Meet William David Andrew Hovells
He was born last week. 48 hours after Juliette's waters broke. In those two days, I managed to get food poisoning and he managed to pick up an infection.
So 8 hours after he was born, he was taken from his mother and placed in the high dependency unit. Poor lad has had a hard week, he struggled to breathe and had to be put on a glucose drip. Apart from us not being able to take him him home, his grandparents, Aunts, Uncles and cousins haven't been able to meet him yet. But he's on the mend how, right now he'll be sleeping peacefully in the arms of his mother in hospital.
We've spent most of the week there, changing him, talking to him and holding him. He should be home by the weekend and I cannot wait. There are no words to describe what it feels like to be a Dad. I love him very much.
By the way, I've bathed him and he loves the water, looks like he'll be a swimmer....
Making things
The wall brought something back that had been dormant for a fair while, something not quite lost, missed without missing it, like when something reminds you of a dead relative you dearly loved.
Making stuff, creating things, expressing yourself. I used to love art, I used to be really good at painting and drawing, but then I just stopped.
That's why I grew up to love cooking things. It's making something. Feeling alive,joy in doing.
So, despite this is a really bad time to start another project, I'm going to look for something els arty to do. Don't expect a Turner, but this will be just for me, quality will be irrelevant.
Baby Room
Mum and Dad live in Cornwall, which will be 400 miles away from, soon to be born, Baby Northern. Naturally they're less than pleased about this.
They live in St Ives, which is probably the most special place in the world to me. My child doesn't know it yet, but he she will be spending lots of time building sandscastles, playing in the sea, learning to surf and stuff.
So I've solved the 'do we paint the room in girl or boy colour?' problem by doing neither. It's on the way to being a painting of St Ives, where Grandma and Grandad live.
Replete with harbour, Tate Gallery, Grandma and Grandad's house, seagulls and boats..and lots of artistic license.
Like Rolf Harris says, can you see what it is yet?
I don't do moody apparently
On Friday I had to get one of those moody black and white work related portaits done (it's for IPA nominations stuff in case you're interested).
Frustratingly, it seems I just can't do moody, I just look grumpy. I also don't do thoughtful half smile, I just look like psycho.
So that just leaves cheerful.
Let's talk about advertising
I realised the other week how much my job doesn't consist of talking about advertising. By advertising, I of course don't mean the old fashioned 'above the line' thing, just ways of making people want the thing your selling. But whatever you want to call it, planners don't do a right lot of it next to all the other things.
'All the other things' will vary, depending where you work of course, but amidst commissioning, managing or doing research - groups, quant, ethnography, TGI runs, desk research etc etc, analyzing data, preparing and running workshops, strategy presentations and a whole lot more, writing creative briefs and doing creative briefings, attending creative reviews and tracking meetings don't make up the bulk of our time.
I suspect most of us like talking about the actual work though, I know I do. So, to vent that particular spleen, I'm going to do more of that here.
Not in that dreadful, self serving way they doing in Campaign Review. A trick to get better at thinking about strategy for new work is to look at stuff that's been made and 'work backwards'. Try and think about what the strategy was, what the brief might have been. It worked for me back in the day and seems to be useful in training bits and bobs.
So I'm going to do a bit of that, look at stuff I find interesting (not necessarily like) and write about what I think they're trying to do and why. Hopefully that will be a bit constructive. Hopefully, if anyone thinks I'm wrong, they'll quickly set me straight.
Dad soon, but not soon enough
9 months (ish) ago I had to share a Zurich hotel room with Mel from work. Yesterday she brought in her new baby girl.
The purpose of this post is not to deny being the father (looks nothing like me, she found out she was pregnant the day before). It is also not about how time flies, and how so much has happened since last November (though it has).
What I want to say is that I held that adorable little baby in my arms, until one of the girls finally peeled her off me and just wanted my own baby to be born right away. I have to wait until October for mine, too long. Looks like I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
Northern Trainers debate
Meet the Marmite of trainers. Embarrassingly, this is the most provocative thing about me (unless I get to tell you my f*** dis custard joke).
I love these, I haven't seen anyone wearing these, which is why I do (although I don't admit to myself there's probably a good reason I'm the only one).
So what do you think? Are you with the naysayers who reckon they look home made, like they're Apache or just plain stupid? That I'm to old for trainers like these?
Or are you with those that think they're ace?
Keep calm and carry on
Hello, it's been quite a while since the last post. Truth is, I haven't been lazy, I haven't found there's nothing to write about, I've just been too busy lately. Doing a 160 mile round trip to work is never condusive to spare time, but there's just been too much to do. I'm guessing that come October and the arrival of our new baby, this won't get any better.
To be honest, I had considered just packing the whole thing in for a while. I've found that writing a blog, like so many things, is all about momentum. You need to find a rythm, build up some sort of pace and the posts just type themselves. It's a bit like going to they gymn, it's much harder to go a couple of times a week than it is to go every other day. Writing little and often is hard.
