|
Liferider, life & a Catholic boy
Wednesday, 30 September 2020
|
|
Liferider, life & a catholic boy. When Jim Lewis suggested that it might be interesting for me to relate the journey from my days at St Columba’s to getting a book I co-authored published in March this year in the USA, I thought ‘sure! why not? Within moments of sitting down to write it, it dawned on me that, though I knew where and when to begin, I had absolutely no idea how to begin it. I struggled to focus on any one particular thing to get me from then to now. And I got nowhere. So, like all lazy creatives who’ve plied their trade in Advertising for some 30 years, I ‘found creative inspiration’ in another, far greater creative force than I. Specifically, Patrick ‘Paddy’ Leigh Fermour and his small epic, ’A Time of Gifts’ - a remarkable book by a remarkable man. Effortlessly written - lyrical, epic, human, naive and quite inspiring in such a wonderful Boys Own way that, if you haven’t already done so, I recommend that you read it. I remembered how, in the introduction, he explains that, though committed to recounting his life’s journey, specifically his walk as a young man from the French coast to Istanbul, he struggled to know how to begin - until the idea came to him. ‘Write as if sending a letter to an old friend and comrade whom you have not seen for many a year.’ So I have done just that. For Leigh Fermour, at the time of his writing, the friend in question, George Psychoundakis, ‘The Clown’, a comrade from his SOE days in Crete fighting the Germans, was very much alive. In this instance, for me, the old friend to whom I write is Marc ‘Wolla’ Wolozynski, one of my closest friends in the last few years at Columba’s. For the record, Marc died in a car accident at the raw age of 18. Dear Wolla How's things my friend? Still the bright-eyed boy? [I still wear the teenage emotional scar from the time those two women sitting on the table next to us in Tuttons, Covent Garden leaned across me [oh the sleight of it] just to tell you “what beautiful eyes you have.” Gagrrggg. As for me. ‘Not sure the years have been kind. One thing’s for certain. I am a long way beyond being able to play faux Starsky to your nascent Hutch. Though I’d give it a go for old times’ sake. But I reckon you’d recognise me - if only because my very irritating personality has been honed to even greater sharpness. It occurred to me recently that I miss you man. I have done so since the day you departed. I have thought of you often. And I have wondered what you would have to say about the lives I’ve led since then - and whether they would have been different with you still in the world. And I wonder whom you’d be to the gold in my life, my children, Louis 16 and Livia 13: Friend? ‘Uncle’? Random? Stranger? Ghost? 18 was way, way too early to leave. And I still feel the space you left. In writing this, and entering recollection mode, it becomes pointedly obvious to me as to why. We spent some of the most formative years of our lives living in each other’s pockets, doing the usual things that teenage boys do; dreaming, arsing about, being fools, being ridiculous, being stupid, playing at manliness and courageousness. It’s weird, but I suppose I miss someone other than me being able to qualify and reiterate the truth and profundity of those times. Otherwise I fear they will evaporate like some piece of misty invention conjuring from inside my head. Your early earthly departure really threw me. [I know you’d be delighted to know that you have such seismic effect in the world]. To be fair, we were drifting apart as friends by then, palpably so. I think I just wasn’t cool enough - or far too irritating in the end. [If my own irritation with myself at the time was anything to go by, fair cop I’d say!] Or simply, it was just the way it is in life. A new turn in the road. Different places. Different things happening. A wish to move life on. But I have to say, I will always believe that, if that long awful night and its consequences had never happened, regardless of where we would have ended up, we’d have drifted back together again - and laughed at the ridiculous nature of the lives we would both have subsequently lived. On the family front, brother Ade [blood variety as opposed to cassocked variety] is still Ade. Older brothers never become anything other than Older Brothers. It is a cruel trick of basic chronology and the time space continuum for younger siblings such as you and I that we can never surpass our older sibling’s Older Sibling-ness! Suffice to say he is happy and thriving and living in the New Forest with his wife Lisa, and with their