Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Family, Fatherhood, Happiness, Hong Kong, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
So it’s 5am on the day of the US election.
The results are far too tight than anyone would hope – which means the US population have far too little empathy for their fellow humans, given Trump is still in with a good chance.
I know. The lying, cheating, bullshitting, racist, hate-monger is still adored by around 50% of the US population. Nothing shows how sick that country is than that.
So because of this, I thought I’d write something that may momentarily take our minds off hate. One that is inspired by the post I wrote yesterday for Mum’s birthday.
It’s about death.
Yes, I know that sounds a terrible thing to do, but it won’t be.
Or I hope it’s not.
[I’ve turned the comments off so I’ll just have to assume it’s the case]
You see death is utterly horrible.
There’s a chance it might even be worse for the people left behind.
I’ve written how long it took me to get over Dad dying.
10 years. TEN YEARS.
And part of that is because I had been denying Dad was ill for almost the entire duration of his illness. Thinking one more stroke would bring him back to ‘normal’, just as quickly as that one stroke had robbed him of it.
It is what led me to talking about the need to talk about death.
I get it’s not a subject anyone wants to talk about, but as we’re all going to be going through it – it’s better to have a healthy relationship with it rather than a bad one.
By doing it, I was able to deal with Mum dying with far greater balance.
Of course I was devastated and ripped apart …
It was not meant to happen at that time.
But because the door to discussing death had happened when Dad passed, it meant we were in a slightly better place to deal with it.
The problem with ageing is that it happens more around you.
It will force itself into your life, whether you like it or not … so talking about it, as uncomfortable as it may seem, actually helps everyone.
But … and there’s always a but … it doesn’t mean you are able to just move on after the event.
It helps you deal with the event with more clarity, but the emotions never really go.
Even if years have passed.
And it’s normal.
In fact, it’s beautiful … because it means the people who mattered most to you still matter.
How wonderful is that.
There’s been a number of times this has happened to me.
And while in the moment it is an emotional tsunami, it’s something you find yourself treasuring.
Because for a moment, you’re back together.
And that’s when you realise that while you thought you had everything in control, the reality is you’re just trying to control everything around you – so when something comes from left field, your walls are unable to hold anything back and the raw emotions come out with a force that takes your breath away.
I’ve had these situations with both Mum and Dad.
With Dad, it tends to be people who have eyes similar to his.
He had the most beautiful blue, expressive eyes I’ve ever seen.
I remember when I was living in Singapore, I was waiting for the lift in the lobby of the building I worked in.
Suddenly this man I’d never seen before came around the corner and waited at the other end of the lifts.
He was older, dressed smartly but his eyes were identical.
I kept looking at him – trying to remind myself it wasn’t actually my Dad while feeling it was.
And then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone … never to be seen again.
I have a similar sensation when I see the actor Anthony Hopkins eyes … not just the colour, but the wrinkles around them.
Whenever he is on TV, I stare at him because it feels – even if for a moment – it’s like my Dad is starting back at me.
But the experience that got me the most was when I was living in LA.
I was at the local Thai restaurant in Manhattan Beach … waiting by the till to pick up my order.
Out of my eye, I saw an elderly woman sitting down waiting for her food as well.
It’s not that she really looked like my Mum, but there was something about her energy that felt like she was there.
Like the situation in Singapore, I found myself stealing glances while telling myself it’s not her.
And as much as I knew it wasn’t, it felt like it was and as much as I tried to stop looking, I craved that chance to be close to Mum again.
It was such a powerful sensation that I felt tears in my eyes. It was both a mix of the sadness she was gone and the happiness she felt like she was there.
This lovely lady noticed and asked if I was OK.
I apologised and said I didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable, but she reminded me so much of my Mum and I miss her.
And that’s when she said something I’ll remember forever.
“Would you like a hug?”
Oh my god, I did … but I also didn’t want to look like a total weirdo so I thanked her for her kind offer but said no.
As I said that, her food came and as she left, she told me it was so lovely to see someone love their Mum as much as I did.
And she walked out.
And I watched her.
And then I went outside and said …
“Excuse me, would it be possible to have that hug after all?”
She put her food down and opened her arms and I rested my head on her shoulder and she hugged me and I cried my eyes out.