But I'm going to carry on. Not for any vanity reasons I hasten to add, I'm not labouring under the illusion that any one is panting with antipation about the next Northern Planner post, willing their RSS to show something. I hope that the basics stuff is useful and will continue to be, I think that stuff is really important, but really, this blog is for me.
It's forced me to keep writing something, to keep interested, it's allowed me to try out a thing or two. This is a good thing. The job's hard work, there's little time to think out of the here and now. A blog forces you to do that. And then there's the community. I've met a lot of people I wouldn't have, I'm part of a community that I simply wouldn't be without blogging and stuff.
These are all reasons to carry on. Posts will not be as regular as they once were, but I'm going to try and find some cadence again.
Anyway
Tea Appreciation Society
I will be of litte surprise to you that I bought this t-shirt. Naturally I'm a member of the Tea-Appreciation Society. Everything I love about the sacred brew and other stuff too. Lovely (as I'm writing this, I'm pouring my second cup of Earl Grey/English Breakfast blended in a warmed pot).
Baby Northern Update
You may have noticed me mention I'm an expectant father.
Baby Northern is now the size of a cantaloupe melon. The little blighter is moving, eyes are virtually fully formed beneath eyelids that won't open just yet. Not long until October 11th, our due date.
Funny how it changes how I feel inside already, the job has become at once less and more important.
Less because I already know I'll resent anything that gets in the way of being home for bath time, generating market share growth or shifting perceptions just won't match seeing the first smile. Right now, nothing's more important than making sure a tired, hormonal Mrs Northern is okay.
It's bloody, massively more important than ever because I'm already stopping wanting things for myself and realised a, slightly cavalier attitude towards life will no longer cut it. I don't want my baby to want for anything (although in a grumpy, Northern way, he/she won't be spoiled either).
I just can't wait though, thinking about all the things we're going to do together. Hours spent in the kitchen cooking and baking stuff, tennis lessons, the fun we'll have going swimming (God help me if we have another good swimmer on our hands, transport to 5am training sessions and then a full day's work is a little scary), staying with Grandma and Grandad in Cornwall - digging in the sand, rowing in dingy and playing in the waves.
Not long, not long.
Here's to the juniors
There's two juniors planners where I work, Dave (Dave Mortimer younger sibling of Famous Rob) and Martin. I'm not sure I like the term 'junior' planner, your either planner or not, some have done it for a little longer, that's all..but there you go.
Poor Dave get's quite a bit of grief from me. On his paleness, horrific diet, lesbian haircut and interesting taste in cardigans, but to be fair he gives it back in equal measure. He even stole someone's last biscuit and distributed the crumbs all over my chair, a la Gollum.
Martin escapes the bulk of this so called banter, purely down to the face he doesn't sit opposite me. That said, I think I've succeeded in giving him a complex about his newly beardless demeanor, and how it makes him look taller. Aaaaanywaaaayy........
Of course it's nice to have juniors around, they do some of the jobs you hate. Even better, they're great people to talk to about ideas and thorny little problems. If you want a sense check, talk to someone who hasn't learned to be set in their ways yet. They haven't got an axe to grind or developed their own 'schtick' yet.
I've also found I really like mentoring. I use the word cautiously, it suggests arrogantly knowing better and telling others how it is. That really isn't the case. Having to explain things in more detail than youwould otherwise forces you to question your own practices. Relinquishing control a little bit and letting others get on with gradually more and more forces you to organise yourself better. And best of all, they end up teaching you stuff, how not to get set in your ways, how to use Tumblr. They'ev read stuff you haven't come across, met and done things you haven't.
There's also a real joy in passing on the things you've learned. I don't mean planning craft and al that gubbins, more things you've learned from having been around a little longer. Sometimes small, commonsensical things, sometimes things a little bigger. There's that responsibility of judging when to tell, when to suggest and when you should let someone learn from their mistakes.
Best of all, there's the thrill of seeing them flourish, find their stride and 'become' (and the worry that soon you'll be obsolete).
But, above and beyond that, there's the satisfaction of showing them how to make tea properly and always getting a decent mug poured straight from the pot.
That said, Dave gets very shirty when it's a coffee round and he gets left out (he hates coffee).
Harder is better
As you may have noticed, I've much of life has involved sport and swimming in particular. Much of who I am is because of the pain, joy, disappointment, surprise, setbacks, victories, exhilaration and challenge of being a serious athlete.
But it never came easily as a young junior. There were others who didn't have to work at it, they had perfectly natural strokes and didn't have to train very hard. It wasn't fair, but I got a lot of silvers, more bronzes and only a few golds at first, mostly by working harder than boys, yet losing to others who seemed to get there by doing nothing.
