Life in the middle

Jamie's in Cannes.

Everyone knows Jamie, right? I worked with him at Rainey Kelly. Then he moved to our India office, where he's been doing well. So well in fact that he was asked to join the judging panel at Cannes this year.

He said it was okay - lots of drink, drugs, and birds (see what I did there). But that the judging itself was a little tiresome. Apparently everyone kept talking about websites or something, and looking scared.

Anyway, judging by the picture above it looks like he still knows how to have a wild time.

Accident.

Please don't panic, but there's been an accident.

It's my foot. My left one. Near my little toe. (That's it there, in the picture.) I caught it on a sharp step in the kitchen.

There was blood, screaming, and lots of tears. Finally I managed to stem the blood with a tiny plaster and some unnecessary strapping.

I'm going to rest now, but if I feel up to it later I'm going to do some pilates.

Take care out there, it's a brutal world.

Here goes...

I'm not sure I can remember how to do this anymore, blogging I mean. But then again I'm not sure I was ever that sure. Either way, I'm taking my hat off and starting again, right after I've done this Rubik's Cube.

See you tomorrow.

In a bit.

Off for a bit of reflection, in the sun.

Stay foolish, people.

Lots.

Lot on at the moment, but very little of it as good as pushing my niece on this swing.

She was quite insistent that it went high, and fast.

Kids these days.

No longer in a room.

Read what happened here.

I'm doing this today.

Two planners in a room.

It's Sunday, so...

I decided to visit the folks, in Buckinghamshire. To make it a little more interesting I thought I might cycle. I'm not sure why I thought this would be a good idea. Probably something to do with being rather unfit at the moment, and also yearning for a little bit of old school Life in the middle fitness action.

So I donned my new cycling glasses, tilted my head, and set off.

 

It's a long way, mile after mile of cycle lanes, and it was hot. But I soon got a good a clip going and seemed to be making good progress.

 

Of course as one hour became two I started feeling a little less confident in tackling the journey. But whenever I had these moments of doubt there was always something to lift me. Whether it be the Uxbridge YMCA (a magnificent thing).

 

Or the least impressive 'you're now in this county' sign I've ever seen (though it was good to cross the boundary).

As two hours became two and half I eventually reached my destination, where I was buoyed by the presence of Farnsworth, my sister's hound, who is one of the more fantastic dogs on the planet.

 

Also in attendance was my niece Margot, who was busy making a mess in a pretend kitchen.

 

And my nephew Wilf, who was busy crying about something.

We had a nice time. Harry was happy to once again show his comedic side by wearing my new cycling glasses in the most extraordinarily casual way possible.

I ate stew, talked about the matters of the day, and slowly felt my strength returning. Once my clothes had dried somewhat my thoughts turned to the cycle home.

 

As soon as I left I could tell it was going to be a long afternoon. Straight away my legs felt like they didn't want to play game, and the heat tested my will as I pondered jumping on a train. But that was the point of the cycle. To be given these choices, and to ignore them - to defy them.

As I got an hour and half into the cycle home things became sore. My knees. My bum from the saddle. And my shoulders from the backpack. All I could do was try and distract myself from the fact that there was another hour to go, by constantly repeating the phrase "keep on trucking".

As I reached the outskirts of London I started to feel almost mechanical. Churning the pedals, over and over again. Eating the road as fast my shattered legs would let me.

 

Until eventually I was home. Slightly broken, but home.

 

I think in total I was on the bike nearly six hours, there and back, which probably explains why I'm now feeling a little stiff. But I'll tell you what, it's these adventures into doubt which keep me going. The rest is just puff.

Good evening.

The future is out there.

It's a waiting game, but it'll be here soon. Just after all the nonsense has gone by.

Good evening.

Weekends are for.

Visiting the local gallery for a smoke on some cultural crack.

For popping back to the parent's, to see Dad wearing an amusingly large shirt, for which no adequate explanation was given.

For visiting that place me and oldest mate used to sit after school. Where we'd would relax after a hard day at school, stretch out our legs, and doze in the sun. Sometimes we'd even unwrap a Curly Wurly and reflect on life to date.

And of course weekends are often for work these days. But the annoyance of this was pleasantly displaced today by the presence of two good friends who are helping out on some secret stuff.

See you on the otherside, people.

A TV advert.

I don't write about TV ads very much on this blog (or anywhere else for that matter). It just doesn't occur to me to do it. It's probably something to do with spending all day thinking about brands, ads, marketing ideas, and then coming home and wanting to think about something else.

Also, ads are rarely the good bits of life, they're normally in between them getting in the way. Plus it's not that fashionable anymore. Marketing folk like to go on about what the future will look like - ads are largely seen as part of the past.

But I came across one I really liked, that someone had posted on their blog. It was made by our Portland office, but that's just a coincidence. I'm not going to say why I like it. I don't really want to think about whether it's the idea, the direction, the music, the casting of the cab driver, or the life stage it talks to, blah blah blah...

I just like it (whole).

Middle.

I pass under this sign every day on my way to and from work, but I only noticed it for the first time tonight.

Dull, but true.

Thanks Julian.

Advertising, brand story telling, coming up with ideas, whatever you want to call it, is not easy. There are lots of late nights, stressful meetings, frayed nerves and confusing moments of self-doubt. Sure the work's important, in fact at W+K we have a saying - "the work comes first".

