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


Some Advertising Forms Memories That Never Leave You …

I remember when the ice cream above first came out.

It was 1982 and it was like nothing I’d ever seen before.

For a start it was sold as a lump of ice cream.

Oh no, Viennetta was a ‘dessert-cake’ … a blend of sophistication and excellence, crafted by experts for the most special of occasions.

I wanted to try it soooooo badly, but I remember having to wait an age before I could … but as it was light years from any other ice cream I’d ever had, when I finally got it in my gob, it absolutely lived up to the anticipation.

38 years later, and I know this ‘sophisticated dessert cake’ is only £1 at the local Co-op – which means it’s about as sophisticated as an episode of Tipping Point – however it still feels like I’m having a very, very special ice-cream experience whenever I have one. Which isn’t often because somehow, I still think it is only for rare occasions of celebration.

What’s interesting is that when I had it, I posted a photo on instagram and the response was of equal adoration.

And then people went into celebrating other low-rent, mainstream shite we thought was the height of sophistication.

Like After Eight Mints.

Or Ice Magic … the sauce you poured on to your shitty Asda vanilla ice cream [or Neopolitan, if your Mum and Dad were feeling extravagant] that then TRANSFORMED INTO A SOLID LAYER OF CHOCOLATE TO ELEVATE YOUR SHITTY ICE CREAM EXPERIENCE.

Incredible.

But of all the comments I got, my fave was from Kev Chesters with this …

And while I loved it for a whole host of reasons, the main one was his order of using a teaspoon.

Not a dessert spoon.

Not a table spoon. [Though this might be the same as a dessert spoon]

But a teaspoon.

Because regardless how old you are.

Regardless how many Viennetta’s you could buy and eat.

A teaspoon was the psychological way of making your favourite desserts last longer.

Smaller spoon.

Smaller amounts of food on it.

More spoonfuls to enjoy.

I still do it and it made my day to know Kev did too.

Which all should act as a reminder that advertising is an incredibly powerful force … especially when it’s targeting people who know no better but dream of being more than they think they will end up being.

Thank you Viennetta. For the memories, the experience and the taste.



Behind Every Tough Guy Is A Broken Boy …
September 16, 2020, 7:30 am
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Culture, Education, Fatherhood, Parents

I recently read an interview with ex-England Rugby Captain, Will Carling.

It’s a fascinating interview because in some ways, Will was David Beckham before even David Beckham.

Young.

Handsome.

Talented.

Successful.

A glamorous wife.

A media ‘celebrity’.

But in addition to this, he also faced incredibly scrutiny, destructive rumours and the wrath of the media for acts – as we learn in the interview – that were simply not true.

For example he was labelled as money obsessed as he would do public speaking … but what was not discussed was that it was his only source of income as he gave up his well-paid job at Mobil so he could concentrate on his [amateur] rugby fulltime.

But the most telling part of the interview – and the readers comments underneath it – is how he was sent away to boarding school at the age of 6.

SIX.

Separated from his parents to live in a dormitory, surrounded by other boys – many much older than him – all on his own.

The most heartbreaking part of the interview is this:

“Every night during those first weeks I would go into a ball at the bottom of the bed. You didn’t want anyone to hear you crying. It was unbelievably lonely.”

Otis is 5.

The thought of choosing to send him away … to see him maybe once a year … is beyond my comprehension.

It is, in my opinion, an act of utter cruelty.

The psychological damage to the child must be incredible … which may go some way to explaining why people like Boris Johnson and mob have this compulsion to be popular and can lie without hesitation.

Maybe it’s less they’re just out and out bad … and more the methods they learnt to survive from being sent to live in a boarding school at an age where no kid should be separated from their family, friends or home.

The fact there are places of ‘education’ that are OK with letting kids from the age of 6 not see their parents for months on end makes me so angry and reinforces my view that so much private education is designed to create complicity rather than individuality.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know who Will Carling is.

Or if you don’t have kids.

Or if you hate rugby.