two precious Visler dogs, Bushka and Keddy and a number of horses for company. He sensibly binned the Advertising world in the late Noughties bar the odd bit of light brand work for some fashion brands. He is now never happier than when renovating period properties and rebuilding his Landrover. The meticulous craft, artisan skills and forensic attention to detail once wielded on Tamiya Tank models [can’t quite remember whether it was the King Tiger or the King Tiger 1:35 model that became almost legendary in its finish] he now applies to period building renovation. And all done with great panache and irritatingly long, lustrous hair. [Yup, he traded in his New Romantic quiff for the longer, more lustrous Silvio Briatore look!]. So, where were we? Ah, yes. The point of all of this. I have, it seems, lived many lifetimes and travelled far, since we were young; so here goes - my potted history. [There’s loads more I could bore you with but we have to start somewhere.] SCHOOLS OUT Well, as you know, post Columba’s, Art College beckoned. I’d love to say it was all part of some majestic schema on my part. But that would be b*%%#@!! My trajectory was by accident and mimicry more than design if truth be known. As we talked about that afternoon when you were house-sitting for Chris and we hung out and watched Hazel O’Connor in Breaking Glass and listened to Bob Marley - you were doing A levels but wondering where it all was going - and I admitted to simply following my brother into art school without the faintest idea of what I was doing. Not sure we ever got further than that in rational terms! Clarity or the lack of it seemed to be part of the energy at the time. And frankly I am uncertain as to whether I cared. Why? Because I was going to be a rock n roll star of course - a drummer extraordinaire! I know. What a sadddo. Funny how these early dreams or fantasies shape and drive us. All I did know was that my future was never going to be played out in a sandstone Quad under ‘dreaming spires,’ or destined to end up in a crisp, clean lab at CERN. I had lost my motivation by then, and, in all honesty, the courage to re-apply myself to the studies I’d let slip while in some spat of ‘turbulent child’ gobby schoolboy braggadocio. The coward in me chose the easiest and least challenging path. But to be fair, Art College was a blast. Barnet was a sort of sleepy sub-urban dormitory place but the college had a brilliant mix of people. And there were girls of course. A total eye opener to me. I loved being in the thick of it, 00 sable-hair brush and tube of Prussian Blue gouache in one hand; a pica em steel rule and some CS 10 card in the other. What I wanted to be always seemed quite straight forwards. Whom I wanted to be on the other hand was another thing entirely. The functional, physical narrative of that time was straight forward enough. Attend Art College. Do the work. Don’t screw up. But the universal emotional narrative? The meta framing? Not a clue. But after pin-balling around a few different personae I landed on my chosen one. ‘Boz’. Dark V Neck jumper. White t-shirt, stripy scarf and black cavalry boots. Drummer. And there was Music. Egosigo, the college band I fell into turned into a proper gigging machine with full brass section. Our shambolic, highly narcissistic horde [lord save us from art students and their relentless self-portraiture!] were gainfully propped up by Kevin Robinson, a classically-trained trumpet and French-horn player, jobbing session musician with Wham and then Courtney Pine, and the brother of Paul Robinson, my art school buddy and our guitarist. Thank god for one proper musician amongst us. The Foundation course turned into Advanced Graphics and I just kept rolling. By the end of it, the roads seemed varied and my world had opened up unrecognisably, powerful aided by a new sense of possibility and society. Also, Ade was so deeply involved in the club scene in London, I got to hang on the coat tails of his highly sophisticated New Romantic self and amidst some amazing people. My First Job was effectively my first interview [you’ll note a lazy thread in me right from the off]. It was at Triangle - glorious; chaotic; a creative sweat-shop. So, there I was, learning my trade - living the 80s - part Brideshead Revisited, part Rocky Horror Picture Show, part ACDC meets Funkadelic. Let it also not be forgotten that advertising and marketing in the 80s also included a staggering quantity of alcohol. But we worked hard, sometimes all night - and we had a riot. And there was Music. At a whole new level. Egosigo had floundered and petered out. To be replaced by Lead Man Holler. Glorious. Creole Funk. What a blast. Playing The Wag Club and various others, gigging and recording, all culminating in a massive showcase gig at the then Limelight Club on the sharp corner of Charing Cross Road and Shaftesbury Avenue [sadly a cavernous Walkabout Bar now]. The world was at our feet, stardom but an over-brilliantined hair’s breadth away. Sharing a manger with Tony James’s Sique Sigue Sputnik had its upsides but ultimately… well, nothing; that’s the downside. History tells with brutal clarity which band went stellar and drew the eyes of the world. C’est la vie. