Bond isn’t black... he’s Elba

Wrote this about Idris Elba as Bond ... got a Guardian pick & 57 likes under my nom de guerre ... 303 Squadron 

Casting Connery in the early 60s was more shocking than casting Idris Elba or Regé-Jean Page now ... Fleming was horrified that his suave English gent was portrayed by a working class, bodybuilding, milk delivering, hirsute Irishman from Edinburgh... For those who say Fleming didn’t write Bond as black ... he certainly didn’t picture coffin polishing, tattooed Big Tam fi Fountainbridge as 007

People don’t compare Bond to Fleming’s fiction ... they always measure him against Connery. And the closest in terms of screen presence, sexual charisma & potential for violence is unquestionably Idris Elba

Going Postal ... my Gmail is pgarethbrown@gmail.com

That’s pgarethbrown@gmail.com 

I’ll repeat for emphasis ... 

pgarethbrown@gmail.com 

Nobody knows anything these days ... 

YNWA 

Mad Men ad break

 pgarethbrown@gmail.com 

Obituary: Stephen Palmer, passionate arts worker who believed in power of creativity

Herald Scotland 

Born: December 28, 1968;

Died: June 7, 2021

Stephen Palmer, who has died aged 52, was a highly regarded and deeply respected arts development officer who made the business of arts funding human, understandable and non-threatening.

My long-term colleague and friend, Stephen was born in Stockton on Tees to parents Barbara and David and was the middle brother of David and Victoria. Following his foundation year at Cleveland College of Art and Design he graduated from Middlesex Polytechnic with a degree in fine art and English. On graduation he secured his first job in the arts at the Dovecot Arts Centre in Stockton where he held a variety of roles including being artist in residence at a local secondary school, teaching print-making to unemployed young people in communities in East Cleveland and managing the gallery and film programmes at the centre. These early experiences seem to have been formative in shaping Stephen’s interests and roles throughout his career, including his passion for working with young people, his belief in the power of creativity to transform lives and his love of film and all forms of contemporary culture.

In 1997, he moved to Scotland securing work as the film development officer at the Macrobert Arts Centre at Stirling University and then as film programmer at the Filmhouse in Edinburgh. He held various temporary contracts including teaching English to visiting students at Esk Valley College and leading community film and animation projects for the Citizens Theatre in Glasgow as part of their ongoing work in promoting cultural diversity. It was also during this period that Stephen met his wife, Pippa Richardson, and she recalls how "he scooped us up, so fun, beautiful and handsome, so kind and gentle. He made us all feel safe, finding and giving joy in the simplest things as well as the most complicated".

In 2004 Stephen was appointed arts development officer at Falkirk Council with a specific remit for promoting and supporting the visual arts and crafts across the region. In addition to strategy and policy work he was the lead programmer and manager of the Park Gallery. Managing the gallery played to Stephen’s strengths and enabled him to develop his curatorial outlook and ambition. He relished the opportunity to develop and present an exhibition programme that introduced audiences to new experiences and perspectives, maintaining an excellent balance between more traditional and more experimental work. He used the role to build relationships with artists at a local and national level, becoming an advocate and champion for their work. So many artists have remarked on the support and advice they received from Stephen, and his exceptional ability to connect people to opportunities, to build knowledge and to nurture confidence.

In 2007 Stephen took up the position of visual arts officer at the Scottish Arts Council and transferred to its successor body Creative Scotland in 2010. He took exceptional pride in his work, whether that was advising an organisation on a significant, multi-million pound development or helping somebody who was starting out at the early stages of their career. Stephen would take the time to understand the needs of other people and to provide them with all the help and advice he could. He was always on the side of those who needed his support and he put his relationships with people in the sector ahead of the bureaucratic necessities of the position he held.

In his role at Creative Scotland Stephen took a strategic lead on a number of policy initiatives but he took a particular interest in the development of curatorial knowledge and believed strongly in the importance of travel to broaden horizons and to encourage connections, leading delegations throughout the UK and to Australia, China, Germany, Istanbul and Venice.

While a keen internationalist, he also had a strong enthusiasm for working at a local level, most clearly evidenced in his development of the Visual Artist and Craft Makers Awards, a devolved programme of small grants managed with 25 partners across the country. These interests and connections were further strengthened in 2016 when he undertook an interim role as head of place, partnerships and communities working closely with local authorities and cultural trusts to support their strategic plans.

Throughout his time in Creative Scotland Stephen maintained his support for young people and always enjoyed providing advice to those just starting out in their career. He was responsible for developing a youth employment strategy working across art forms and establishing a range of apprenticeships and trainee positions. He provided mentorship to young people through Project Scotland and was lead officer for the gallery educators network, Engage. Many artists and curators have expressed their debt to him for helping them navigate those early years in their career.