Seriously, I think about it now and I’m amazed the restaurant owners didn’t call the Police.
We were like that for a minute, but it felt like hours and it was liberating for me … a release of all the situations I had try to control to ensure I didn’t lose control.
And like the man in Singapore, I never saw her again, but I’ll remember her – and him – forever. Because while they weren’t my parents, they let me feel – for a second – they were still here and that was the best feeling in the World.
Filed under: Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents
Today would have been Mum’s 88th birthday.
Oh how I wish she was here for it.
I’d have gone to pick her up to bring her to our house.
I’d have a chair set up just for her so she could look at the garden.
I can see and hear her now.
Her face lit up, gently shaking her head as she said, “Oh Robert, it’s so beautiful”
We would sit and chat and she would tell me how happy she is that we are now in the same country.
Around 3pm, Otis would come bouncing in the house.
He would see Mum and shout, “Nona!!!” and run into her outstretched arms.
She would envelop him into a big hug and kiss his cheeks and tell him how much she had missed him.
Then they would chat and I’d see Mum’s eyes shine bright while worrying she may be distracting him from things he wanted to do.
But he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with her. Nattering. Talking. Explaining what he had for lunch at school that day.
Eventually he would get on to Roblox and ask Mum if she would like to play it with him.
Mum would gently explain she doesn’t know how and then he would say she could watch him instead … if she liked.
And she would.
And I’d watch my Mum and my son have the sort of moment together I always dreamt about.
Eventually it would be time for presents and cake.
We would start with the gift Otis got her.
God knows what it would be … maybe a mug that he chose from Sainsbury’s or something and a home made card … and she would treat them as if she had been bathed in jewels.
Eventually it would be time for the cake.
She would tell Jill she shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. Jill would respond by telling her not to be so silly.
And we’d have a load of candles and she would ask Otis to help her blow them out.
Then, as we cut it up, she would ask for a small piece and then proceed to tell us how delicious it was and how wonderful a baker Jill is.
Then ask for a little more.
Because – well – it is her birthday.
And as the day turned to night, the lights in the garden would start to shine and Mum would treat it like it’s an encore performance – marvelling at it’s beauty while I told her that it was because she left me our family home, that we were able to do this.
To have a place that was so perfect for who we are and who we will become.
To tell her to stop worrying that she wasn’t going to leave me much.
Because the love I was given and the encouragement I received was more than I could ever hope for.
But for her and Dad to leave me our family home as well …
Well, that’s an abundance of generosity and love.
And I’d kiss Mum and thank her for everything and say I hoped she understood why I had to sell her house.
There would be a moments pause before she would break into a smile and say, “of course and I am so happy it has helped you have this beautiful home” and I would kiss her cheek and tell her how much I loved her and missed her and how I wished she would stay the night.
And she would look at me.
Right in the eyes.
Her bottom lip would slowly curl into her mouth and I would see her gently biting down on it in an attempt to try and control her emotions.
Her beautiful brown eyes would gently glisten and say everything without speaking a word.
And I would be doing the exact same back to her.
Because we both know she can’t.
That she has to go. To return to Dad.
To hold his hand and feel safe in her other place.
A place I wish I could visit to see the parents I miss so much.
Happy 88th birthday Mum.
I love you so much.
Rx
Filed under: Advertising, Agency Culture, Attitude & Aptitude, Australia, Authenticity, Brilliant Marketing Ideas In History, Cannes, Chaos, China, Context, Creative Development, Creativity, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Family, Fatherhood, Grand announcements, Happiness, Health, Home, Insight, Jill, London, Love, Loyalty, Management, Marketing, Metallica, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Nottingham, Otis, Parents, Paul, Planners, R/GA, Relevance, Resonance, Rosie, Shanghai, Shelly, Wieden+Kennedy
Before I start, I need to warn you this post is long.
It may be the longest post I’ve ever written, so there’s a TL;DR at the very end.
Anyway, this post is about my Mum. And my wife.
Two amazing people who provided the foundation that allowed their husbands to go all over the place.
I’ve written about how my Dad had a bunch of radically different careers.
Not degrees of change, whole fucking protractors worth.
