Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Advertising, Agency Culture, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Brand, China, Colenso, Comment, Confidence, Creativity, Culture, Effectiveness, Emotion, Empathy, End of Year, Fulfillment, Goodbye England, Imagination, Jill, London, Management, Marketing, Martin Weigel, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Otis, Paul, Paula, Resonance, Respect, Rick Rubin, RulesOfRubin, Shelly
So this is it, year 15 of this blog is officially over.
YEAR 15!!!
Christ, this might be the most I’ve ever been committed to anything. What a shame this blog is basically worth nothing, hahahaha.
But we’re here.
A year that the World hoped would represent huge, positive change after the hell of 2020 … but ended up being more of the same.
For us, of course, this was a year with a huge difference – namely we now live in New Zealand.
Moving countries can be a pain in the arse at the best of times, but doing it in a pandemic adds a whole lot of stress that no one needs. However, despite that … despite saying goodbye [or should I say, au revoir] to the beautiful house we had just bought … despite not being able to physically see my beloved Paul and Shelly before we went … despite the hassle, broken furniture and time to get settled in … it’s been amazing.
There’s many reasons to that.
From the 2 week quarantine we had to do, which let us – and Rosie, the cat – get acclimatised to the obscene time difference to the kindness and generosity of the people here. To the fact we had bought our beautiful home – and cars – before we arrived, which made things so much easier. To the covid vaccinations we received. To the community we have found ourselves in. To the outdoor life – excluding the insane rain and 4 month lockdown – we have been able to enjoy.
So much.
But it would be wrong for me to not mention the role Colenso and, specifically my team, have had in it.
Everyone of these talented souls has been wonderful.
Not just to me, but Jill and Otis as well.
Plus there’s the fact my team have [generally] put up with my ‘ways’ … and we all know how painful that can be. I’ve always been incredibly fortunate with the teams I’ve been a part of and this lot are no different.
Sure, they’re mouthy bastards with no end of opinions, ideas and considerations but that’s – as you probably could guess – is exactly why I love them.
We’ve only been together 7 months but I’ve seen enough to be excited about what damage we can do in 2022 – reinforced by the fact we finished this year being named Agency Of The Year by the Effies organisation for a whole host of work that solved problems in interesting ways.
So to Lizzie, Henry, Teresa, Emma, Gi, Augustine, Amy and Liam … thank you for everything.
You’ve given me laughs, headaches, pride, lessons and things to ponder … and I couldn’t be more grateful for all of it.
[And extra best wishes to Lizzie who gets married during the holidays. Made extra perfect because she had to postpone it due to Covid and this way she gets to make the holiday season even more wonderful for all her family]
But while NZ has been the major change in my year, there have been some other notable moments.
In some respects, it was a year of music.
From my Rick Rubin project to getting fired by the Red Hot Chili Peppers to the best passive aggressive endorsement ever seen in the history of mankind.
Given I’ll be working for The Black Keys, Muse and – weirdly – Journey in 2022, I can only hope the musical rollercoaster will keep me on my toes as much.
Talking of celebrity …
I met Noel Edmunds at a business ‘do’ in Auckland – which surprised him as much as it did me – and I got to hug Jacinda Ardern, albeit committing social faux pas when I interrupted her during a dinner she was having to say hello.
That I’m still allowed in the country is testimony to New Zealand’s humanity.
Then there was the Tokyo Olympics …
An event a year late from its original plan … met with global apathy, especially in their home country … only to win us all over and turn us back into fans.
Seeing young kids win medals in skateboarding will stay with me for a very long time.
In fact, having skateboarding in the Olympics may have just done more to get kids wanting to do sport again than any number of NIKE ad campaigns.
That’s how good it was.
Best ad of the year goes to the amazing MacMillan cancer ad.
I must have watched it a couple of hundred times now – hell, I’ve even built a presentation around it that I give clients – and I still cry when I see it.
Not because of sadness – though there’s plenty in it – but because of the human emotion it triggers.
