The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]


Now That’s A Big Cock …
March 14, 2016, 6:20 am
Filed under: Family, Friendship, Paul

As many of you know, my best friend in the whole, wide World is a guy by the name of Paul.

I’ve literally known him all my life and he is, for all intents and purposes, my brother.

I’ve written a lot about him on this blog.

I’ve talked about my childhood with him.

I’ve talked about how much he means to me.

I’ve talked about how he has been part of the best moments in my life.

I’ve talked about his propensity for stupidity. [Beyond just being my mate]

I’ve talked about how much I miss not being near him.

And yes, I’ve talked about the size of his penis.

Over the years I have faced a barrage of abuse and derision from those who comment on this blog about this.

Not – I should hasten to add – because you find it inappropriate, but because you think I have some sexual urging for him.

I don’t.

It is true that if I was gay, I’d happily marry him – but I’m not – so my love for him is purely in the friendship sense of the word, though I can’t say his feelings towards me are as innocent.

The point is, the only reason I mention it in posts is because he big ‘down there’ and when I write it, I’m simply stating a [jealous] fact … there is no other reason.

Anyway, to put this tittle-tattle finally to rest, I’d like to provide you with some empirical proof.

A few months ago, Facebook did a video for ‘Friends Day’.

On Paul’s, there was a photo of him kicking a guy out of a concert [he is a part-time security guy at festivals] and the Facebook video showed the comment I wrote at the time.

“Wanted your cock again? He’s only human I suppose”

I know … I know … I’m an immature, pathetic man, but there is a point to this.

You see by me writing this comment on Paul’s Facebook, it proves there is widespread acknowledgement that his ‘appendage’ is huge, but if you’re still in doubt, here is a photo of the comments Paul and I made after I watched his Facebook ‘friend’ video.

See … not only does Paul acknowledge it in words, he does it in emoji’s.

HE HAS A BIG COCK, THAT’S FACT … NOT MY FANTASY.

And with that m’lud, I rest my case while also accepting this might be the worst post in the history of all blog posts.

And it’s only Monday.

Now normally I would say ‘you’re doomed’, but you’re not.

NOT because you’ve grown immune to my rubbish.

NOT because you’re all big and strong.

But because I’m in Tokyo all week so I [probably] won’t be posting until Friday … which is handy, because that’s about as much time as you’ll need to get over today’s mental violation.

Sorry.



Positive Post …
March 11, 2016, 6:10 am
Filed under: Comment

It’s been an emotional week for me, so I want to end it with something nice.

No, this is not some attempt to lull you into a false sense of security then hit you with something deeply offensive … like I did to my friend a few years ago. At his office. While he was sat next to Sir Martin.

This is something good … something that warms the heart … even if the circumstances around it are incredibly sad.

And with that, I wish you a great weekend and hope you give someone you love a big hug.

It’s more important than shopping. Even for gadgets. [Allegedly]

PS: Andy, you get a hug because I know the clip might be hard for you. Hopefully uplifting too.



Planning Planning …

So recently the nice folks at Miami Ad School sent me an email saying that as it is the 10th anniversary of their Account Planning Bootcamp, they would like planners around the World to give their perspective on 2 questions:

1. How has strategic planning changed through the past 10 years.

2. What is coming next.

I’ve got to be honest, I don’t really like these sorts of questions – mainly because I feel they attempt, consciously or not, to make the planning discipline appear aloof and exclusive when the reality is, we’re only successful when we help others be successful.

That doesn’t mean planners aren’t creative … nor does it mean we are only good for writing bloody presentations … however we will rarely see the full potential of our ideas if we don’t bring others along on our journey and let them take it to places better than we imagined.

I’ve said it before, but I see too many planners who think their job is about being intellectually victorious as opposed to being emotionally resonant and creatively inspiring so the last thing I want to do is propagate the ‘rockstar’ bullshit that some still regard as asprational.

So I answered each question like this.

1. How has strategic planning changed through the past 10 years.

It’s gone from the shadows into the spotlight.