But something happened when we became teenagers. We had all sorts of growth funny growth spurts in all sorts of funny places. Boys who had been relative midgets suddenly towered over their peers, those who had been naturally bigger than others found themselves looking at other lads for the first time. We were little hormonal hurricanes.
I was lucky enough to be one of those who suddenly turned into a little teenage mountain. Clothes didn't fit, one arm was stronger than the other, I went from fly half to prop at rugby. I got big.
Almost overnight, my times in the pool got quicker. Demon fast. There is a point in swimming race for juniors when you hit wall, the arms turn to lead, you have no breath left in your lungs and it's a matter if surviving the final few meters. This point got closer and closer to the finish. Suddenly, when it came I was able to look inside, see what was there and find another gear. There's quite like it, thinking there's nothing more to give and discovering more there than you ever dreamed.
Many of the boys who had it easy before didn't know what to do. They'd never suffered losing before, they'd never had to really work for it. They gave up, they didn't know how to fight, had no idea what pushing themselves really meant. There was no patience for training longer and harder, no will. Those of us who were used to struggle never slacked off, even when the growth spurts evened out a bit we kept on fighting, we didn't know any other way.
You see, sometimes, the worst thing that can happen to you is to be supernaturally gifted. You haven't had the chance to learn from failing, you haven't really found out all that you are. Eventually, someone always comes along more gifted, or more beautiful and you simply don't know how to respond. When it comes down to the wire, you choke never having to really compete before. You find it harder to come back from losing.
I sometimes think planning and creative is like that too. There are some very lucky people for whom ideas come easily. Sorry for aligning creative with planning, but in the end, both are about having ideas. Ideas have never come easy for me, I have to work that little bit harder. I came later to this and in the back of my mind there's always the fear that I don't deserve this job, should have stayed a suit. It's irrational (I hope), but I don't mind, makes me work that little bit harder.
I never fear the blank creative brief or the new project, even when nothing's coming, when it all doesn't make sense yet. I wonder how others, for whom ideas come easily, react when the well suddenly runs dry. It always does you know, no matter who you are, sometimes you get a mental block, you can't get anywhere, nothing comes.
If you're used to having to chip away at the rock to find the vein of gold, you just chip another way, you're used to having to slave to find it. But if you're used to having that gold just magically appear, what do you then?
Why retails experts are better placed for the future
I grew up doing a lot of retail stuff. Three supermarkets, one purveyor of furniture, beds, white goods...I've done a bit.
Not all of it was pretty, but itwas never dull. Having a certain marketing controller call you a twat on the phone at 7pm for getting the wrong price in a script, only to have him send a crate of wine the next day when he realised he was reading the wrong one, cannot be termed as boring.
You learned fast, you had to. You learned by doing..at one point me and another account manager we're opening 7 new supermarket stores, running the kind of TV shoot that needs four helicopters and making sure around 200 press ads went out every single week without a typo or wrong price. The account director was off on paternity leave at the time.
Despite the 'down and dirty' reputation of retail (come on, admit it, you think retail's easy. It's all reactionary, no thinking, just do what you're ordered week in, week out), I think a background in it makes a planner, or anyone else in agency land for that matter, better placed for the future than most.
In retail, you're judged on nothing but results. Not just long term brand measures, quarterly tracking dips and such, you're judged week in, week out on sales and footfall, at the granular level of product lines, regions, even singular product.
There is no where to hide when the results don't come it, you have to be ready for everything. Someone very wise said that the future is about 'always being in beta', and he's damned right. More and more, brands will be about experience, interaction and 'doing'.
But planning for retail has always been like. The US Army has a saying that no plan survives contact with the enemy, well very few retail plans survive the bank holiday footfall figures.
In short, you have to make people DO stuff, not just think or feel.
Bad retailers just react, constantly lurching this way and that, with no long term vision or plan. Woolworths fell apart in my view because they forgot what they existed for. But good retailers have a good, flexible vision, a role in life, they know what they want to do for their customers beyond sell them enough to hit their targets.
But they realise that they will be buffeted by more variables than other business model. Economic shocks hit them first of course, minute changes in buying culture, price sensitivity hit them first. But so does the weather too. They're constantly engaged with a version of 'game theory' with their competitors.
They have to think far beyond simply weaving emotional or cultural meaning into a product. In a world where brands are like a basketball - all the bumps on a brand that help their customers grip them, retailers are exposed more that others. Own label, POP, checkouts, staff culture, car parks, e-commerce, customer services, delivery, vans.....all of it matters, there's far more to get right.
Right now, agencies, their planners and their brands are getting used to having much more flexible ideas that touch different audiences in different ways. They're getting used to terrifying viral nature of the web and reacting quicker, trying lots of little things more often and learning by doing. They're used to having a great vision and always experimenting and learning, moving, chopping and changing within that vision all the time.