And while my career has been more ‘stable’, in so much it has pretty much revolved around the same industry … the fact I’ve been able to live and work literally all around the World is as much down to my wife as it is to any opportunity I have been given.
Put simply, none of what Dad or I have done could happen if Mum or Jill hadn’t enabled it.
And enabled is the perfect word … because this is more than just ‘supporting’ someone’s quest for adventure.
They actively enabled it to happen by choosing a path that offered them – and the family – a greater level of stability and consistency so their partner could follow the path of curiosity.
What an amazing act of generosity and love.
It is something I have been aware of for a long time …
And while Jill has loved the adventure we have been on, it has come at some personal sacrifice.
She is far from her family.
She built her career as much around the environment she was in as the interest she had in a particular area.
And while she did brilliantly with all of it – especially with her cake design business in Shanghai – I am perfectly aware she could well have gone on to even more amazing things if we had just stayed in one place rather than moved all around the World.
She has never complained about this.
She has always embraced the journey and the countries we have lived in.
But the reality is I took her away from her family supposedly for a year, which turned into 16.
Or said another way, she has shown me a level of love and support that I find hard to fathom.
So now it’s time to pay things back a little. Kinda.
You see when I got made redundant, I was inundated with generosity.
Some of it was words of support.
Some of it was offers of projects.
Some of it was even offers of jobs – albeit all overseas in America, Europe, Asia and Australasia.
Frankly, it was overwhelming and wonderful.
And while all the gigs were amazing opportunities, our first reaction was to say no.
Part of it was because of the wonderful family home we had just bought. Part of it was our desire to set down real roots for the first time. And part of it was because two famous rock bands, a wonderfully eccentric Chinese billionaire, an amazing German home appliances brand and the World’s most notorious/desired video game company stupidly asked me to work with them on long-term creative projects, meaning I could continue to earn a good living in the country my family now considered home.
Hell, in the last 9 weeks I’ve done presentations to the boards of TikTok, Rockstar, a fashion superstar and a Silicon Valley VC while also helping some mates on 2 pitches … one in Australia, one in Italy … and we won both of them!!!
As weird as it is to say, unemployment – for me – has been amazing.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know what I’m saying is the definition of privileged-as-fuck.
I absolutely acknowledge I’m in an extremely fortunate position and, if I’m being honest, I’ve found that hard to reconcile with, given how many people – many my mates – are having a hard time right now. To help deal with that, I’ve been finding ways to bring some of them into the projects I’m on because not only do I want to share the good fortune I’m experiencing, they all make me – and the work I do – so much better.
But it also revealed something I had forgotten.
As much as I love the work I’m doing and who I’m doing it for, I love it more when I’m doing it with a team. If I’m being honest, I suck when I’m on my own and given the personal projects I’m doing will never demand 8 hours a day – let alone 5 days a week – there’s a lot of ‘on my own’ time, I have to deal with.
I know, that sounds like the dream doesn’t it?
And it is. But while I absolutely love spending so much time with my family and adore working with Rock Stars and eccentric billionaires, I also love – and probably need – to collaborate with other creative people on other creative things … which led us back to the ‘real’ jobs people were talking to me about.
Frankly they all offered something unique, interesting and valuable to my career, my family and our overall future.
And, importantly, they all involved working with interesting, passionate, creative people.
Plus – in theory – I could still deal with the crazy ideas and needs of rock stars and billionaires.
So Jill and I discussed them again.
Some were pretty easy to decide …
Not because the job or the companies were bad – they were all wonderful – but they were based in the US and frankly, given all that’s going on there right now, that’s not somewhere we wanted to go back to at this time.
But there was one opportunity that caught Jill’s attention.
Not just because of the job, but because of the place.
Jill knew I was already excited by it because the company involved was one I had revered and raved about for years. In fact I had almost joined them a few years ago, but Mum had just died so I was in the wrong frame of mind to make any big changes in my life.
So why did this place catch Jill’s attention?
Because, in simple terms, it was nearer to her Mum, who lives in Australia.
You see while she talks to her daily, it’s obviously not nearly the same as seeing her a bunch of times a year.
