Life in the middle

People, food, and books.

Since I last posted I've done a good job of putting a little time aside each day, to do something enjoyable and enriching.

I've hung out with the Internet's most infamous anonymous advertising blogger, in a suit. (He was nice.)

 

I had my dinner on Primrose Hill.

I caught up with an old and very good friend, and took drink.

I took an ad out for this blog to try and increase readership (the slogan if you can't see it says 'read it'). So far it doesn't seemed to have worked, but I've got my fingers crossed.

And I visited a friend who stacks their books by colour.

Good times.

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.

Easing into the weekend and fighting the recession.

It's a busy and stressful time at work, and the world is slipping into some sort of financial hangover. What's more, I read in today's Guardian that we're one of the least happy nations in Europe (I can't find the link, so you'll have to trust me). Things generally feel like they're heading south.

But I feel okay today. It's been a reasonably enjoyable 24hours. I think I might have the recession on the back foot.

I started my fight back by chewing the fat with JFC (Julian Francis Cheevers), who sits next to me at work. He has some wonderful stories of his time as a junior account man on Frosties and Daz, and all high japes that surrounded that time of his life.

We were also joined by Graeme Douglas. Who we've renamed Doug E Fresh. We insist that he sits in a throne wherever possible, (I think he's happy with both decisions).

Then I met two old friends for a beverage and a curry. Mr. David Young, he of the bike, was happy to stand still with his mouth slightly open while I took a picture.

Miss Piper preferred to strike a more traditional pose, and even chucked in a smile for good measure.

So things seemed to be going in my favour. And I've tried to keep it going today. Cereal and a mug of tea for breakfast, and a bit of read.

I'm stilling feeling reasonable content.

I'm not sure it's a plan that can be rolled out nationally to beat the recession (David Young is a busy man), but I think there might be some broad principles in there that everyone can share.

Altogether now (one, two, three)  "WHAT RECESSION?"

Happy news.

Honestly, I'm never that bothered when people have babies. I mean I am happy for them. Pleased for the new life in theirs, but I always respond in a very factual way, you know, say the things I feel like I have to say.

But I can say with hand on heart that I felt the world had become better when I read the following text yesterday:

"Baby Thomas William Hughes was born at 5:14 this evening, weighing 6lb 11oz. He's quite a guy. Mum, baby, and me all doing well"

My best friend's son was born yesterday. And I feel great about that, really great.

Congratulations to the world, Thomas is here, and he's "quite a guy".

Dad...

...as a keen golfer you've taught me that it's okay to wear pink, no matter what people say. That it's a fine thing to do to buck the trend, to say "to hell with it - I fancy wearing pink, and a suspiciously female pair of sunglasses".

You've also made me realise that there is rarely better time spent, than that with a cup of tea in one hand, and a newspaper in the other - looking after the mind, but also the soul.

And while I may walk my own path, I walk it like you - head down, bobbling along, always slightly off balance, pondering the world, and getting slightly lost along the way.

Thanks Dad, take it slow, and be careful out there - Happy Father's Day.

Harry on guitar.

Harry has posted another splendid piece on his blog (here).

I know I don't need to link to it every time he posts something new. That you lot know where his blog lives now. But I like to, I feel quite proud.

Rock on Dad.

Harry C on the radio (so to speak)

Harry C has been posting again (here). This time he's writing about radio, and it's his best so far.

So if you fancy a quiet think about the radio, and some gentle discussion, then pop on over (I'll see you there).

Sundays are for.

Sitting in the garden and chilling with the old man on his birthday, while he samples some phat beats.

Watching Margot (my niece) show off her blue hat.

And for standing sternly with my sister.

Meeting of the 'London Flat Cap Collective'.

Dan chaired, and showed how it could, and should, be done.

Tom argued vigorously for a tougher, more militant, agenda for the collective.

I let my cap do the talking.

(Then we got pissed and had a curry. Next meeting TBC.)

Dinner is sometimes about...

Considering the future of footwear.

And considering the future of marketing.

(Nested in an evening of wider and more important mentation.)