As I wrote at the time, it has this incredible ability to take me back to the times I lost my parents but make me feel closer to them. Extraordinary.
I could go on …
I could talk about certain posts I wrote in the year, like Toxic Positivity, but let’s face it … you can’t be bothered to read it and I can’t be bothered to write about it.
So I want to say some thanks …
To everyone who reads, writes and insults me on this blog … I am eternally grateful – and surprised – you come here. Many of you have been coming here for almost as long as I’ve been writing it and I have to say I find comfort in knowing that whatever I’m facing in life, I can come here and all of it just fades away. So for that, thank you … I really appreciate it.
I also want to say thank you to everyone who has reached out to check on how we’re doing. You didn’t have to, but you did and that means a ton.
Extra special thanks go to Paul, Shelly, Martin, Paula, Amelia, Martin B, Meg, Rach, Mike, Sam, Mr Ji, Peter and Cliff … who all made me feel like you were just around the corner, even though you were thousands of miles away.
And finally, a special thanks to Jill, Otis and Rosie.
None of this would be possible without you and I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.
You make me a happier, better person than I believed was possible … and while you may rightfully think I can be a total pain-in-the-ass, I can just tell you I’d be even worsr without you.
So thank you.
For everything,
I can never fully tell you how much I love you and am grateful for you.
The way you handle all this change is extraordinary …
Nothing sums this up more than something Otis chose to do recently.
As you all know, Otis has beautiful, gorgeous, stunning long hair …
Well a few weeks ago, he suddenly announced he wanted to cut it off so it could be donated to kids with cancer.
We asked if he was sure as it was a big thing and he said, “he wants to and is determined to”.
Then he added he will continue to do this until he’s 18.
Grow his hair.
Donate his hair.
Grow his hair.
Donate his hair.
So that evening, his Mum got scissors and a hair razor out and starting cutting 35 CENTIMETERS OF HAIR.
THIRTY FIVE!
Throughout the cutting he kept saying how excited he was.
How it was changing his life.
How much ‘lighter’ his head felt.
And afterwards, the little champ looked like this …
A new sort of rock n’ roll.
I thought it was impossible to love him anymore. I was wrong.
To have the capacity to be so compassionate and considerate at 7 years of age is incredible.
Even more so when he has had so much change in his life.
Four countries in 6 years.
New homes, new schools, new friends.
Almost 18 months of lockdown.
And yet he still has it in him to think of others.
Definitely his Mum’s son.
But proudly mine too.
Hell, he even offered me a chance to remember what it was like to have hair …
… though it could also have been to take the piss out of me.
So to Otis … Jill … Rosie … everyone I know and people I don’t but somehow have still come into my life this year, I wish you a wonderful festive season.
I really, really hope 2022 is much better for everyone than the previous 2 years.
I hope we have a year where everyone can have hope for the future.
I don’t know if it’s possible with the machismo bullshit of politicians, but let’s hope so.
Thank you again for everything, have a great time … just not better than me. Please.
See you on January 31st.
Filed under: America, Attitude & Aptitude, Australia, Childhood, China, Comment, Culture, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Environment, Family, Home, Jill, Love, My Fatherhood, New Zealand, Otis, Parents, Respect, School
3 different nationalities.
4 different countries [In 4 different continents]
5 different homes.
4 different schools.
Two major long lockdowns.
All of this in just 6 – but soon to be 7 – short years.
And yet despite all that change … all that waving goodbye and learning to say new hellos … he remains a happy, curious, cheeky and compassionate kid.
And while he loved his life in China, America and the UK … he is blossoming in NZ.
Sure, some of that is because he has been able to get back into some sort of routine, meet new friends and play with other kids his own age – at least until Delta struck and he got locked down with his parents for weeks on end – but it’s more than that …
Outdoor life is a way of life here.
Being outside is no longer a conscious choice.
The line between indoors and outdoors is now very slim.
No need to change clothes. No need to wear shoes. Spontaneity is allowed to flow which – let’s be honest – is exactly how a kid should be able to live their life.