Outside of work Stephen volunteered as a member of the Panel for Children's Hearings Scotland from 2011 onwards. Those that worked with him remember a man of great integrity and principle, somebody who took great care in managing complex situations and who did a lot of good things for a lot of vulnerable people 

He regularly attended exhibitions and enjoyed travelling, shopping for the perfect things for the perfect price, his family, his dogs, cooking, baking cakes and walking (at the fastest pace). He was generous, kind, handsome and stylish. So stylish, his ability to match his watch with his socks and trainers was legendary.

In late 2019 Stephen was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease but he continued to work throughout his illness providing unstinting support to his colleagues across Creative Scotland and within the wider visual arts community in Scotland. He will be especially remembered for his expansive knowledge and overview of contemporary art and culture, his supportive outlook to others, and his ability to bring humanity and humour into all aspects of the job, no matter how tough or difficult the situation. He was, and will remain, a constant source of encouragement to so many friends and colleagues, helping them to believe in themselves and to take that next step forward.

Stephen is survived by his wife Pip and daughters Phoebe and Billie.

AMANDA CATTO

Touching the Void ~ Ralph B...

He was tough, and he didn’t back down, and he didn’t ever quit. But he did know when to retreat when that was the right thing to do. One of the best stories about him is of the epic retreat from Mont Blanc in 1961. This was when he and my mum and Ken Brannan went to the Alps for a summer of climbing. My dad teamed up with Ken and two American climbers to climb Mont Blanc. While they were on the  mountain, it was hit by an immense storm - blizzard conditions, lightning, Arctic temperatures. My dad and Ken sensed early what was coming, before the worst of it, and said they must turn back. The Americans insisted they should carry on. My dad and Ken prevailed. The full force of the storm came over them before they were safely down, and extracting themselves from the hill turned into an unbelievable test of their courage, and resilience, and mountaineering skill. Two details stand out in my mind: my dad told me about how they’d had to cross back  over a section of path that was now overwhelmed by a flooding waterfall - they could hear boulders being carried down in the flood. They had to cross one by one, belaying one another against the water. The courage it must have taken to get into that water, and the strength it must have taken to survive it. The second detail comes from my mum, who all through this was waiting with the other climber’s wives and girlfriends in Courmayeur, looking up at the mountain and wondering if their men were alive or dead, fearing the worst: she told me how my dad appeared out of the storm, coming towards her, staggering, shattered, exhausted, but determined to make it all the way back and let her know that he was all right. 

Ben B ... Inverness 

By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept.... bazaar part II ... the story continues

Various People on Fathers & Father figures 

“At present there is an alarming scarcity in British life of public figures we revere or admire. Or even like. I can think of very few in politics or the media or business whose example young people might be encouraged to emulate. There is a poverty of inspiration out there. All the more reason why in this era of dire tumult and anxiety we look to someone who has not just authority but common sense, decency, a will to honour the life we have been given, and the wit to enjoy it. Jürgen Klopp isn’t just for Liverpool. He isn’t just for his adoring fans and the quote-hungry sports media either. He is for all of us” 

In memory of Peter Quinn (1930–2019), my dad, who first took me to Anfield, Anthony Quinn 

I’m not that interested in sport, but I’m so glad Jürgen Klopp is in the world and not only because my husband is a Liverpool fan. In the age of Trump and Johnson he delights me as an example of what male leadership can look like: passionate, humorous, generous, kind, driven by humility and integrity and, above all, decency. My husband loads up clips from post-match interviews and match highlights for me to watch and without fail Klopp makes me laugh or my heart swell. 

Lucy Kirkwood, playwright, quoted in the Observer

In 1st position is

Sk8ter boi ...  On his intended letter 

Hey, 

Just read the latest post, 

I’ll try my best to tell that to my father

Pozdrawiam

Maciek 

Kirill has The Cure 

“...Once at, English class I used "sarcasm" and the teacher corrected me with "irony".. did the hell she had the right for such substitution?!..)

11 years ago I was awakened by the doorbell. My friend said “Uncle Kolya has gone..” I wasn’t close to my father those times. But we contacted regularly then, I’ve spoken to him two days or weeks before and hadn’t even a thought that this was for the last time.. can’t remember if any of us used to say “I love you” but we always could rely on one another .. or at least I can say this now. 

And we could be much closer now. And still there are opportunities to say “I love you” that way.