That's what planning for retail has always been about. It's about Sainsbury's 'Try something new today' working for a home made gourmet meal and being able to say, "Feed your family for a fiver". It's about Ikea being able to make us "Chuck out our chintz" and also make "Home the most important place in the world" when things are scary.
So that's why someone who's sweated blood (you always do) over retail is best placed for a world where you need both a big vision and the skills to react, develop, change and act very, very quickly.That's what they were already doing.
"Shyness can stop you doing all the things you want to"
A long time ago, back when the internet was still something only a few scientists and computer geeks used, when John Major was Prime Minister, Clinton hadn't soiled that dress and millions of young (and not so young boys) avidly sat down on an early Saturday evening to enjoy a Terri Hatcher in Superman and lots of slow motion lifeguards in Baywatch, I was a malingering politics student.
Time was pretty much divided up between drinking, swimming, eating and studying; in exactly that order. There was daily training sessions in the swimming pool, land training with the rowers (I always won the bleep test) and a ridiculous amount of time spent in the gymn.
Now I've never been the most self-confident of people, I certainly wasn't then. You know that song, 'Ask' by the Smiths? That was me, and largely still is. I got to meet girls through sport (most of my teen girlfriends were swimmers, they had bigger shoulders than me) an thanks to a training ground of growing up with two older sisters, having a few girls as best friends and having the introductions done for me...
So when I saw this girl in our gymn for the first time, it was torture. She was perfect...way out of my league, but our eyes kept meeting. Every time she looked up, she caught me looking, every now and again, the Spidey Sense would kick in, I'd feel like I was being watched and catch her stealing a glance. Could I go up and talk to her? Could I hell.
Weeks went by with the almost daily torture. Then it got worse. One day I walked through reception to find her on the desk where you swiped your gymn pass, she'd got a bloody job to pay for beer ro whatever. Now, at least twice a week, there was a meek hello from me, a similar muted greeting from this girl I was sure liked me, but could never talk to. I'd walk past the desk, face burning, suddenly feeling clumsy, tongue tied and useless.
Then the day came, in a walked. She smiled at first, then the welcoming expression faded to indecision, before lighting up again. She's thought of something to say, to break the ice, to take pity on both me and her. 'Nice top' she commented. Observing the comely nature of my hoodie.
I cannot describe the rush of relief, my response would be an easy one, before asking her if she played a sport or just wanted to keep fit, ask her what course she did, ready to listen intently to her every word. Mike and Darren were with me, I could sense their relief, bored as they were with the whole saga, sick to death of endless nights out where Dutch Courage could have provided the impetus for finally seizing the day.
So, my first words to her, beyond "Hello", or "Goodbye" came out.
"Thanks, it's from Gap".
Her eyes lowered, she looked at once embarrassed and confused, not knowing what to say. Mike and Darren looked on with a potent cocktail of horror, derision and sympathy. I looked down and realised why. This is what the sweatshirt looked like:
She quietly responded, "I know". Face crimson, head hung in shame, I legged it into the gymn, followed by my bastard comrades quietly giggling.
We never attempted contact again, left to wonder what might have been. And that my friends, is what it's like to be The Northern Planner.
And why I hate Gap.
We are with child
There really is nothing I can add to this. Nothing can describe what it feels like so I won't even try. Funny how words are sometimes not nearly enough.
Being Don Draper for the day
I have one suit and that's it. It's a good one, bought for my wedding. It's cut to be quite fitted, it makes me look taller.
Every now and then it gets trotted out for other people's weddings, christenings and the like, but that's it. But I love wearing it, it's nice to dress up every now and then, pretend to be a grown up, feels special in a way wearing suits every day just don't. That's when they become a uniform.
You certainly won't find me wearing it for work; I'm the quintessential planning cliche, that calculated shambolic look. Pretty soon I'll be too old for the ironic t-shirts and trainers but not right now.
But last week, Claire and I had a particularly important meeting. It mattered, the work was great, we'd worked hard. But sometimes being prepared isn't enough, you need an added boost. So we power dressed, we sarcastically smart.
The suit came out, I came as Don Draper. Claire was a beautiful picture of Madison Avenue perfection.
And I wasn't just dressed as Don Draper, I BECAME him. The meeting went swimmingly, I got back to the agency and simmered with untold depths. It felt great to become someone else for a day (even if I didn't have a three Martini lunch or take advantage of any quivering dames).
That's the thing about dressing up and using clothes to play with your outward identity, it doesn't just alter the outside. To have depths, you must have a surface......what you do to that surface affects what happens underneath. It's primal, it's Darwinian - we've evolved to believe that looks are signifier of fitness, we show the world an image of ourselves we want to project and they respond in kind.