I totally understood this, not just because I had been in a similar situation with my parents … but because now we were so close to my beloved best mate Paul and his epic wife Shelly, I felt an even deeper connection with them, simply because we got to hang out a shit load more than we had for the past 25 years.
And so this got us talking.
As I said, I absolutely adored the company. And I loved Jill could be closer to her Mum. And we loved the idea Otis could spend his primary school years in an environment that is safe, natural, liberal, creative and culturally diverse. Plus I loved I could do something that would – in a super small way – repay Jill for all the love, consideration and sacrifice she had given to allow me to keep us moving forward … not to mention I loved that I would have a whole new list of people I could make Facebook friends.
[OK, not that last bit, more like a whole new list of people I could be an instagram terrorist to]
Are you wondering what the fuck I’m going on about?
Well this is my very convoluted way of saying Jill, Otis, Rosie and I are all moving to Auckland in New Zealand, and I‘m pathetically happy to announce I’ll be the head of strategy for one of the most wonderful agencies in the World – in fact, one of the Cannes agencies of the decade – the utterly brilliant, beautifully ridiculous, infectiously creative … Colenso.
I have loved this agency for so long.
They’ve consistently made work that I’ve not just been insanely jealous of, but I’ve not seen anywhere else.
From creating a radio station for dogs … to stopping speeding by letting kids design the speed dial in the family car … to making drinking a beer the most romantic thing you can do on Valentine’s Day – or an alternative fuel for cars – they’re imaginative, audacious and wonderfully bonkers.
While saying ‘no’ to them 5 years ago was the right decision because of my state of mind after Mum died, I always felt I’d missed out on an opportunity that could be very special for me, so to be offered a second chance is … well, put it this way, it’s something I’ll always be eternally grateful to their idiocy for making happen.
Frankly, when I got made redundant, I never imagined something like this could happen … but, as I said at the time, the last time this happened to me, it led to one of the most creatively rewarding times of my life and in my post, I wondered out loud if lightning could strike twice.
Amazingly, it seems it can … but that’s the best thing about life, because if you’re open to everything, anything can happen.
That said, being in England has been amazing, far more than I imagined or hoped.
I don’t mind admitting when we came back I had a sense of trepidation.
Part of it was because I never thought we’d live in England again, part of it was because I didn’t want it to signify ‘the end’ of the adventure [and yet so many people thought it did] and part of it was that I felt guilt coming home after Mum and Dad died … because if I was going to do that, what didn’t I do it when they were both still here.
But as we spent more and more time in England, those concerns were replaced by feelings of belonging and connection that I thought I’d lost the ability to feel or experience, regardless where we lived … so while the UK may a complete basket-case of a nation, it’s my basket-case and I can take that newly formed sense of connection with me wherever we go.
But what about our new home?
The one I’d written so much about when we got it?
The one we moved into SEVENTEEN DAYS AGO!
Well, the fact of the matter is we’re in it and we love it and we don’t want to lose it … so while we will taking a detour via a wonderful adventure in New Zealand, I can categorically say we will be back living in it at some point. Don’t know when – we never make plans about timing – but we just know we will one day.
You see the reality is the house was always more to us than just an asset.
We wanted somewhere where we could settle … a place where our roots could grow and become established and entwined. It’s why I took the decision to sell Mum’s home, not just because it helped us be able to afford it, but because it was the sort of place Mum would want for us.
A family home rather than a house my family lived in.
I look forward to continuing to enjoy that until we go.
I look forward to continuing to enjoy that when we eventually come back.
But when do we go?
Well, that’s an interesting question with COVID … but hopefully in the first part of 2021.
If you asked me if we would ever live in New Zealand in the first half of 2020, I would have laughed and said no … and then added., “not unless Colenso offer me a job again”. But here we are, about to do just that … and I have to admit we are all hugely excited about it.
Not just for the reasons I’ve mentioned, but because living in another country and culture is an amazing privilege and we’re excited that the journey we’ve been on for the last 25+ years, still has a few more chapters to be written.
[That said, our cat is not happy as this this will be her SIXTH country in 13 years]
I’m so grateful to Colenso for giving me – and my family – this opportunity.
I’m so grateful to Jill for thinking of me even when this is supposed to be more about her.