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. In the end, Lead Man Holler, much like every other ‘almost’ ‘could have been a contender’ thing in the world, suffocated quietly under the pillow of its own disappointment. My Second Job was at Leo Burnett, a large Global Creative Advertising Agency founded in Chicago with UK offices based on St. Martins Lane [in what is now the St Martins Lane Hotel to be precise]. ‘Did do reasonably well. Again, more by accident than design. Creative Group Head and Board Director. It was palatial ‘bubble’ living to be fair. You’d have loved the vibe. I certainly did, sitting in an office - writing insane adverts. One of the insanest, for Kellogg’s, featured two ladies from the Les Dawson school of robustly built women walking across a land of holes and, on looking down into one, exclaiming “oooh, look - it’s a chocolate biscuit hole.” Suddenly, the skies open, and the hands of the Kellogg’s All Bran god came down from the heavens, Terry-Gilliam-style, and fill up the Chocolate Biscuit Holes with All Bran. At which point the holes closed up in a rather distasteful-looking manner. Howlingly funny though not at all designed to be so. In the midst of my time there I did take a sabbatical, travelling across the southern USA from Miami to L.A. in 2 Winnebagos with Tony Johnson, the lead singer, creator and writer of Lead Man Holler and 6 animation & film students from Cardiff! Mesmerising, expansive, jaw dropping, terrifying and highly educational. An extraordinary adventure. Which primed me for my last few years at Burnett’s. On my return to the highly shiny world of advertising, after some months and leading a few new business pitches, I also became the proud owner of one Churchill Dog. Now mostly one’s creations come and go in matters of weeks and months in the high turn and churn world of advertising ads and campaigns - but that one, for the eponymous insurance company, lasted from 1993 until September last year, gaining a certain cultural notoriety along the way, which I am quietly rather pleased about. And there was Music. The Tender Mercies. A sort of jangly guitar band, with a waft of 60s psychedelia, Neil Young, Dylan, and some of the glam folk notes of early Bowie and Bolan [though I sense we missed out the notes attached to their stellar talent and pixie-dust gift for super stardom.] Again, fun was to be had. Played the Mean Fiddler and the Powerhaus venues amongst many others. And again, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Professionally my high point came along with a very large fork in my Leo Burnett road. I was invited to consider perhaps moving onto the Leo Burnett International loop, to Japan, or Singapore, - Pan Asia being the step up and out in Leo Burnett terms. But I felt like my life was already too owned. You’d probably have told me to not be such a wuss and just get on with it. Man up. And frankly it would have been a far more lucrative and less volatile trajectory. So of course I went in the opposite direction. I left the corporate beast to join my brother in his design agency, Elliott Borra Perlmutter. The idea was to take its Design foundation and build some advertising top spin into it, and help grow it. They had been in Clerkenwell, 4 flights up in a great space but time came to move west. And after some shuffling around in other people’s offices, we found a place slap-bang on Cambridge Circus [and not a hop, skip and a jump from the infamous Coach & Horses hostelry, run with breath-taking rudeness and rancour by one Norman Balon - Soho Pub Landlord Extraordinaire]. Wolla, it was a just brilliant. Running one’s own life. Unfettered. No corporate script to stick to. With my brother. Working on great clients, doing great work - heart FM, Alitalia, Associated New Media, Hallmark Channel. And Churchill had followed me from Burnett’s so all was good. Professionally in that time I got to stretch myself, mainly because in start-ups everyone needs to be part of everything. It was a world away from the highly demarcated