• Today is Mrs Northern's last day at work before maternity leave. I could go on about my awe of how she's handled a difficult pregnancy while dealing with an overly energetic toddler, move house (still in progress), look after me through a minor operation and still find the energy to smile and put up with the general frustrations of being married to me, but I won't. Oh, I just have.

    Anyway, the imminent arrival or our second baby is becoming much less of an idea and increasingly a real event. It's not as daunting as the first time, but nevertheless, I'm steeling myself again for the sleepless nights and, just as we got used to having evenings and stuff, no time.

    That's easy of course, it still amazes me how all of this come naturally. It's not even hard really, it's a joy, the intense pleasure in feeling useful, needed and wanting to be there for people. Of course, it's not like going out fighting in wars, fending off sabre toothed tigers and such, but there's much meaning to be found in caring for someone (soon someone's) far more than yourself, when the most special word in the world is, 'Daddy'.

    It throws work into sharp perspective, not only showing up what we do as a little silly, but also as the most important thing in the world. It puts roof over our heads, feeds and clothes us and buys Thomas the Tank Engine stuff.

    The most surprising part of it all for me though, it the realisation that suddenly, you don't judge what you do are don't do by what you can get away with, what you want or don't want, or even what it right or acceptable. You want to make sure that when the little ones grow up, they're going to be proud. You want to be able to look them in the eye and tell them you did your best. When they're toddlers, you're a God, when they're teenagers, you're an idiot, but eventually, they're going to able to look at you and be able to judge. I suppose I'm saying I want to survive the scrutiny.

  • Bus

    An hour to kill while we wait for Daddy's car to be fixed. So we took a bus ride into town and back. The monotonous, spartan journey you can't wait to end, transformed into an adventure- lorries, more buses, tractors, funny looking people on the pavement, what fun.

    'Oh loooooooooooooooook! Der bus, der bus, der bus and der bus'. (There;s a bus, there's another and there's another bus, I love buses and might faint from seeing all the buses, OH Daddy, we're on a bus too)

    "oh wow, tractor"

    'Dat neee nah Daddy!!!!!!!!!' (ambulance)

    "Dat?' (what's that funny looking person doing with a face full of piercings and tatoos Dadd?)

    "Aaaah Daddy" (Daddy give me a cuddle because I'm so happy I took you on a bus)

    "beeeebie" (Daddy let me kiss your tummy,because since you told me Mummy has a baby in her tummy I think you have one in yours too)

  • The two worst jobs I ever did were both in a call centre.

    Battery

    The first was selling insurance for burst water pipes and blocked drains. Phoning people and asking them for money, for something even less interesting and useful than Celebrity Big Brother. People incandescent at having Eastenders interrupted, others hopping mad at me refusing to talk to anyone but 'the account holder' (it was with a water company). You find out a lot about yourself doing a job like that. 

    But it wasn't the numbing mind clamp of boredom I found tough, it wasn't the abuse. It was the feeling of being excluded. You don't work in a call centre if you're doing amazingly well in life and every call was a little exposure to the kind of lives that seemed in another dimension to me back then. You could hear happy families chattering in the background, kids answered the phone and shouted for mummy or said Dad wasn't home yet, or partners calling to their beloved.

    There's that story of African forest dwellers who laughed themselves silly at the tiny trees when they left the forest for the first time, not realising they were actually far away. It's a bit like that working in a call centre in my view. You can be perfectly happy with economy baked bean, cycling everywhere because you can't afford the bus, bedrooms with mould in them and even no girlfriends, but that's much, much harder when you are physically exposed to how the other half live.

    I'm a little luckier these days, but I've never forgotten how it felt, those calls with my nose pressed against the glass, looking at a life that seemed very, very far away. You won't be surprised that I'm very nice to people who cold-call me, no matter how invonvenient it is.

    The other call centre job was both worse and better. It was better because people called me instead, for something they wanted. It was worse because they had a medical condition and needed 'screening' before they could get travel insurance. I got the lot, cancer in remission, terminal illness. Tears, impotent rage (not at me at their lot). Of course, most calls were just boring blood pressure, diabetics and sprains, but every now and then there was a searing reminder of the how transient and occasionally cruel life can be. It was a very different intrusion this time, into the way different people deal with things – from denial to defiance, from despair to wild optimism.