I’ve lived in similar environments before … in Australia and America for example … but whether it’s because I’m older or now live in a bloody treehouse or have a kid of my own, I appreciate it so much more.
Watching him be able to run around outside is a real privilege.
Of course, for people born here, that’s a normality … but I have lived in environments where that’s not the case, which is why even seeing him watch his iPad in the sun is something I don’t take for granted.
We cannot discount the importance of being able to play outside, but sadly many governments and councils seem to.
Viewing it as ‘a favour’ rather than a fundamental right.
Playing outside helps kids in so many ways.
Bond … learn … imagine … express … play … explore … compete … respect.
It’s not a ‘waste of time’, it creates a deeper foundation for life.
An ability to think outside of lines and others definitions.
Giving kids an environments where they can be outside is basically an investment in a countries future.
A nation of curious, interested, healthy people.
But not everyone gets this.
Some actively try to stop this.
Often people of immense privilege who either associate outdoor life as something for either the elite or the rough.
Fortunately NZ does not see it this way.
They revel and celebrate it.
They have the best parks I’ve ever seen in my life.
Parks made to enjoy and encourage kids to push their boundaries.
A new discovery of what you’re capable of with every visit.
And while for most kids it’s about developing, for Otis it’s also about grounding.
A place he can feel is his.
A connection to where he lives in a way he’s not had before.
Because while he is young, I do not underestimate what he has been through.
Fuck, there’s people I have worked with who have literally freaked out when asked to move office desks … and yet here’s my kid, who has moved countries, homes and friends and still embraces the possibilities of every situation.
So much of that is down to his brilliant Mum who has helped that change happen in the most comfortable, seamless way … but it still requires a mindset to look at what you’ll gain rather than just what you lose.
And while I know one day I’ll no doubt be dragging him off for another adventure somewhere else on the planet [but don’t worry, it won’t be for ages. Probably] I want you to know that I love you from tip to toe and let you know I’m so, so proud to be your dad.
Thank you Otis, you’re a little legend.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Fatherhood, Fear, Immaturity, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
Every Saturday, the Guardian Newspaper runs a feature where they interview 2 people who have been out on a blind date over dinner.
And every week, they ask the same questions to both parties.
Sometimes they find love …
Sometimes they find a friend …
Sometimes they find their worst nightmare …
… but it’s always an enjoyable read.
Now while you may think my favourite stories are when the couple hate each other – and some truly do, with a total inability to hide their distain behind their one word, printed answers – that’s not actually my favourite.
As soppy as it sounds, it’s quite marvellous when people find someone they want to see again. Maybe it’s because it’s so rare, or maybe it’s because I’ve found my inner-romantic in my old age, but it’s really lovely.
The thing that makes it even more warming is how they answer the questions.
It’s not simply that they say, “I really like him/her”, it’s the way their answers have a real warmth and respect for the other person. It’s not simply about what they feel, they describe how the other person made them feel. It’s delightful and a very different experience to people who didn’t like their date.
Some get very personal.
Expressing themselves in a way that shows they genuinely think they were aesthetically, intellectually or morally superior. Which, of course, has the result that you find them actually the uglier person inside and out.
Anyway, a few weeks ago, I read about these 2:
Sadly Johnny – 24 and an artist – and Gen – 23 and a post-grad student – didn’t hit it off. But I couldn’t stop looking at their picture.
Or more specifically Johnny’s.
Not because I’m a weirdo, but I kept thinking how he looked like an older version of this one:
Yes … the hair is a big part of it, but there’s other things.
The gentle face.
The compassionate energy.
The wry smile.
I know it’s ridiculous, but it felt like I was seeing my son in 18 years time.
You see, when you’re 51 … your father died at 60 … and your son is 6 … you start to think about death a hell of a lot more.
I don’t like it. I don’t like how it sometimes makes me feel. I don’t like how stupid it can make me … but the reality is there is a chance I won’t make it to see Otis at Johnny’s age and that terrifies me.
I mean, I hope I do.
I hope I live a lot longer than that.
