on the 15th and I’ll be doing everything I can to make it that way.
Big hugs and kisses to you my love and big thanks to Jason [and Clara] for the words my heart wanted to speak, but didn’t know how to say.
You can read the rest of them … and the story that affected me so much, here.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Bands, Bangkok Shakes, Childhood, Dad, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Otis
You know those time capsule things that were all the rage for a while?
Where people bury artefacts from their life with the sole intention that it is dug up 20+ years later for people to marvel at. Or be confused by.
I always liked the idea of it but never got around doing it … mainly because I imagine the outtake is massively underwhelming unless you’re directly attached to it.
Well, I’ve been proved right … but in a way I love and am amazed at.
As many of you know, I was in a band called Bangkok Shakes.
Thee were 2 iterations of the band – with different singers and bass players – with the 2nd version almost becoming something of some note.
Till it didn’t.
Anyway, while I had a huge amount of fun – touring and recording – the fact it all ended when I was 23 or 24 means I only think about it when I occasionally pick up a guitar and play a few of the songs we wrote.
Enter my mate Sam.
I love Sam.
He’s a brilliantly annoying person … and I say that with utter love.
He also buys more ridiculous shit than me, and that’s saying something.
And yet despite his natural tendency for mischief and mayhem, he’s a wonderful, kind and caring human. Or he is until he gets something in his head, and then no one is safe.
Oh the stories I could tell …
In fact, I bet the people at Virgin Broadband are still counting the cost of trying to mess with him because he’s like a crime-fighting cockroach who won’t give up. Or die.
But his behaviour is not always acts of commercial terrorism, as I was soon to discover.
You see one day, he woke up and – for reasons only he will know – I was in his head.
Or specifically, Bangkok Shakes was.
So he decided to go on one of his legendary explorations resulting in me receiving a Whatsapp from him that said, “this is you, isn’t it?” with a link attached.
Ignoring all safety protocol, I found myself on Youtube, staring at this.
This shocked me for 4 very specific reasons.
+ The song it relates to was one I wrote in 1991.
+ It’s a song I didn’t know was anywhere near the internet.
+ It was a very early demo of a song we did, not the final recording.
+ The handwriting on the tape IS MY HANDWRITING. MINE! WTF?!
But wait … there’s more.
You see, I was so shocked that I put a screenshot of the Youtube page on insta regailing the whole story.
Enter Gareth Kay.
Now I love Gareth too.
He’s very different to Sam [thank god, ha] but as wonderful.
Gareth is a music obsessive so imagine my surprise when a day later – after seeing my instagram – he sent me an email with another link in it.
And yes, I pressed it without any consideration of network safety.
Except rather than take me to Youtube, it took me another site altogether … a fan site … a fan site featuring not just the stuff Sam found, but the ENTIRE GROUP OF SONGS FROM THE SESSION WE DID IN 1993.
Not only that, it also showed the inner sleeve of the cassette the demos were in … where I’d carefully written out all the song names and info of the recording. Including the ‘then’ phone number of our drummer, Jason!
Now I was properly flabbergasted.
How?
Why?
Where?
Of course I downloaded the tracks and while they sounded a bit pants – made worse by the recording coming from a tape that was obviously old and a bit screwed up – it was an utterly joyful experience.
A chance to revisit my past.
To be taken back to another time.
Where life was only about excitement, hope and energy.
And while I know we made a better version of this demo – and made a shit load of better songs after it – it was something very special for me. A reconnection to something that was incredibly important to me. Something I hoped would be the foundation of my entire life.
But how did this tape end up on this blokes website?
Well, it gets weirder … because this bloke is based in Perth, Australia.
He loves 80/90s rock and trades tapes from that era to build up his collection … which means that a tape that I helped create and wrote out in Nottingham, THIRTY ONE YEARS AGO in Nottingham, England, somehow ended up in the possession of a person literally on the other side of the planet who decided he liked it so much, he added it to the internet.
And I couldn’t thank him enough.
Not just for the memory and the connection to my home and history bu because I remember everything about that recording …
After spending a month in hospital because my retina in my eye continually collapsed, this was the first thing I did ‘back in the real world’.