I’m so grateful to R/GA for giving me – and my family – this experience in England and, by making me redundant, opening the door to exciting and rewarding things I never imagined could happen.
I’m also so grateful to all the people who have been so kind with their generosity and support while I’ve been in England, especially when I was made redundant. There’s loads and I’ll write a post about them when we leave but quickly, a massive thanks to …
My old planning gang at R/GA. Nils, Lucy and the incredible team at Uncommon. Matt Tanter. The Brixton Finishing School. John Dodds. Joel Keene. Emma Clark. Jonathan Nwauzu. Phil Jacobson. Judd Caraway. Caroline Seifert. The delightful nightmares Mike and Sam. Claire Pickens. David Tiltman. Munraj Singh. Kay and the team at SMILE-ing Boys Project. Michael Roberts. Karrelle. Louise Jack. Nick Ellis. Paul C. Nick Hirst. Richard Greene. Jed Hallam. Ms Bloodworth [although technically she is now in PDX]. Trudie McNicholl. Omar at The London Business School. Larissa. Sam Clohesy. Hanan. Giles Edwards. Asher. Tom Roach. Tarik at On Road. Sara Tate. Stefano. My beloved Mr Weigel. Ally McKenzi. Vince Aidoo. Neil Perkin. Graeme Douglas. Nick Owen. Nic Owen. Sam Brookes. Dave Alberts. Ayo and Group Think.
There’s tons I’ve missed but as I said, I’ll write a proper thing about them closer to the time we go [even though I appreciate this is turning into a Ms World acceptance speech] but I would be wrong if I didn’t give a mention to my oldest, dearest friend – Paul – and his wonderful wife Shelly, who made – and are making – this chapter better than I dared imagine.
I can’t really put into words how wonderful it has been being close to them again. While it had been 25 years since we were in the same country, it never felt like it – though being so close definitely made things even better. [The photo above, taken in our new garden when they came to visit, is one I’ll always treasure]
The one really sad thing about going is not seeing them as much as we have been able to over the past 2 years … but I keep reminding myself we’ll be back and I know when that happens, it will be exactly like it has been – wonderful and silly – because that’s exactly what happened when we came back after a quarter of a bloody century.
I know this has been a super long post. Like, Gwyneth Paltrow Oscar-speech long.
And I know most of you won’t have read most of it.
Or you just skipped to the TL;DR at the bottom.
But that’s OK, because it’s not for you, it’s for me.
And for Otis. For when he’s older. So he can properly understand the reasons behind his childhood, family adventures.
However even I’m getting over it so with that I’ll leave you with this …
Once upon a time, Dan Wieden asked me if I would ever live in Portland.
My response resulted in him saying, “I should fire your ass” and repeating it every single time he saw me from there on in.
I never had anything against Portland.
It’s an absolutely lovely place, but for me – especially as I was living in Shanghai at the time – I felt it was too small, too quiet, too natural and just too nice.
Well, we’re going to find out who was right.
I’m pretty sure we’ll find Dan was. As usual.
TL;DR
Bought a house in England but moving to NZ.
Off to play at the wonderful Colenso and let my wife be closer to her Mum.
Filed under: America, Attitude & Aptitude, Australia, China, Chinese Culture, Comment, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Hong Kong, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, Otis, Parents, Paul, Relationships, Rosie, Sentimentality, Shanghai, Singapore
Today would be my Dad’s 82nd birthday.
That means he’s been gone 22 years.
In a few years, I will have lived longer without him in my life than in it.
Yes, I know that he is still in my life, but I just find that fact so hard to deal with.
I live in fear that one day, I will only think of him when a significant date occurs.
That he will become a figure of my past, rather than my present.
Of course I don’t believe that will really happen, but to be coming up to the point where I will have spent more of my life without him in it, is really tough to take.
What’s worse is he died just as my life was getting started.
The only thing he knew – mainly because he and Mum pushed me to continue with my plans, despite his stroke – was that I moved to Australia.
While both my parents missed me so much, they were adamant I had to go.
I had planned it for a long time.
They saw it as an opportunity and an adventure for me.
And they also – and rightfully – knew that if I didn’t go, I’d never go.
Of course there was nothing wrong with where I was.