This is great news, but let’s be careful, because planning should never be the star, it should always be the stage for great things to happen upon. [I know, terrible analogy. Apologies]

2. What is coming next.

I wish I knew. I could make something up but the fact is, there is no pre-determined destination … where it goes is up to us, so let’s not fuck it up.

____________________________________________________________________________________

I don’t know what the other planners asked to answer these questions said – and I’ll be very interested to know – but for me, I am hoping to hell they’re not encouraging planners to believe they are the ‘brains of advertising’, because as my Dad said … if you say you’re intelligent, then you’re not really that smart.



A Day I Want To Forget But Will Always Want To Remember …
March 9, 2016, 6:20 am
Filed under: Comment, Death, Family, Mum, Mum & Dad

So today it is a year.

A year where, for me, time stopped.

A year from the day that started with high hopes but ended with despair and loneliness.

A year where I saw the best of humanity and the worst of emotions. Again.

Today I will relive those fateful final hours with my beloved Mum over and over.

I will remember the beautiful hours we shared talking about life and love … how I watched her smile as she looked at a video of my son … how she wanted a hair dryer so she could wash her hair before her operation.

I will remember it all in a bid to delay remembering the final hours.

Where I was looking for answers that weren’t forthcoming.

Where concern and fears slowly crept up on me.

Where I slowly realised things were not going as planned.

How I finally got to sit next to my Mum after her operation and despite her being totally sedated, I told her how much I loved her and willed her to get better.

Before things took their final turn.

And I was sent to wait in a room while they “checked things”.

Where I waited nervously with my wonderful friends Paul and Shelly who came to be my side … before I saw a DR and Nurse approach the room.

Who asked me to follow them and took me into a room opposite.

I knew what was coming …

As they spoke, I realised I was trying to hide behind my clenched fist. Ridiculous I know … but I was scared about the words they were going to say, even though I knew they were inevitable.

That moment it all became real and everything changed.

And yet, I still remembered to thank the Doctor and Nurse for everything they did.

The things that happened that night will stay with me forever.

At my lowest point, I still remembered the manners my Mum taught me … that she would want me to convey and express.

As I walked the short distance to see her, I didn’t know what to do.

Only 30 minutes had passed since I last saw her and yet now everything was different.

She looked serene, but I knew she wasn’t sleeping.

I felt frozen inside.

I wanted to reach out … to hug her … and yet I felt scared to do it.

I know that sounds crazy, but that’s how I felt.

So instead I kissed her on the forehead and gently stroked her cheek before sitting next to her and cried and cried and cried.

I wanted to try and be dignified – Mum hated being the centre of attention – so I held her hand and told her how wonderful she was … how grateful I was to have her as my Mum … how I will ensure Otis will always know who she was and how much she loved him … how I would do all I could to honour her and make her proud … how I was so glad we were together and that we had shared such a wonderful time in the morning.

And yet all through of this, I couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to run away from the reality while feeling petrified to leave.

The moment I said goodbye … the moment I realised it was time to leave … it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face.

I kept walking away only to come back. Afraid to leave. Afraid to give what had happened, validation.

From then on, everything has been a blur of emotion, confusion and challenge.

The things I needed to organise.

The jealousy I felt of seeing others with their Mums.

The decisions I didn’t want to make but had to.

The discovery Mum had been working in the background to try and make things easier for me should this terrible event actually happen.

In some ways, that is the ultimate demonstration of love … and yet I don’t like she did it because it meant she was thinking about that possibility and I never wanted her to be scared.

Since then, things have calmed down.

Things have been decided … acted upon … dealt with.

There’s still the odd moment of surprise, from receiving a credit card with her name on to – very recently – realising one of Mum’s friends doesn’t know what has happened and I’ve needed to write to notify them, but overall, thanks to doing things in the way I believe she would have liked, I feel I am slowly walking away from the shock and sadness of what happened a year ago today towards the love and memories of the previous 44 years together.

I still wish she was here.

I still wish that day, 12 months ago, had turned out differently.

I still wish she could have met Otis, her beloved grandson, ‘in the flesh’.

Everyday, when he does something wonderful [and it is every day] I wish I could ring her and tell her what he’s done … what he’s learnt.

To hear her voice … see her smile … just listen to her happiness.

But I can’t.