But then my Dad wished he could have seen me get married and become a Dad and he never got that chance … so seeing Johnny felt like a bit of a gift. A chance to glimpse the future, which I appreciate sounds utterly stupid. Because it is.
But it gets worse.
I found myself reading Johnny’s answers over and over again – wanting to make sure he was a nice guy because for a moment, I’d convinced myself that meant Otis would be to. [Good news. They both are, hahaha]
Then I found myself wondering what sort of artist he is and how he got there.
Is he happy?
Is he fulfilled?
Will he achieve what he hopes?
Obviously all of this had triggered my fears and insecurities … projecting the life of a complete stranger who looks a bit like my son on to my son.
Fortunately Otis – who was sat next to me at the time – was living in his own world playing Roblox on his iPad, not giving a fuck that his Dad was having a bit of a meltdown, hahahaha.
So to Johnny, I want to apologise.
I’m sorry an old bloke got kind of obsessed with you for a minute.
I’m sorry I temporarily stole your life to give it to my son.
I’m sorry Gen and you didn’t click. [though you may be happy about that too]
And to Otis …
Well my wonderful boy, know I love you.
Know I wish I could be here forever … to be near you.
To see you grow and blossom. To watch you discover a life of adventure and fulfilment. To witness the choices you make and the life you create.
I hope I see you at 24 and beyond.
And I hope you know my interest in Johnny was not because I want you to live his life, but because I just want to see you live yours.
For decades.
Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Corona Virus, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, London, Love, Otis
I found this photo recently.
It’s a few years old, when we lived in London … but there’s something about it that just warms my heart.
Not just because it features my son – though that helps – but because it in a period of pandemic chaos, it shows how love can make everything OK.
Covid had just taken hold.
We were all confined to home.
No one was offering any clarity.
People were dying at unprecedented numbers.
And Otis desperately needed his hair washing.
However …
… he was also playing a video game he absolutely didn’t want to stop playing so – because his world had been turned completely upside down – his wonderful, kind, considerate Mum found a way for him to keep playing while she could do some hair washing.
Obviously it is an utterly ridiculous way to do things, but it’s my ridiculous.
A moment of twisted normality at a time where nothing felt normal whatsoever.
And while I appreciate this is an utterly indulgent photograph, I love the way he seems oblivious to his surroundings. His little legs stretched out to the tip of his toes. And a kitchen that has been rapidly turned into a school, a playroom and a hairdressers all at the same time.
While we were painfully aware of the privileged position we were in – from having an income to having a teeny garden to escape in – the fear of COVID was starting to take a hold which is why, as I look at that photo today, I realise how much my ridiculously beautifully family let me feel we were strong together at a point where everything was feeling like it was falling apart.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, England, Family, Happiness, Home, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents, Paul, Respect, Shelly
Hello there.
I hope you all had a wonderful festive season.
I hope 2022 rewards us with all the opportunities and possibilities that the past 2 years took away.
I hope we can see our friends.
See our families.
Be healthy.
Be happy.
Live with hope and optimism.
Now I said this blog wasn’t going to be back until Jan 31st … and it isn’t.
And frankly, after the December I had – which included the death of a dear friend, an unexpected hospital visit for me and an emergency operation for Otis [who is fully recovered, thank god] – I need all the time I can get to recuperate.
However on Sunday, it is 23 years since my Dad died.
In just 6 years time, he will be gone as long as he was in my life.
And in 9 years time, I will be the age he was when he died.
They will be two very significant moments in my life and – if I’m being honest – I’m nervous of one and scared of the other.
Nervous because it just seems impossible he will have been out of my life more than he was in it.
Of course he is still in my life, but you know what I mean.
Scared because the reality of death comes ever nearer.
Now I know no one knows when someone is going to die – but the idea that it could be when I’m 60 – like he was – is an irrational thought that just sits there. Coming out when I least expect it.
And when it’s quiet, another ridiculous idea enters my mind.
Because Mum died at 83 and Dad died at 60 … I can also convince myself I’ll die between those 2 ages.
So 72.