That's why superheroes are alter egos of their normal selves. Bruce Wayne only becomes the Dark Knight when he puts on the mask, Peter Parker is struggling, awkward, shy photographer until he puts on the suit. Superman is even more interesting - his natural state is superhero, his costume is actually human clothes - and he BECOMES a feckless, clumsy oaf.
Disguise is incredibly liberating, it enables you to become different people. In fact scratch that, it lets you disover a part of yourself you didn't know was there. That's why it's a little silly to mock anyone with an interest in clothes and their appearance - what is more liberating and interesting than playing with your identity? What could be more fun?
As David Vreeland puts it, "Fashion must be the intoxicating release from the banality of the world".
There is no point watching 22 men kick an inflated ball around a field, sometimes getting it between two sticks. There's no point spending hours reading hundreds of pages of lies. But football and fiction books provide incredible pleasure, they provide an escape from our mundane lives.
Clothes, shoes, hair and the like are just as pleasurable and even more powerful. It's being allowed to dream for a second, to escape the narrow confines of what life has dealt you and explore. To feel alive, to feel more than you are, or even just acknowledge your potential.
And what is wrong with doing something that makes you really happy? Like Belsen.
Anyway, more to the point, who should I pretend to be next (not GI Jane Andy).
Every morning
Warm the pot.
5 teabags in. Freshly drawn boiling water.
Brew for at least three minutes.
Porridge, sultanas. Never with syrup. It's just how I roll.
By the way, they've sat all the planners together at work. Already, they're all trained in the art of tea. Don't mess about me.
Feel something
Hello again. I've been stupidly busy over the last two weeks and, therefore, short on posts (did anyone notice?).
Anyway, this weekend was a blissful release from a cycle of work,home, eat sleep, work, home, eat sleep.
I got out on the bike on a bilssfully sunny morning, cooked some toothsome winter food, pounded some lengths in the pool, played some great music too loud and spent some time rambling with Mrs Northern in the pub. It reminded me of the copy below that Matt from work had written for something that never saw the light of day. It was about an escape from our jaded, cocooned over indulged lives where everything in now an assimilation of the real thing - but this is what felt like this weekend.
Hope you don't mind Matt.
Yes. This.
This is what it feels like.
Out of the blue, it happens, something inside you. You feel different. Rearranged.
It’s like just now, only more so. It even tastes different.
Like a numbness passed, it’s as if you’ve stepped back inside yourself and are looking out. Seeing anew. Switched on. Watching the moment passing in front of your eyes.
You want to hear the sound of your own voice.
‘Are you feeling something?’ ‘Can you feel it too?’
You don’t quite feel yourself, yet you’ve never been more certain of who you are.
And then it makes sense. This is what it feels like to feel.
__
This is familiar. But.
Something’s different, you know it. You can feel it. Something’s here that wasn’t before.
You.
You feel more present, more dense. More visible, more connected to the air around you.
You feel more.
Have you really ‘changed’? Or have you only just noticed who you are?
Why are you smiling?
If you’re heart is beating faster, it’s probably because you are a little more alive.
Yes, this is you. This is what it feels like to feel.
Why I swim
Because I've no cartilage left in my left hip so I can't run.
Because when you're over 30 you can't eat what you want unless you earn it.
Because it clears my head, pproblems always look a lot smaller after a good session in the pool.
Because I'm useless at football. There's a joy in doing something really well - this is what I was born to be good at. I swim to feel good about myself, to feel empowered and confident.
Because of the adrenaline,I buzz and fizz after swimming, no matter how I felt before I always feel happy after.
Becausee I need to selfish sometimes, not be an employee, husband or friend sometimes. To have something for me.
Because I can need a place to think on my own. Nothing clears like my head like being in the pool.
To lose myself in a task that has no real point but means everything.
Because there's no greater challenge than beating yourself.
Because of the pain, the molten lead in the shoulder, the pounding lungs. To feel what it's like to feel. So much of life is about being cocooned, I need to really feel something.
To remember what it feels like to be a child. I spent most of the first fifteen years of my life swimming.
Because I can.
Losing feels so much more intense than winning
There's been two pretty big pitches in quick succession, almost concurrent, taking over my life until the end of last week. One was good news, the other not.
It's not often you get to look both success and failure in the eye at nearly the same time, before post-rationalisation and self justification kick in. And loss is always a deeper feeling than the joy of getting the good news.
In any case, it's always such an anti-climax. Pitches are things you both love and hate, nothing in this business quite matches the feverish activity before that big date, the fear that the ideas won't come, the magic when it seems to arrive all by itself, the late night takeaways, those nights when you can't sleep with the Adrenalin overload and when you do, you dream about the bloody pitch. You form bonds with new people in the agency you don't usually work with, you get closer to the ones you do.
And then it's over.
At first it's a relief to get a little of your life back and hurtle through the things you really should have been doing instead of pitching. But then you realise you miss it.
