Category

LOVE & LIFE

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My Izobel.

Sometimes.

She gets left in the corner.

And I hate it.

So if it ever happens these days.

You can be sure it’s because of something worthwhile.

Play.

Sometimes.

Izobel wants me to play.

And I can’t.

Because I’m developing Always Wear Red.

Or Old Post Office.

Or I’m helping others to build their brands.

Advising them. 

Writing for them.

And it’s because these things I do take me away from my daughter.

That I do them in exactly the way I want to.

Making damn sure that I enjoy it.

Lose Twice.

In life.

You can lose twice.

And so many people do.

I know I used to.

Doing work I didn’t really ‘feel’.

Work that also took me away from those I loved.

And it’s fucking stupid.

Izobel.

My Izobel.

Sometimes.

She gets left in the corner.

And I hate it.

So if it ever happens these days.

You can be sure it’s because of something worthwhile.

It is ‘The Year of the Individual’.

The year where the express individuality of ‘you’ is of paramount importance.

This is year where your difference is what you should be shouting about.

Not shrouding.

This is the year where the fuckups that shaped you should be celebrated, thanked and retold.

Not ashamedly hidden.

This is the year where the only glass screen you should look to for affirmation or adulation is a mirror.

Instead of joining the misguided millions that fish fruitlessly for felicity in phones and laptops.

This year is The Year of the Individual.

An essential celebration that never, ever gets old.

This is The Year of the Individual.

No matter which year you choose to read it.

Don’t be late.

I bought my Rolex for two reasons.

First.

To see what it felt like to own a Rolex.

Second.

To see what it felt like.

To me.

For other people to think I owned a Rolex.

And it delivered brilliantly.

In the exact way I wanted it to.

It worked!

On both counts.

So I don’t regret for a second investing the money.

In fact.

It was the best £40 I ever spent.

It Worked!

When I say it worked.

I don’t mean it actually worked.

My Rolex told the time correctly for a week or so.

And even though that’s not what the nice man on the street in Hong Kong suggested would happen.

I didn’t mind.

My Rolex.

Two things.

I may buy an actual Rolex one day.

As finances allow.

Because I did like the way it felt.

And with regards to how it felt.

To me.

For other people to know I owned a Rolex.

I discovered that I couldn’t care less.

Brand.

There’s a brand lesson in there too.

For my brands.

And for yours.

And here it is.

Great brands know what they are for.

So have a think.

What’s your brand for?

Because if you imagine.

Even for a second.

That a Rolex is for telling the time.

(Even if it’s a real one).

You’re way off.

Some people I know.

And you know them too.

In fact.

You might even be one of them.

They just want to feel valued.

They want to feel important.

They want to feel like they are doing something worthwhile.

They want to feel like they matter.

They want to feel loved.

And it makes them sad that these feelings are missing from their lives.

Well.

There is a way to feel more valued.

And that is to go out of your way to do more valuable things.

There is a way to feel that you are more important.

And that is to go out of your way to do more important things.

There is a way that you can feel more worthwhile.

And that is to go out of your way to do more worthwhile things.

There is a way that you can feel that you matter more.

And that is to go out of your way to do more things that matter.

And there is a way that you can feel more loved.

Let yourself love more.

Try it.

Try all of them.

It is impossible to fail.

I don’t think that if you have a Private Number Plate.

You’re a nob*.

And I am not saying that if you’re so in love with your Private Number Plate that you wouldn’t give it up under any circumstances.

You’re an arse**.

I just think that of all the the things that we humans own.

Private Number Plates are one of the most obviously expendable.

I mean.

They don’t actually do anything.

Apart from.

To some***.

Make you look like a nob.

Or an arse.

Food Banks.

The UK’s most expensive Private Number Plate.

25 O

Was purchased for £518,000 in 2014.

And in 2015-16.

Annual sales of Private Number Plates in the UK topped £100m for the first time.

And in a world where The Trussell Trust distributed 1.9m 3-day food parcels in the UK in the fiscal year 2019-2020.

So at £50 a food parcel that’s £95m.

If that £100m a year spent on Private Number Plates was re-routed.

Food banks would disappear.

Private Number Plates. 

Private Number Plates.

I just think that of all the the things that we humans own.

Private Number Plates are one of the most obviously expendable.

I mean.

I’d never have one****.

 

* I do.

**I am.

***Me.

****Again.

I get desperate.

I feel life slipping away.

Really, I do.

In the quiet moments.

And it’s so very sad.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

Drama.

There’s no drama.

Just sadness.

Because it’s real.

The desperation.

And sometimes.

These thoughts makes me close my eyes.

And keep them closed.

And I close them so slowly.

I close them so gently, that.

I actually feel my eyelids kiss.

And I hear myself sigh.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

1983.

I get desperate for that time in the hot summer of 1983.

When that 17 year old girl whose family were visiting my friend, Darren’s family.

Walked slowly across the cricket pitch towards the 15 year old me.

And she spoke so quietly.

And so close to my face that only I heard her say she was going back to her room to lie down.

And she spoke so quietly.

And so close to my face that only I heard her ask me to go too.

I am desperate for that.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

1995.

I get desperate too for that hot late summer day in 1995.

When a 27 year old me turned up.

Alone.

To joined four of my friends who were seven days into a fourteen day Spanish holiday.

Barely alive.

They ran across the bare concrete floor of our small, filthy apartment to greet me.

Sending dozens and dozens of empty ‘Grants Vodka’ bottles scattering into pieces.

Before we all.

Rejuvenated.

Set about poisoning ourselves and each other for a further seven days in the sun.

I am desperate for that.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

Oasis.

It was later that same day in Spain.

Later on that hot late summer day in 1995.

That I pulled a CD from my bag.

A newly released CD I’d bought at the airport flying out there.

I presented it.

Still in it’s cellophane.

And we put it on.

And we listened to it.

All of it.

For the very first time.

Strangely silent.

Together.

Hello.

Roll With It.

Wonderwall.

Don’t Look Back In Anger.

Hey Now!

Some Might Say.

Cast No Shadow.

She’s Electric.

Morning Glory.

Champagne Supernova.

Then.

Then we listened to what we only knew at that time as.

‘Track 3.’

Once again.

And afterwards.

It was back to poisoning ourselves and each other for a further seven days in the sun.

Desperate.

I get desperate.

I feel life slipping away.

Really, I do.

In the quiet moments.

And it’s so very sad.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

Nobody is safe from this.

Until everybody is safe from this.

Nobody can breathe easy.

Until everybody can breathe easy.

We’re in it together.

Priorities.

There are priorities, though.

There has to be.

We should highlight and rally round the most vulnerable.

We should highlight and rally round the most impacted.

And that’s why we say ‘Black Lives Matter’.

And not ‘All Lives Matter’.

It is important to highlight and rally round the most vulnerable.

It is important to highlight and rally round the most impacted.

Racism.

Nobody is safe from this.

Until everybody is safe from this.

Nobody can breathe easy.

Until everybody can breathe easy.

We’re in it together.

The best way to get better at something.

Sometimes.

Is not to keep on doing it.

It’s to stop doing it.

Just for a bit.

Stop.

When you stop.

It gives you perspective.

Distance is valuable.

Things look different from a distance.

They feel different.

You’ll learn to see it how they see it.

If how they see it matters, of course.

And you’ll learn if you miss it.

Then.

If you do miss it.

When you start it again.

You’ll feel fresher.

More relaxed.

Happier.

Better.

The best way to get better at something.

Sometimes.

Is not to keep on doing it.

It’s to stop doing it.

Just for a bit.