Yes, that’s right, more days off.

That means I’ll of had a grand total of one month off over the past 2 months.

But it’s not all down to laziness …

Sure I had my American adventure, but the rest are pretty much all national/office holidays thanks to the Christmas and New Year period – and the upcoming week is due to the magnificence of Chinese New Year [Year of the Dragon if you were wondering] – so it’s not like I’m some spoilt little bastard living the dream life.

Besides, if anyone has actually been in China during New Year, you’ll know the amount of fireworks makes it literally feel like you’re in a war zone.

It’s not just a few organised bangs here and there, it’s literally a constant roar of untamed explosives morning, noon and night.

And not just part of the night … I mean the whole fucking night.

My cat took about 3 months to recover from it last year and it’s all going to happen again so whilst it means I get another 10 days holiday, it also means I won’t get any sleep so I’ll come back more cranky and tired than when I left.

Does that make it sound any better?

No, I didn’t think so … let’s face it, a holiday is a holiday regardless of noise, disruption and discomfort so I guess I’ll just have to take your abuse, safe in the knowledge that underpinning all of your insults in envy, pure and simple. Ha!

[By the way, Leon - one of my lovely colleagues - has set up a little blog that looks at brands that are trying to leverage/exploit Chinese New Year, from the good to the bad and the WTF were they thinking ... it's well worth checking out]

Back on the 30th, but be rest assured I’ll be thinking of you in the meantime … working*.

Ha.

In that time I’ve seen and heard some major incidents and arguments that culminated in some of the following:

Pissing in the bosses fax machine.
Chopping a boardroom table in half with a chainsaw.
A full on fist-fight in a client meeting.

And while those are pretty extreme reactions – driven by a whole range os issues and circumstances – there has been one thing that has continuously raised the ire of every person I’ve worked with.

Can you guess what it is?

Yes, that’s right … timesheets.

I have seen grown men and women literally cry over timesheets.

CRY!

For fucks sake.

Yes, I know they’re a pain and an annoyance, but it’s hardly the most tasking of jobs is it.

Seriously, how long do they take to do?

10 seconds? 20 seconds?

It’s certainly less than the time most of us take to check out Facebook during office hours. [Except in my case, it's classed as research]

I remember Andy once getting a “call” from the accounts department because it had come to their attention he had failed to fill in his timesheet for almost 2 years.

TWO YEARS.

I was quite proud of him when I heard that … that’s overachieving in underachieving to the extreme.

And when they told him he had to do them, he told them “if you’ve not needed it for 2 years, you don’t need them now”.

But they did and he did.

104 weeks worth … all under an ‘internal miscellaneous job’ code.

Evil genius bastard.

[N.B. He joined me in starting cynic shortly after this event, which I now know was no coincidence]

Of course the timesheet model of remuneration is inherently flawed and outdated – and many companies have found alternative ways to charge – however for many, it’s still the only method that is accepted for billing and while it’s annoying, the reaction it generates in people is far greater than it deserves.

There’s anger … real, undiluted, unfiltered anger.

You can make people work at the weekend, rob them of promotion, take away any overtime payment but order them to do their timesheet and it’s like all out war.

So here’s the question: Why?

Why do you think taking 2 minutes a day to fill a timesheet is met with such anger and distain.

It’s a serious question and one that I [think] I know the answer to, but I’d love to hear your thoughts and – if you can be arsed – your idea of what could be done to change it, without a complete revamp of the whole timesheet system.

Yes I know I asked you to give me your thoughts on yesterdays post and I’m only allowed to do this once a decade, but go on, tell me what you’d say – and recommend – if Sir Martin called you up and demanded you help him stamp out the anti timesheet uprising.

Think of it as an A[P]SOTW pre-cursor/training assignment.

Basically I want to know who your ultimate dinner party guests would be.

You’re allowed up to 4 – they can be alive or dead – but they have to have lived, they can’t be fictional characters like James Bond or Santa Claus or Jesus.

Hahaha … sorry, just my little joke there.

Now the painful bit.

On top of listing who your ideal guests would be, I’d love to know a brief reason why.

I don’t want you to write piles of stuff [you wouldn't anyway], but just something that would give me an idea of why they would get an invitation.

Is that OK?

Please be honest … don’t say who you think would make you sound good or interesting or funny … say who you really would love to share a dinner conversation with.

Thank you.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

PS: I know I am opening myself to all sorts of hell, but it’s OK, it’s not like you haven’t been training me for it for the last 6 years.

Yes I know I had a bitch about it last week and I’d rather be back living my pretend Rock God life … but I like it … and after 20 odd years, I think that’s a pretty good achievement.

Maybe it’s because it’s the only job I can think of that expects me to talk to the weird and wonderful out there.

Or maybe it’s simply because they let me wear my beloved Birkenstocks?

Who knows, but I like it.

But the thing I am especially happy about is that I work in a part of the World – and an agency – that still expects me to ‘do stuff’ regardless of the the fancy title I have.

Now for some, that news might sound like hell, but I like it.

No, I love it.

You see apart from the fact – as I said – I enjoy doing what I do, I still, possibly naively, believe my best work is ahead of me, not behind.

Then there’s the fact that I am continually looking to prove to myself that I’m any good at what I do.

I’ve written about my insecurities in the past but despite still being employed after 20 years and working at arguably, the best agency in the World, I still wonder if I am any good at what I do.

Sometimes I think I am … sometimes I think I’m not … but I’d rather have more good days than bad and to be honest, I’m not sure if that’s the case.

The beauty of my position is that I can evaluate my success beyond just the work I produce, I get to see it through the achievements of my talented team of planning bastards.

I’ve said it before, but as much as I don’t want any of them to ever leave, if they do – I want them to go to a much better job than they might otherwise of expected, because that lets me kid myself my guidance and encouragement has helped them achieve things that got them to that position.

Of course it hasn’t, but it lets me delude myself for a little longer.

But at the end of the day, I like doing planning.

Getting into projects rather than just conducting them.

I like the energy, the pressure, the tension and the results.

I like seeing what a team of talented people can do together … what is inside people’s heads … how they can make good things better.

The thought of just ‘managing’ doesn’t do it for me.

To be honest, one of the reasons we sold cynic was because that’s what a few of us found ourselves doing.

Don’t get me wrong, it was great – but we had evolved into a classic ‘management’ position, without even realising it – and that was counter to why we started the company in the first place.

13 birthdays, christmas days and new years.

That’s a long time.

A long time to not hear your voice, your opinions, your laughter.

A long time to not see your beautiful pale blue eyes looking up at me with love.

A long time to not watch you frown as I tell you another of my bird-brained ideas.

A long time of not looking at your big, wonderful dimples.

A long time to not see you by Mum’s side.

Holding hands.

Being close.

I wish we could talk.

Discuss what I’ve done and want to do.

Hear your words of advice, encouragement and opinion.

Know I’ve made you proud.

I wish you could meet Jill.

To say hello.

And tell her the same silly jokes you used to tell everyone.

Before questioning our sanity about having a cat.

Even though I know you’d secretly adore her.

I’d love for all that to happen.

While you are sat next to Mum.

Holding hands.

Being close.

But you’re not here.

Not in my physical world anyway.

But you are here.

In my thoughts, hopes, dreams, values and beliefs.

And you always will be … whether it’s 13 years or 33.

Because you are my Dad and I love you.

And miss you.

Everyday.