When good news comes it's a pleasure to see all that hard work pay off, but there's no time to enjoy it, suddenly it's real, you have to make good on your promises. It never matches that heady brew of fear, expectation, creativity and sheer WANTING. And there's no time, suddenly it's real and you have to make good on your promises.
Only loss can come close, the bitter, helpless frustration. You know it was great, you know it was the right thing to do. Why can't they see it? Like the feeling of being dumped by a partner, you have to fight the maddening urge to pick up the phone, even though it will do no good. In a little corner, you're sure they'll see sense and realise their mistake.
They never do.
Clothes, stealing dressing gowns clothes stories
This week was a momentous one. I got rid of the dressing gown I've had since 1997 in exchange for a big fluffy M&S number. You know, small things, small minds .....
While I worked out what to do with my life after graduation, I worked in the gymn of a five star hotel training bored, rich women to get fit. It's more fun than it sounded. Free gourmet food, state of the arm gymn stuff to play with, sauna at lunchtime. Not too shabby for Northern.
Of course I got bored and left, but before I did I nicked one of the hotel dressing gowns. Very naughty, but was so big, fluffy and comfy I couldn't resist.
Anyway, I loved that dressing gown, but Mrs Northern hated it. And quite right, by the time she met me it was full of holes in it, bereft of its former downy softness and carried evidence of tea spilt years ago.Still, I couldn't force myself to get rid of it.
It had lived with me through London, Newcastle and then back to Leeds, it had seen more than 6 flats, been worn by different girls (not many I'm afraid) had worn in. It carried my story, it was symbol of a version of me that no longer existed, but I wa still fond of. It was mine in way that the new one won't be for awhile.
That's the thing about clothes. There's no point denying the wonderful novelty and possibility they represent on the racks in shops. Every one an idea of another you, a reinvention, a person you want to be. There's no point denying their power. And it's not just a girl thing, or a fashion thing- I know plenty of men who fall to pieces over trainers in the same way women coo over Manolo's.
But after a first wear, clothes become truly yours. They cease to become an idea - they mould and stretch to your shape, and the more you wear them, the more they become instrinsically linked to the things you've been through. Symbols of all the things you are, or were, familiar friends.
I'm not sure where to go with this, but guess there's a lot to be said for celebrating another truth about clothes in addition to the novelty of fashion.
Fresh start
Someone very dear to me has one of those rare opportunities to make a completely fresh start career wise. Quite literally, what do I want to do? The choice is mine.
In this case, the choice is archaology (said individual is sick of every thinking they're the first to make the Indiana Jones connection).
How perfectly wonderful and terrifying all at once. What what you choose to do? What will make you truly happy? Are you curious about how good you would be at something totally diferent? Are you lucky enough to be one of the best at what you do, but given the chance, do you think you would be average at something else but love it more?
I have my own coffee shop dream - a little restaurant in St Ives with my best loved recipes. I know a few planning blog type people would come, but even if it was a heroic failure, it might be nice to find out. I'm not the best cook in the world, but my food tastes of love.
I was great at swimming, but merely good at tennis. I would have given anything for that to be other way around. Forget being Federer, just to play tennis all day and get paid would be great.
And then there's the nagging, suspected idea that there's a university politics department, or a think tank somewhere missing an international relations specialist (I loved this bit as a a student but I was a coward - knowing a little bit about how the world really works scared me to death).
Come to think of it, I've sort of done it in my own little way. It was only the move from suit to planner, but it was still a leap of faith back then, a pretty safe one I grant you. That's sort of worked out.
One of the very best planners I know told me that the first few years of his career was a waste of time until he made the leap. Wrong agencies, wrong job (suit), wrong industry before that. Now I don't entirely agree with that. The journey is sort of the point, makes you appreciate it when you get there.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I think I mean that life is full of possibility, sometimes it's better to remain curious, sometimes chances need to be grasped. And sometimes you just don't know how lucky you are. But the fantasy of starting again is a sweet, bitter secret we all carry.
The end is not as fun as the start
I remember the first time I saw some work I had been involved in running; a press ad for a Beazer Homes. Yes, we all have to start somewhere, but I got a real thrill at seeing it in a real newspaper. That thrill has never totally gone away. Seeing ghd outdoor driving home yesterday was really nice.
But it's the journey that matters. Like finishing a really good book, there's always a sense of loss when you finish a project, even when there's been hideous moments, fall outs, stresses and stuff, I think it's the hard work getting is where the fun is.
The stress when everything's a mess, you can't think straight anf your head will explode makes that sudden moment of clarity so sweet.
The 3am finish before a pitch makes the moment you know it's going well in the meeting so much better.
It's not as easy game to be in, you never know what's hiding around the corner to crash into your carefully laid plans. But that's what makes it so special.
It also means that if you're in it because you think it's cool, you won't last. But if you truly care about your work, and THE work, you can't help but enjoy it.