But for me it doesn't, it comes a close second to the people. The culture, the characters who make the process and generate the energy that makes the work great. I think they're the most important thing.

Because when the chips are down, and the shit is getting dangerously close to the fan, you want a certain kind of person by your side. Someone who won't let that moment intimidate, or distract, not only from the task, but from the bigger ambition. Someone who'll still be laughing, no matter how far away completion seems. And someone who'll always look past good to great, and make you believe you're going there.

Luckily we've got a few people like that at W+K, but we're losing one of the best today in Julian Francis Cheevers. He's leaving to join our New York office.

Look, that's him before he left.

He sat opposite me, and worked with me on Nike (he was Group Account Director).

He was good at his job, sure. In fact he was great at his job. But he was better than that.

He was pretty much the only person in advertising still using a desktop PC.

He said "wassup!" when he arrived at work in the morning. And gave everyone one of those fist-to-fist 'respect' hand things.

He shouted "choon!" when anything related to Ibiza came on the radio.

And he was a gentleman to everyone.

Last night we all went out and had drinks with him, even Neil.

 

Then today he left. We had a slightly stilted hug goodbye, and I muttered 'good luck' or something. It was one of those moments where you can't quite find the right words of thanks and appreciation, and end up saying something trite.

But as I strolled home I remembered that a couple of weeks ago, as we were taking one of our many tube journeys to Nike, I had said to him that when the time came for him to go I'd probably not articulate what I wanted to say, so could I just take that opportunity to say 'thank you' properly. I think he knew what I meant.

So thanks, Jules. London's loss is New York's gain.

The office will be a little more drab Monday morning. A little less 'big' in spirit. But I guess the best people come, and the best people go. And it's just important to say thank you.

Apologies for the lack of blogging, but I've still got a mice problem in this blog. And what's more - they've started dancing. The council are now saying they'll have the music turned down by Friday, and the blog working well by the weekend.

Sorry for inconvenience, and have a mice day (see what I did there).

Deacon Blue Morning, in the afternoon.

Most of you know Ben Terrett as 'that rude designer bloke off the internet'. But over the last 13 years I've got to know Ben pretty well. And while most of what I've found out has done nothing more than confirm him as 'that rude designer bloke off the internet', I have also got to know a good man, with a strong heart.

And it's for that reason that not only is Ben now in my top 63 friends (in the world), but that I've also chosen him to chair the first ever Deacon Blue Morning.

So tonight Matthew I'm going to be Ben Terrett. Here we go.

For me and Jonathan Rooney it was the first gig we'd ever been too. Deacon Blue at the Bournemouth International Centre.

Deacon Blue were a good live band, but that's mostly because they were a band. Bournemouth was about 50 miles from where we lived so my Dad drove us to the BIC and waited in the car until the gig ended.

Deacon Blue were the first band I liked on my own. Without the influence of my parents or my friends or my cool Uncle. It's odd when I look back now as they were highly political and almost all the lyrics went over my head. Even the really obvious lyrics went over my head. Take these simple lines from Fergus Sings The Blues;

homesick james
my biggest influence
tell my why
james and bobby purify

I'd always assumed that was about two fellows called James and Bobby who, err, purified things. It took around ten years for me to work out they were singing about the famous 60's R&B combo, James and Bobby Purify.

Likewise their most famous track Dignity was just a good song. Yet now I actually know people who've been "a worker" and have "been twenty years". People who've  ""let me know a secret about the money" their "kitty". People who are "gonna buy a dinghy". There's a lot to be said for the money in your kitty. Funny how that stuff doesn't mean anything to you when you're 13.

The BIC isn't an impressive building. A classic post war architectural mess, it's a regular on the political conference circuit. It's no Astoria. Still, Deacon Blue were playing there and me and Rooney had tickets. We used to hang out "up the top" and there were a few Deacon Blue fans up there. "Make sure you say hello to Lorraine for me" they said. Lorraine. Lorraine McIntosh, female vocalist. Ahh Lorraine. Not what you might call classically good looking, she was enough to excite 13 year old boys.

Again, I missed this at the time; many people call Raintown a concept album. The album is about a dead end life in Glasgow. That's not a particularly interesting or unique concept. Many bands sing about their "dead end" home towns but they'd carried the theme through with the album artwork. They used the images of the great photographer Oscar Marzaroli, who took iconic shots of young Gorbals boys. That's a high concept for a simple band. And it makes more sense now that graphic design is my chosen profession.

I still remember the programme from the gig, with the photo of lush red velvet curtains on the cover. I still remember the audience surging forward for the encore. I still remember signing along with a crowd of people for the first time. I still remember my Dad waiting outside when the gig had finished.

I'm not going to pretend Deacon Blue were brilliant. They weren't. But for me, they were an average band made more important by being in the right place at the right time. Everyone has a band, an album or a song like that. Some artists make a career out of that. It's was Deacon Blue for me then, it was Oasis a bit later and time will tell who it is now.

I don't know what happened to Jonathan Rooney. We went our separate ways at 16. He doesn't appear to be on any social networks, but Rooney is a hard name to Google. I wonder if he still likes Deacon Blue.

Blue. All that time and I never wondered which blue they meant.

So that was Deacon Blue Morning, in the afternoon, by Ben. (Feel free to clap.)