    Most of all, it was a window into the incredible bravery in everyday life.

    That was really the case with the first call centre job too. I always knew I wouldn't be doing this for long, some of the people I did it with had no such knowledge.

  • I went to a pub quiz last night. With my in laws. A small pub where they serve good beer, they don't have Sky and they don't play music. That's right, I'm approaching middle age.

    Anyway, I had a chat with the landlord. He's leaving the pub and new tenants are coming in. He's not retiring, he hasn't got anything else lined up. He's, to quote him directly, 'running away'. This is a man who doesn't want riches, he just wants run a nice pub  that's like they used to be, and be able to afford to live.

    The pub is thriving, but he can't stand to work for the brewery anymore. He used to love it, but since they were taken over by a bigger group, they've made his life impossible. So he's leaving his life's work, not much but it mattered to him.

    Why am I telling you this? Because out there in the real world, beyond our fake world of NHS rimmed glasses, 'brand innovations' and aching coolness is an extraordinary world of very normal people that's full of more passion, drama, romance, tragedy, heroism and importance than most people in adland can imagine, if they even bother to try. That's what great stories are about, that's what great communications are about.

    It's not just ads and stuff though. Most of the movie's released are big on 'talk value' and low on heart. Take the sci fi genres. Compare Transformers bollocks:


     

    With ET:


     

    I think people miss the point about Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. Both may have great special effects and stuff, but they're stories about people you care about. People in cinemas for the final Harry Potter film are actually cheering and crying.

    This is one of the problems with even the best campaigns. agencies create So many of them are high on talk value and low on heart.

    The stuff people actually care about. I'm not saying that shouldn't be done in an entertaining way, quite the opposite, it needs to be jaw droppingly great, better than the stuff it's interrupting. But like ET was insanely great, but also a story about a lonely little boy (and so was Harry Potter) our work needs the beating heart of humanity at it's centre, not just influences from German cinema or the latest fad for brand characters (what the competitors don't get about Compare the Market is that people respond to humanity of the character and the way he doesn't know he's funny.


     

    There's a story about misunderstandings and the fierce pride humans have in things they've built themselves, no matter how irrelevant it is to everyone else…that's where an annoying Opera singer goes wrong. He might be a brand icon, 


     

    but he's just, well, annoying).

    This spellbinding work for Chrysler is about people, specifically, the deep romance America has with the values of hard work and perseverance and the right for everybody to live with dignity (or that's what I think).


     

    One final thing about my friend in the pub. He's like lots of people who work in agencies. Most of them want to do great work, they want to work somewhere they feel pride in. They want to work with interesting people. They don't really care about their face in Campaign or doing a TED talk. They just want to do what they love with a level of security and fun. Because let's face it, if working in an agency isn't fun and stimulating, why else would you do it? But most of them work very, very hard in spite of the huge groups most of them now work for, you know the ones to whom they are just a number, where their livelehoods can be taken away from them with the flick of a pen. The ones that do their best to extinguish every flicker of originality, personality and spirit in everyone who works for them.

    You wonder how many people take the decision of my pub friend. Not because they're retiring, not because they're off to something else great. But because they've lost all the joy in something they should love.

    1. I can go into Marks and Spencers and consider buying stuff that isn't food
    2. Some of the 'retro' fashions are stuff I still wear from last time around
    3. I approach a night in, all by myself, with glee
    4. I spend more on food than I do on alcohol
    5. I prefer to read a physical newspaper
    6. I refuse to see the point of Lady GaGa
    7. I don't have the time for a hangover on a weekend
    8. I haven't slept in past 8am for 2 years
    9. My nephews talk about 'the 80's' like I once talked about the '60's'
    10. I realise that many of the things my parents said were actually right
  • 100_4879

    "It has not the arrogance of wine, the self consciousness of coffee, nor the simpering innocence of cocoa.”

    The Book Of Tea – Kakuzo Okakura