It's feeling quite stressful at the moment. A million things are swirling around, I'm not quite sure what the end will be, the connections are not there yet. And that my friends, is what planning such a truly brilliant job.
Unpredictable sport, suprising brands and pink tennis shoes
I've never been a football fanatic (but don't wind me up about Leeds United's stolen 15 points), but it's hard not to appreciate this year's Premiership, it's a doozy. It's gone right up to the last day of the season, the momentum has moved between teams, you really haven't been able to predict what will happen.
This is the beauty of sport at its best...despite rigid rules and elegant predictions with stats, endless variation and nuances in form, luck and fate mean every event will be slightly different. I'm sure that's why football is the maybe the world's most popular sport - anyone can play it to a decent level of fun, and there's so much room for variation between every single game. Even hot favourites lose.
Mens' tennis is a little dull right now, basically, if it's not clay, you kind of expect Federer to win everything. You can only admire inhuman levels of talent and sheer artistry for so long. Eventually, there's little point when you already know the result.
As a child of the 70's/80's I was obsessed like everyone else with Star Wars, but there's only so many times you can watch it. I'll never get the thrill of that pivotal moment when Vader tells Luke he's his father in the same way again.
Just like I'll never feel alternately hot and cold at hearing Sign 'o' the Times for the very first time. The great thing about sport is that it reinvents itself with every game, with every race.
That's the beauty of video games of course. Which brings me to brands and the obsession with simple. linear stories. We watch films and TV to because we like to not know what's coming next, like sport. We watch repeats as long as there's enough depth to reward a second viewing. Isn't that how brands should operate? Opinion is divided, but I love the Budweiser work. Feels like a story I want to follow (and makes sense of the American heritage and dedication). Whatever you thought about Cadburys Gorilla, there was a true element of surprise and delight that's missing from the dire trucks thing.
By the way, they've re-issued these tennis shoes.
They're from Agassi's daft pink cycle shorts period. And I WANT them. I know I'll look daft, but when I wore those 15 years ago, I felt like a could do anything. I took the ball earlier, hit the ball harder..all at a time when an impressionable teenager was feeling hemmed in by 'all white' rules and stuffy old England attitudes. I WAS him. In my head. It would be nice to feel a little of that thrill again.
This ad captured it all for me. What is sport if it isn't about being able to dream of the impossible?
The beauty of ordinary things
I enjoyed seeing the the Rose Hilton Exhibition at Tate St Ives last week.
The Beauty of Ordinary Things shows a style I like that resides somewhere between abstract and a figurative, but what I really like is the way she brings the things that we everyday back to our full attention, capturing the the brilliance and beauty in everyday life. We gloss over too many perfectly brilliant things that happen to us day in day out - like the sheer joy of a good cup of tea.
That's sort of why I like missing Mrs Northern when either of us is away. Reminds me how I couldn't manage without her. Or watching her affect on other people, how they can't help being affected by her sunny disposition (in sharp contrast to my grumpy one) - I forget how lucky I am to be around her everyday.
I'm devouring Clay Shirky's 'Here Come Everybody' which to gets underneath what's really happening as a result of our new online social tools. He mentions that internet stuff is becoming like mobiles - we're forgetting it's there.
I like the idea of technology only becoming interesting when the technology itself is no longer novel - when it's so ubiquitous everyone uses it without thinking. That's what's happening with online social tools for the young - it's just how they go about things. Maybe ordinary stuff is only truly great when we forget it's there, but that's a shame. That's how those paintings at the start of this surprisingly rambling post - that started off as quicky - made me feel.
Holiday musings
I was sat enjoying the best cup of tea in the world last week in Mum and Dad's garden, overlooking the beach. We'd been there for five days and the rigors of the long stretch between Christmas and Easter we're beginning to wear off. It's relentlessly cold, dark and wet eventually get a bit much and this year and Christmas is never much of break with the usual relations duties and so forth.
So this annual spring pilgrimage to Cornwall is always welcome, but this year it's on the back of three months getting used to a new job and adjusting to even earlier mornings and later nights.
The first 100 days in office are now over and the report is in. Like most places these days, there was a three month probation that's now out of the way. It's good to know you're being kept on for sure, and nice to be told you're doing well. It's not that surprising to be asked to say what I think a bit more, and good to know.
The biggest challenge for a planner is to be wanted in a room in a first place, so it's nice that people do. It's also ironic that holding back a bit while you get a feel for the place and its people makes them value what you say. Jonathan pointed out that this blog has become a little muted of late. Funny how writing your own long tail reflects your frame of mind. Expect a return to more bolshiness.
It's been nice to be part of a planning department, I've always liked being around creatives and suits, but they're not planners. I'm doing one or two things for the first time, and other bits where I was 'stirring the soup' I'm getting the chance to do really well.