I loved – and continue to love – Nottingham. But both my parents knew the possibilities for me outside of my home city were probably bigger than were in it, and they just wanted me to have a chance of exploring what it could – regardless what turned out.
That’s unconditional love.
A level of support and encouragement that – now I am a father – takes my breath away.
Oh the things I wish I could talk to my Dad about.
The adventures – good and stupid – I’d love to discuss with him.
I think he would be proud. He might raise his eyebrows at a few things, but I think he would be happy with the choices and decisions I’ve made.
He would love to meet Jill.
He would be delighted to meet Otis.
He would be thrilled to know my friendship with Paul is still rock solid.
He may even be happy to meet Rosie – the most well travelled cat in the universe – despite never really liking cats.
And when I was to tell him that journey to Australia led to me living in countless other countries – including Shanghai – he would be so happy.
He always found China fascinating.
Part of it was because back then, China was still an unknown quantity.
A huge place that was kind-of invisible to the World.
For me to have lived there … had for his grandson to be born there … would be a topic of conversation for years.
And I would love it.
Watching his eyes twinkle with curiosity.
Watching his brow wrinkle as he processed my responses.
Watching his smile as he held Otis and said, “Ni Hao” as if a local.
Oh Dad, I wish you were here.
What I’d give for one more conversation, one more hug.
What happened that night in Hong Kong is still etched in my heart … but I want more.
I’m greedy, but you were gone too soon.
For you, for Mum and for me.
Happy 82nd birthday Dad, I know none of us believed in God, but I do hope one day we can have that conversation.
Love you.
Give Mum a big kiss from me too.
Rx
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Family, Fatherhood, Fulfillment, Home, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Relationships
Nothing says privileged like an unemployed, 50 year old man moving to a new house in the country.
And I am that privileged prick, because today, we’re doing just that.
Given the terrible times people are going through, I appreciate how shit that sounds … and it is … but it’s also something my wife and I have been working towards for the last 15 years and why I sold the family home I grew up in, loved and inherited when Mum died so we could one day have this moment.
I don’t mean that just in terms of being able to afford the house – though that was a big part of it – but also because it meant my parents could feel they helped their only son create the family environment they always wished for me.
The reality is my Mum – my wonderful, beautiful, kind and compassionate Mum – told me the day before she died, that she wished she could leave more to me.
As I told her, she had given me the most amazing thing … a loving, supportive, encouraging family life and childhood.
When I was young, I didn’t know how special it was … but as I got older, I realised the upbringing I enjoyed with my parents was very different to many.
So to have that AND a house is like winning the jackpot.
I am not sure if Mum ever understood that, but I hope she did.
I hope she also understands that the wonderful family home I lived in for the first 25 years of my life and that she kindly and generously left to me, directly allowed my family to buy the home we’re moving into today.
So she gave me so, so, so much.
Plus the house has a stellar garden which would make Mum and Dad ecstatic … though I’m pretty sure they’d feel less happy about it when they see their son will have inadvertently killed everything within a month.
This is an important move for us.
Previously we knew we were only in places for a period of time, so while we settled there and enjoyed everywhere, there was something that stopped us truly connecting. Even if we bought the place we were living in, we knew we would be gone at some point so it was our temporary house … our temporary home … but this is different.
Not just because it’s in the countryside rather than the city, but because this is where we want our roots to grow. Where we want the walls to hold stories from our past and future. Where we want to be part of – and add to – the local community.
Now this doesn’t mean we will stay here forever, neither does it mean we will never move countries again … but what I can tell you is we buy this house with the view of it being our real family home.
Somewhere for the long term, not the short.
Somewhere we will always return, wherever we go.
Somewhere where Otis can blossom and connect.
And the fact we are moving into it on Jill and my 13th wedding anniversary just makes it feel even more special. At least to us.
Because of this, there will be no more blog posts till next Tuesday … we need to move, unpack and help Otis settle into his village school … another thing he’s never really had a chance to be a part of.
I have loved living in London.
I will always be a city person.
But I’m excited to experience what our first proper home, deep in the countryside, will do for my wonderful family, especially as the first thing my nature loving [and needing] Australian wife said as we got out the car to check the house out for the first time was …
“Listen, it’s so preciously quiet”.