and hierarchical world of corporate places like Burnett’s. You made your own luck, built your own teams and made your own moments. I think that would have been your thing. Like Roman. And your father. Wanting to run your own business. Being in charge of your own destiny. It’s strange when I think back. Start-up culture is such a ‘thing’ now. Everywhere is like a militarised Millennial enterprise zone. Every shared space in London and beyond is filled to brimming with people firing up new ideas and businesses — but then it was still nascent. It still felt fresh and very edgy to break out of the cocoon. For me that was the beginning of the road to becoming what is fancifully called a Creative Strategist [which really just means that you use creative skills, tools, talents and approaches to shape and hone better strategies]. It was 8 great years that glint in my memory, even the really dreadful bits, which there are when you are running a small business. We forget that prior to 2008, there were a number of quite biting recessions and work like the stuff we were doing became discretionary and suddenly a luxury brands didn’t want to pay for. But even with the bumps and bends and flips and rushes - I would not trade them and the memory of them for the world. In 2006 having put EBP to bed and having taken a breath, Ade and I reversed into Saatchi & Saatchi as group Creative Directors working on both European Client Business like Olay and Head & Shoulders - as well as helping their conflict agency TEAM Saatchi on some of their works. I had been quietly activating my conscience along the way [there’s only so many 8 bladed razors, bottles of shampoo, cereal boxes and Big Macs you can sell without starting to feel like you’re part of the cosmic problem and not the solution!]. It was mainly kick started when I worked with one of the founders of REN SKINCARE while they shaped their highly purposeful sulphate and paraben free brand - which frankly revolutionised the world of skincare. They created the new normal we know as skincare today. But mostly I developed my purposeful side at Saatchi. Am I in Extinction Rebellion? Or an advocate of slacktivism and anarchy? Errm Nope. The problem is real enough. But Extinction Rebellion? That’s not my gig. I’m more interested in the mass who struggle with the end of the month, let alone the end of the world. In my world I try to use language and the old dark creative arts of Madison Avenue to try and get the majority of people to try and live a smarter and lighter life - with humanity and the planet as the ultimate client. Funny. I can almost feel you cringing as I type!! You’d probably be on the Clarkson side of the fence when it comes to sustainability, social good and reduced meat eating!! You always did find me a complete light-weight!. Where was I? Oh, yes - my last few years at Saatchi were involved in developing the reach and product of Saatchi S, an activation and communications agency inside the network with a pure focus on brands and their sustainability and social stories. For a short while I partnered with the founder, a guy called Adam Werbach, inspirational man, and author of Strategy for Sustainability through Harvard Press. Through him and that work I was introduced to a global network of activists and thought leaders who are as likely to be found trying to bio-engineer a better future, or design a smarter smart grid as they are to be at the WEF giving a keynote speech to presidents, diplomats CEOs and global game changers By 2013 this had become a real focus for me, and a discipline strength which, to this day, I still use to underwrite all of my work. THE NOW So, you asleep yet? Or bored? You were always so BORED! Well, now, I am a Creative Writer by trade. And a Creative Strategist. [I said no sniggering.] I have my own consultancy, the Thin Air Factory Ltd, through which I do consultancy stuff for the likes of Virgin, Edwardian Hotels, RBS, Wellcome and Octopus Investments amongst others. I don’t quite do as much straight-down-the-line script writing for TV ads or print ads as I used to. I now work more as a steerage and strategic advisor - helping whomsoever it is to shape better, smarter, sharper Communications and Cultures. I suppose I am remarkably lucky. The quality and nature of the stuff I work on is quite out there. I am currently working as a long-term brand advisor to Edwardian Hotels, having previously created and co-managed Virgin VOOM, an entrepreneurial initiative for VMB. I have also got to work with a lady called Peggy Liu, a WEF Young Global Leader and green and sustainability activist in China, helping her