On the other hand, being part of a big group means proprietary models and sometime one or two barriers. The trick is thinking around them and them post rationalising for whatever you have to conform to. Anyway, everyone has a process really. Even W&K sticks to its 'find the voice first' schtick pretty rigidly (is Fallon's 'give it to Juan?).
It's lovely actually having to hold creatives back and throw in the odd steer. The enthusiasm and commitment is intimidating, from the bottom up - not least my ghd team who work do hard with unbridled passion every day.
So far I've:
- Been involved in winning a client of Mcann's London.
- Written the most exciting brief I've ever done.
- Had the Church ban my ad.
- Fainted in a hotel.
- Spilt tea only once.
- Acquired two perfect mugs.
- Taught everyone to warm the pot.
- Briefed a transvestite performance artist.
Mostly, I've felt like I was beginning to belong, and like I was moving forward. Learning, and hopefully adding some bits of my own.
Good this.
I shall not be moved
The alarm usually goes off at 6am. By 6.15 I'm in the car. By 7.15 I'm at my desk, or in the pool, never at work after 8.30. I've lots to do, but I also want to miss the traffic.
Being 50 miles from work means an hour's drive home too. So why the hell don't I want to move from Leeds and find somewhere in Manchester closer to work?
Firstly, after being a nomad for 10 years or so, I realised that Leeds was home, we fit each other.
More importantly, we live in the kind of little village that's hard to find.
5 minutes walk from this...
And this...
Where I feel at home
Prince is amazing live, He just fills the room, completely mesmerising. And yet, offstage he's incedidibly shy. He only comes to life when he's playing music. I can identify with that. Not the stupendous talent by the way, but only being able to be confident through what you do.
I remember swimming being like that as a child. I was shy, wonky and clumsy back then (back then? Still am!) but in the pool suddenly everything clicked into place. That's what so great about sport for the athlete. Winning's great of course, but that's nothing next to the feeling of power flowing through your body, the sheer joy of feeling like there's no end to what you can do.
Suddenly you're untouchable, immortal, there's so much ability fighting to get out that if you don't use it you'll explode.
It's a big like Asterix drinking Getafix's secret potion.
And when you're done, you're back into the real world - Superman is back to Clark Kent.
That's what planning feels like to me sometimes. I like the fact that you never stop learning in this job, but I know what I'm talking about. I love talking thinking and talking about strategy it excites me, I think that great thinking is beatiful.
It scares me to the marrow to do presentations, just like I used to quiver before a race. But once it starts, I love it, and since people can see that love coming out, it usually goes OK - even if I spill the odd drop of tea along the way.
So I'm going to post about planning still, but I'm going to do more on sport too. These are the two places I get to feel a bit more like Spidey and a little less like Peter Parker.
Thoughts on marketers and marketing
Quiet clothes revolution
Since I work on fashion/style brand now, it's kind of funny that my own personal taste is dire. Basically, look at the Howies website, find something that fits. The tyranny of choice is a bit much for me.
So it's with great pleasure that I share Palmercash with you. I now shop from two places. Toto at work showed me the way. Genius (the t-shirts, not him, though I think he's pretty clever too).
Morning
I get up early, very early. Some of that is to get to work before the traffic builds up, some of that is plain old early birdness. And to be honest, a mild case of insomnia is making me rise even earlier at the moment.
I could gloss over the stress of new job.... taking so much stuff in etc but that's not my style. Now of course things will calm down, but that doesn't help when your brain insists on processing a zillion bits of new information at 5am.
But I like being awake before anyone else. I like the feeling of existing in some sort of parallel universe. It feels like some sort of place that exists out of time. Everything seems somehow slowed down. You get a better sense of of the world around you without people in the way.
And that was one thing that struck me this morning, on a quiet motorway, hills in the distance. We don't worship nature anymore. Nearly every religion used to hold it in awe.....they used to pray to the sun, the moon, the sea and even animals. And we were at its mercy. You get a much better sense of how big the world is when a horse and carriage takes you days and weeks to get anywhere, when every time you cross the sea is literally taking your life into your own hands. Take Edmund Hillary conquering Everest - it was such a pivotal symbol of the strength of the British Empire. Explorers were heroes. Nature was a challenge, now it's an inconvenient truth.
Now our gods are technology. We worship the car, the Ipod, the plasma screen. These things are considered beauty. Nature is scenery - an optional extra. Technology may well save us from this eco mess we've got us in, which I find ironic since it's what got us here.
New Job First Report
So I work here now.......
No I'm not joining the clergy, theres an agency in that church.
The tea is good, my laptop works and I have a desk. Even better, I haven't spilt a beverage on myself, or anyone else yet (which is good going as regular readers will know).
More importantly, the people are really, really nice. It's really odd having other planners to talk to, and really great.
I also wrote a pitch brief on my second day.
Good this.
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