Instead, I think of her.

And feel lucky she was my Mum.

I miss you Mum.

I hope you’re with Dad, holding hands and laughing.

Rx

Comments Off on A Day I Want To Forget But Will Always Want To Remember …


When Make Up Makes It Up …

So recently I saw this poster …

Yes, I know this poster is appearing in China – a land that has an almost indecent fascination with Panda’s – but come on, what the fuck were they thinking?

In all honesty, when I first saw it, I thought it was about domestic violence.

And what the hell is with that ‘custom blending is now completed’ rubbish.

Blending?

BLENDING?

It’s about as subtle as a 14 year old kid with an erection while wearing lycra shorts.

Now I know I have all the fashion sense of a pig.

I know I’m about as current as a bowl of trifle.

But the people behind it need to know something.

It doesn’t matter care how artsy you’ve tried to make this poster look … if you go out with this make up on, you will get you laughed at, not fawned over – even in a country that thinks walking backwards and dressing like this is perfectly normal.

Look, I know you work in an industry that seems to revel in the ridiculous, but please stop with the pretentious bullshit … you’re not fooling anyone and you’re just embarrassing yourselves, not to mention the idiots who are so desperate for attention, they think this is cool.

God, I feel so much better now. Thank you.



When Designers Forget What They’re There To Do …
March 7, 2016, 6:15 am
Filed under: Comment

The picture accompanying this post is a page from a recent edition of Maxim magazine.

Sure I’m old and only have 12% vision in one eye, but fuck me, how small is that type?

I appreciate the aesthetic impact it has on the page, but it’s not much use when the author wants his article to be read rather than looked at.

Forgetting what we’re trying to achieve is one of the biggest mistakes in the communication world these days.

That doesn’t mean we can’t try new things … be innovative in our approach … push boundaries and standards … but when we forget the audience and the objective, then we become our own worst enemy.

Some may say this represents shortsightedness or an obstacle to creative expression.

I’d say they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about … either commercially or creatively.

And just for the record, I read Maxim for the articles not just the pictures. Honest.



The Pain Of Doing Something Beautiful …
March 4, 2016, 6:15 am
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Daddyhood, Family, Fatherhood

So The Guardian newspaper did a feature on parenting.

They spoke to all manner of parents …

Expecting … new … gay … single … old … empty nesters …

It was fascinating reading, but there was one family whose comments really hit hard.

This is their article …

While the whole article is gentle and caring, there were 2 things that really stood out.

The first is their acknowledgement that the importance of their relationship is fading as their children get older.

The second was that the magic of doing things together – as a family unit – cannot be recaptured.

Now of course, both of these are true because both of them are a byproduct of children growing older.

In some ways, it’s a beautiful compliment, because it means your children have the ability to forge their own life thanks to your love, support and guidance, but on the other hand, the parents must feel a great sense of loss at the same time.

Even though Otis is just over a year old, I can just imagine how hard it will when he gains his full independence.

When he doesn’t turn to us first for love, protection, advice and encouragement.

It also makes me think of my Mum … how she must have felt.

When I ‘left home’, I left for Australia and while I tried to keep in regular contact, this was before the internet so the calls were not as frequent as they ended up being later on.

On top of that, Mum had her beloved husband to look after he had a stroke … so after 25 years of being a close family unit, the construct of her precious relationships were turned upside down seemingly in the blink of an eye.

I hope she didn’t feel our relationships importance was fading.

I hope she knew how much I loved her.

How much I missed her.

I tried to ensure she did, through my actions and words … but seeing those comments by the family above, really hit home … which is why it’s a good reminder how bitter-sweet parenthood is. Sure, there’s countless wonderful and magical things you get to experience as a parent – things I didn’t even know existed until I became Otis’ Dad – but the fact is, there will be a point in our life together, as the family above state, where things will change and I will watch them feeling a mixture of pride and sadness.

I guess this is a great reminder how much our parents adore us … because to let go of the ones we love, even though we want to step in to protect them and care for them, just so they can move forward to forge their own life, is the ultimate declaration of love.

I fortunately recognised that before my parents passed away.

I hope I will be able to do that as compassionately and supportively for Otis.