Did I ever send you this ..... the Dropbox thing can wait until I am over 

See you soon”

Godbeer’s daughter on her father 

http://57rulesofmedia.blogspot.com/2011/01/fear-of-godbeer.html

“Hello -

I'm Roger Godbeer's daughter and I just thought I'd let you know that I enjoyed reading your text about my father. My dad passed away unexpectedly a few days before Christmas this year (Dec. 22nd). He was active and energetic right to the end so it was a huge shock to everyone. I did some googling after he died to see if there was anything I could find about him -- he retired before the Internet had taken off, so there wasn't much, but I did come across your blog. Unfortunately I don't think my dad ever saw it but I'm sure if he did he would have had a good laugh about it. I did include some excerpts of your piece in the eulogy I gave for my father as I know my father would have enjoyed it. I think you really captured his work persona. I don't know if you ever got to know him more on a personal note. To his family and friends he was a 'gentle giant'. He was a good man and cared deeply for his family and friends. I know though at work, he was often demanding (but I like to think also fair) and he wanted both to "do the right thing" and "do the thing right".

I really appreciated you writing about him.

kind regards -

Gail”

J.C. Muir on his Great Uncle... 

“... had a great-uncle killed in 1942 in Texas while training for the US air force.  Only found this out last year when going through a box at my mum’s – found the telegram that brought the news.

 

Anyway, not getting maudlin or anything!”

By the Grand Bazaar I sat down & wept

I finally sat down to write this... 

I used to fly back from Moscow & Istanbul to Edinburgh to see my dying father.  I had hours on the plane to tell him how I felt.  You can’t fly direct between those destinations ... so I had additional time with connections to collect my feelings 

I returned to the Scottish capital several times, rented cars, drove home on the bright side of the road

We went to the beach in East Lothian; ... we went to the Trossachs; where I’d been sent Scouting with Johnny, my oldest* friend ... we went to the borders & watched a single engined plane fly down the Glen. It was similar to a Spitfire. My father was born next to the Spitfire factory in Southampton ... Poles flew Spitfires in the Royal Air Force... that’s & why he always appreciated the Polish love of freedom & was happy to be buried next to the Poles on Costorphine Hill

I knew, & he knew ... that he was seeing these places for the last time. And I knew these were the last journeys I’d make with my father 

Our last journey together was to take Inez to the butterfly farm on the outskirts of Edinburgh.  But wee one had fallen asleep before we got there. It was the rhythm of the car, the vibrations, his engineering expertise 

So I suggested to R.D.B that we make the trek to the forest in Peebles to buy a Christmas tree.  This was a ritual we had performed many times when I was learning to drive... & in the years since. It’s a short journey by Russian standards, only 22 miles ... but it’s a twisty wintry road, so it tests all your skills 

I chose a tree, Inez continued to snooze, Dad couldn’t leave the car due to the cancer

We then proceeded to the butterfly farm, Inez awoke with typical tardiness ... & Juanita was probably furious on our return that I’d risked the trip

~

After the funeral; where the only flowers were from my clients in Istanbul (who apparently don’t read the Scottish papers) ... I returned to Turkey ... opened my bank statement, saw the Peebles payment for the Christmas tree ... & wept at my desk

In all these hours  ... & all those journeys ... I never once told him I loved him.  How much I appreciated how he’d supported me... what he’d given me, what he’d taught me 

And in mitigation, he never said he loved me ... or even that he appreciated his granddaughter asleep in the back.  We are Browns; we show our feelings through sarcasm. If you’re not worthy of our wit, we’re not interested in you 

‘You know I love you’ 

It’s easier to say five words than three 

We show our affection through actions. I’d flown back, I got the car, I fought with Juanita for permission for the trips ...

Funny that our final act was killing a conifer tree, a pagan symbol of Winter solstice, hijacked by Protestant Germans, imported to Britain by the Victorians ... & that the only ephemeral foliage at his burial was sent by Muslims ... as he wanted to be stuck under a living tree & have a ceremony without anybody’s Gods 

Dad, I know you didn’t believe in Saints ...but you’ll never walk alone 

*That last line is football pun ... Dad supported SouThamton ... who play in New Delhi... & Andrew my other best friend & a fanatic of St Mirren would be hurt if I described Johnny as my best friend ... although as Jonathan is a March baby & I’m a summer fool ... he is actually my oldest friend as well 

Unhappy Campers ~ Canvassing Opinion

I fear for the future of kids today... without 70s camping holidays how will they develop a sense of humour...?  The world can be divided into three camps... those who like camping... those who prefer caravans ... & normal people.  My brother likes camping, my friends Johnny Geoff & Jeff like camping ... unfortunately my father loved camping

They proselytise it’s virtues “It’s the great outdoors ... doesn’t it make you proud to be Scottish?’

‘Look Dave ... I know you’re getting a hard time off Juanita but there’s no point taking it out on us’

Actually I can see the appeal of wild camping in the Scottish wilderness.  Is that what we did?  ... fuck no.  We drove drove the length of the nation in an Austin 1100*... a feeble motor further crippled by the addition of a trailer.  It was a Polski Fiat 124 equivalent... a Zhiguili.  