It’s a fascinating article about success, family, media, team mates and integrity and I am sure you will come out of it realising that the toughest men are hiding the most brutal pasts.

You can read it here.



Roots …

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”.

Comments Off on Roots …


Memories As Music …

OK, full disclosure, this is a post about Queen.

It’s also a post about parents, love, death and sentimentality.

So in some ways, it might be ‘peak-Rob blogging’.

But it’s not about me, it’s about a story I read recently that I just thought was beautiful.

OK, so it kind of reminded me of the time my Dad surprised me by buying The Works, Queen’s 1984 album, but most of all it just reminded me how music and memories are so deeply entwined that it has the capacity to act as some sort of temporary time machine.

And that is pretty wonderful.

With that, here’s the story …

For what it’s worth, my dad took me to see Queen at the L.A. Forum in’77.

I was 10.

This band Thin Lizzy opened for them. I remember thinking, “Who is this Lizzy chick?!?”

Then the lights went out, and Jailbreak began. I’ve never been the same …

All this is the introduction to one of the greatest moments of my life.

If ya have a moment, here’s the story …

I was 9 when I saw the full page ad in L.A. Times Calendar.

My parents had just divorced.

The Forum show was on my 10th birthday.

I called Dad …

“Hey Dad, um, Queen is playing on my birthday …”

“Yeah, I know. I tried to get tickets, but they’re sold out.”

[Damn!]

So Dad picks me up on March 3rd, and says “Let’s go to Sizzler for your birthday.”

“Okay, Dad, sounds great.” And it did, because I was thrilled to be with him.

So on the way to Sizzler, we ‘happen’ to pass The Forum.

In HUGE flashing lights: QUEEN TONIGHT!!

I thought ‘Oh man, what a dick! How could he torture me like this?!?’

I said nothing about that and we ate.

Afterwards on the way back home, we pass The Forum AGAIN.

Dad says …

“Oh, can you grab something out of the glove compartment for me?”

“Sure Dad,” I reply.

I open it and there – on top of the papers – is an envelope.

“This, Dad?” I ask.

“Yeah. Open it for me, will ya?” he says.

Guess what.

2 FUCKING TICKETS TO SEE QUEEN TONIGHT!

I will NEVER forget the sheer joy of that moment.

I still have the tour program.

Dad passed away, and at his memorial, I jammed all my brothers and nieces and nephews into my van and BLASTED Bohemian Rhapsody.

When it ended, there was complete silence.

It was freakin beautiful.

Thank you for reading.



Even Nottingham Forest Are Embarrassed I Support Them …

So with COVID stopping football fans from attending games, my beloved Nottingham Forest thought of a fun way to help the players feel the stadium is full while earning some much-needed revenue at the same time.

The idea was simple.

Sumbit a photo of yourself and they’ll turn it into a life sized cardboard version of you to place on a seat.

Better yet, you can then come and collect it as a souvenir of your support.

Now I don’t need another life-sized cardboard cut out of me because years ago, I gave one to Jill as a wedding anniversary present to remind her who she was married to as I was travelling a lot.

It’s the pic at the top of this page. I know … and they say romance is dead!

However I did like the idea of supporting my team so I had a couple made.

Some of me.

Some of my mate who stupidly supports Derby County.

Anyway. over the weeks, Forest have been posting photos of the cardboard fans and I haven’t seen my face on any of them.

Oh I’ve seen my best mate Paul

… every bloody photo they put out, he’s there – upfront and centre.

But me?

Nope.

At first I reassured myself it was because they hadn’t printed mine yet.

Then I thought maybe they had lost my order.

And then, finally, I found one of them …

Yep, right at the back, carefully hidden behind other cardboard cutouts.

What makes it worse is that Nottingham Forest is not a glamorous club.

Even when we won the European Cup twice in a row, we were never sexy …

Which is my way of saying that for a club who attracts an unfair share of the visually unappealing, they have deemed me the most visually unappealing of them all.

Thanks Forest, thanks a lot.

Now please just get in the bloody playoffs … it’s the least you can do for me now.