It was a Sunday and I remember our singer – Joe – bitching about having to carry my amps into the studio as I was not allowed to lift anything heavy for a few months to ensure there was no strain on my eye whatsoever.
It was a quick session, designed to try out a few songs and be used to play to a few promotors we knew – but never for wider public listening – so if someone told me then that 3 decades later, I’d be listening to it on the internet from New Zealand, I’d have said you’re mad. And not just because no one would know what the internet was back then.
It was pretty emotional to hear it … and to play it to my family … because it represents a time where pretty much everything from that era has either gone or been left behind.
+ My parents were alive when we recorded that.
+ Dad hadn’t even had his stroke at that point.
+ So Mum was still working.
+ I lived in my family home.
+ I had no idea I was going to leave Nottingham.
+ I was working, but we were being courted by record companies so I thought things were about to change.
+ My wife – who was in Australia, a place I’d never been to at that point – would have been 17.
So Otis was -21, hahaha.
It was a chapter of my life that was wonderful, but I thought fully closed.
And while that door has not been smashed open, listening to those songs on that wonky tape cracked it open a little.
Which is why I laughed when Sam then came back again with another link … this time taking me to a page of old gig dates, where on Saturday 17th of some month and year, we played at the then iconic Narrowboat [RIP], scene of some of the best nights of my life.
We often look back at life with rose-tinted glasses.
Reimagining our history to be something more than it was.
But on this occasion, it was better than I remembered.
Not because of the music or my overly fancy handwriting … but because it allowed relatively new friends to walk around my old life … to let them inadvertendly know a bit more about the person they’d only casually heard about in convesation … to give me the gift of shining sunlight upon a time of my life I’d almost forgotten … a time of my life that was deeply important and special to me … one I never thought I’d be able to expeience again, let alone be able to finally share with the family I love.
And it’s because of that I want to say a huge thank you to Sam and Gareth, they may never know what they have done for me.
Just like that guy in Perth who somehow got a tape I wrote out in my bedroom in the early 90’s in West Bridgford, Nottingham.
They say elephants never forget, but neither does the internet.
And while that might be scary for some, it’s made me realise that maybe the time capsule is an even better idea than the worldwide web.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, America, Clothes, Creativity, Culture, Curiosity, Jill, LaLaLand, Otis, Planners, Planning, Relevance, Research, Respect, School
I appreciate the title of that post may be misleading because – let’s face it – my posts are pants everyday, except this time I’m literally talking about pants.
These pants …
I saw them on Sunday morning while going on my daily walk.
They were near the library … and given I do this walk everyday and they weren’t there the day before, it would suggest they appeared in the last 24 hours.
And while I could say they symbolise someone having a great – or terrible – Saturday night/Sunday morning … the reality is I have no idea and without wanting to sound a perv, I’m kind-of fascinated to know more about them.
The story that led to them appearing there.
The choice of that particular pattern and design.
The feelings of having ‘lost them’.
It’s a bit like the painting I bought at Otis’ LA hippy kindergarten ‘fund raiser’ back in 2017.
The Al Pacino meets Chuck Noris thing with out-of-proportion arms.
The painting the organisers couldn’t believe someone would pay for because it’s awful.
I bloody love that painting.
I love that someone did it and I wish I knew who and why.
Given it’s 40 years old, I doubt I’ll ever know … but I’ve tried.
And while it is more a burglar deterrent than a gallery star, there’s something about it ‘everyday, anybodyness’ that is like a beacon to me.
Like those pants.
Because there’s a story there.
May be funny … may be lovely … may be tragedy.
And while I would not take them – let alone pay for them and then hang them up in my house, like my piece of ‘art’ – there’s a story there.
Which serves as a great reminder than for all the curiosity our discipline has, the fact we spend more time talking about systems and processes rather than the stories that literally surrounds us highlights the tool we should be embracing more than others.
Opening our eyes.
___________________________________________________________
I’m off to Australia tomorrow for work, so there’s no posts till Friday. But I’m quite excited about that post, so even though no one cares – let alone will read it – I can satisfy my ego by writing this and pretending there’ll be a clamour to read it on Friday morning. Even though there won’t be. Ignorance is bliss. Self-awareness is a killer.
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.