develop a Convene & Curate process to drive forwards the China Dream, a mantra for sustainable living to help Chinese society avoid the largest pitfalls of the American Dream and its untrammelled consumption run riot. I have also developed an initiative called Socialising the Genome in collaboration with Dr Anna Middleton at Wellcome Sanger Institute, focused on using language and creative storytelling as a powerful lever to help people engage with the complexities and scary bits around Genomics and embrace the benefits of healthcare with the precious data. It might not be quite Spielberg or Lucas but I also get the chance to direct stuff. rarely. But it’s a blast. Last month, I scripted up an idea for an ethical fashion company called MB Clothing based in Portugal who had developed a clothing range dedicated to supporting humanitarian rights. After being asked to expand on how the idea would look and drawing the storyboards myself, it made sense for me to just crack on and direct the spot, which I did with the result launching on December 10th. And then, finally [yawn] there is the book stuff. I had already developed an idea for a children’s book, The Man Who Put Words on Birds, which was published back in 2007 I think. That was a short child-like rhyming ditty where, in the absence of us finding an artist to create the visuals, I also did the illustrations. And of course Liferider, the whole reason I started writing this insane act of middle-aged clumsily-typed narcissism in the first place. I was introduced to Laird Hamilton, one of the world’s legendary big-wave surfers through my best mate who now runs his Apparel & Projects. He was so the kind of bloke you and I would have flipped over. He is just that gnarly. When I first met him it reminded me of that documentary film we saw, of the surfers and pipe-riders in California, the skateboard punks who would go out to where the big sprawling suburban estates were being built - and they’d ride the massive drainage pipe left in the middle of the building site. I digress. Discussions were had about what exactly Laird felt like he had to say at this point in his life. We had a think and I shared some thoughts on book ideas, the principle one being Liferider, based on a simple premise: Life is the Biggest wave you’ll ever ride as seen through the eyes of one of the world’s legendary surfers, water innovators, entrepreneurs and family man. After a week in Malibu and another in Kauai with Laird and his family, interviewing him and curating his thoughts, and a furious month of writing and rewriting, we presented the 70,000 words to Pengujn Random House on Jan 1st 2018. As anyone in the business will tell you; at this point these things go very quiet. And then the copy editor wades in. And it’s brutal. But all good and for the right reasons. And, as if in no time, I was on a plane flying to Los Angeles March 2019 to launch it in the U.S. Two cities followed that, with a fireside at Linked-In live streamed to their network. And then a Fireside with Laird, Gabby his wife and myself, up at Microsoft in Seattle which exists on the internet somewhere! It seems to have done well but could always do with a new reader. Other than that, I write other stuff, anything really. Film Scripts. Short ones, long ones. Two of them I really dream of making one day. And I also post things I’ve written up on Self-Publishing sites if I get impatient and need them out of my head and in the world - regardless of whether anyone buys them or likes them - as form of sanity filing I suppose One such example is called Sail which I’ve put up on Amazon/Kindle. I started writing it in 2008 - a story about an awkward 12 year old boy called Tom [who in some ways bears an uncanny resemblance to my gawky young self] who lives ‘somewhere’ in the UK - somewhere that the enlightened would recognise as an odd collision of bits of Radlett, the Veralum Estate, Totteridge and Suffolk & Norfolk. I now call it my BREXIT book - as the heart of the story revolves around the fact that Tom, in a spat of pre-teenage angst, inadvertently untethers Britain from its mooring just at the top-left of Europe, unwittingly leaving it to float off into the wild blue yonder - and the consequences of that. A sweet idea. With a good heart. But a bit all over the place in writing terms. Tries too hard at times. Clumsy - and certainly no masterclass by any stretch. But redeeming in places. And funny every now and then. Quite a good universal summary I suppose. If I had to write an epitaph now, that would probably just about do it. Anyway mate. Time to fly. Take care and I’ll see you soon enough. J |