Now I get 72 is quite a way a way, but it feels a fuckload closer when you’re 51 and your son is only 7.
But all this could be the melancholy of this being Dad’s anniversary, because the reality is I’m happier in my life than I’ve been for a long time.
Not that I was unhappy, but there were moments … but right now, I am in a truly good place and my parents would be so happy to know that.
Which is why I want this post to be about something that would make Dad smile.
A few weeks ago, Jill and I were talking about books that made us laugh to the point of pain.
While we both had a few, her major one was Catch 22 and mine was the first Adrian Mole book – The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 ¾.
Adrian Mole’s ‘diary’ came out in 1982 but I got it in the summer of 1983 … which means I read it at the same age as Adrian was.
I loved it. It was hilarious, poignant, tragic and uplifting.
It covered so many issues so many kids were going through.
Family. Friendship, Girls. Sex. Arguments. Parent and Grandparent arguments.
It was, in some ways, the diary of every kids aged 13.
I loved it and still love it when I revisit it every 5 years or so.
But the reason I’m telling you this is because of when my Dad read it.
I think Mum had told him how much I enjoyed it so he decided to check it out.
Anyway, one morning I came downstairs and Mum asked me to ask Dad about what happened in the night.
She said it with a smile, so I knew it wasn’t bad.
I went in the lounge and he was there in his favourite rocking chair.
“Mum told me to ask you what happened last night”
As soon as I said it, he looked at me. His face lit up, a big smile came on his face that allowed his gorgeous dimples to come into the spotlight.
“Oh Robert …” he said, “I was reading your book last night and the bit about the Christmas turkey not being defrosted made me howl with laughter.”
“It was 2am and I had to come downstairs to try and calm down”.
“The bit where they’re trying to thaw the turkey under the hot tap in the bath …” to which he he burst out laughing again with tears in his eyes.
Of course, seeing my Dad like this made me laugh too and then I heard Mum laughing from the kitchen at the state of both of us.
While I never really understood why that bit tickled him so much, I have an idea.
Whether it was the time Mum invited a really miserable elderly couple to our Christmas dinner but only announced it a few days before Christmas and we already had a house full booked … to Dad’s terrible first ever experience with a microwave that literally carbonised sausages … to drunk family members causing scenes … to buying a turkey so big it didn’t even fit in our over … to a not-very-funny-but-very-funny episode with a glass of water when his Mum came to visit.
Who knows. Maybe it was some of that, maybe it was none of it.
But regardless of the reason, I will always remember how that paragraph revealed the child in my Dad and that is why I will always love that book.
It might also explain why I love the Plenty Christmas ad from a couple of years ago. Because watching it again, it’s basically that scene made as a commercial.
I miss my Dad.
I miss him so much.
I would give anything to be able to talk to him and discuss what I’ve done in the last 23 years.
Introduce him to his daughter in law and grandson.
Tell him that Paul and I are still inseparable and mischievous.
Show him all the places I’ve visited and lived and then tell him about all the things I’ve done and still want to do and try.
Watch him try to take it all in and then hear all his questions.
But as I can’t, I’ll honour him by sharing the paragraph that made him roar [which is at the very bottom of this post] and say this:
Dad. I love you.
I think about you all the time.
I am almost overwhelmed with the things I want to say and share.
I hope you’d like [most] of the decisions I’ve made. I know a few would raise eyebrows, but hopefully not too many.
All I’ve ever wanted to do is make you and Mum proud.
I hope I’m doing that overall.
A kiss to you and Mum.
And a lifetime of my love.
To the rest of you, give your loved ones a hug and see you on the 31st.
_________________________________________________________________
The Secret Life Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 ¾ by Sue Townsend
Friday December 25th (1981)
I went up to the bathroom and found my mother crying and running the turkey under the hot tap.
She said, “The bloody thing won’t thaw out, Adrian. What am I going to do?”
I said, “Just bung it in the oven.” So she did.
‘We went down to eat Christmas dinner four hours late. By then my father was too drunk to eat anything.’