Sensible Edinburgh residents who felt the call of the canvas made the short trip to the Borders,  The Kingdom of Fife or the Trossachs, more adventurous would drive a couple of hours more to the Cairngorms or Highlands.  

We drove all the the way from Scotland to the Isle of Wight... we were practically in France. One year we attempted to conquer the peaks of Devon ... but we don’t talk about that expedition... we lost good men on that mission ... over Slapton Sands? I don’t think I’ll ever get over Slapton Sands 

Despite heading South for many days we were still trapped on the island, with its variable weather.  Wet & we got bored, sunny & we got burned.... & I’ll no speak of the terrible winds... but only say that poor Ruth, wretched from the gales & in a desperate moment of deep despair scratched out the S from dear Ma’s scrap book 

~

In summary ... days of being cooked in a plastic car only to be sunburnt & soaked at journey’s end... the smell of camomile lotion still gives me Vietnam flashbacks 

I wouldn’t say we were a dysfunctional family ... but we sometimes struggled to function in a five bed, two bath house in a bland estate at the foot of the Pentland Hills.  Later we moved into a larger house in the centre of Edinburgh ... I’m still not sure if this was our decision or if the neighbours had requested that we leave

So the idea that a relaxing vacation would be to miniaturise this family unit; shrink the kitchen, outsource the toilet ... pack it up & take it cross country in a crap car (further disabled with a box on wheels attached) was certifiable lunacy 

The car journeys alone were merry hell; ... think Steve McQueen in the cooler in the Great Escape... Alec Guinness in Bridge on the River Kwai ... James Franco in 27 hours ... luxury 

And when either the geriatric Austin or a middle aged parent overheated retribution was swift & violent. As the youngest of three I was inevitably in the middle of the back seat.  Despite Juanita’s degree in Mathematics she failed to calculate that if you whack your trio in a percussive fashion with the AA map book .. the smallest in the centre is statistically receiving double the punishment.  All three of us now drink to borderline AA levels ... is it any wonder...? 

And the tent bit itself? The pegs, the poles, the ropes (lines?) the gas bottles  ... it’s too painful to recall the paraphernalia.  So I won’t 

The best bit about camping holidays ... getting home again

After a few weeks of weeks of temporary shelter & ersatz nourishment in a middle class refugee camp with my siblings, I could almost face the return to school. Not with joy obviously, weary resignation best describes the feeling.  Even confronting the known horror** of Miss Heatly in Primary Five was possible

I’ll never forget Scouse Neil at Saatchis returning from a fortnight in Spain staying in lovely apartment

“The thought of coming back here... I cried on the plane mate... I cried on the plane” 

That’s a holiday 

*Might have been 1300cc ... Uncle Ian would know  ... & it may have been pimped a bit when it threw a crank shaft or something in the Borders & got a new engine.  Ruth showed the compassion she would later demonstrate as a Nurse.  She scared the shit out of me with horror stories of our dear father not returning from the dark rainy night when he ventured out in search of an AA call box 

**One of the many design faults of being the youngest is that you are made cruelly aware of the terrors that await you at school. You are given years of advance warning to develop phobias about your anxieties. Miss Heatly was evil incarnate, luckily I avoided Miss Ridley who was considered worse

Full disclosure ... One year we went to the Mull of Kintyre.  For the first time we packed in the days before & left at dawn.  We even breakfasted in a real restaurant on the famous kippers at Loch Fyne. Father celebrated the occasion by setting fire to the menu by reading it over a candle. We were organised for once & even enjoyed better transport. A brand new second hand Volvo.  

It was less stress all round. Did we learn from this? Of course not.  But luckily granny died, was spread on Anfield & left us enough cash to move house & upgrade to renting farmhouses 

Why I Quit Anti-Social Media...

Doesn’t suit my personality

Social media works when people are reasonable with each other.  I’ve never been reasonable

Some people shouldn’t be allowed out in public, I shouldn’t be allowed out in private 

Frankie Boyle owned the internet for the day when he responded to Richard Branson’s greenwashing with...

‘You own an airline you mad cunt’ 

Kathy Burke’s letter to Time Out was equally diplomatic.  In reply to Helena Bonham Carter’s lament that attractive upper class actors didn’t get the interesting parts... 

“As a lifelong member of the non-pretty working classes, I would like to say to Helena Bonham Carter (wholly pledged member of the very pretty upper-middle classes): shut up you stupid cunt.”

I applaud this kind of considered, civilised public debate.  It’s how I communicate warmly with my friends ... 

When my old school friend John in Perth complains about the quality of immigrants in Australia, lost opportunities for ‘hard working locals’ ... & the potential for cultural clashes ... I may respond with surprise...  

I didn’t know he was the only aboriginal at Dean Park Primary & possibly Scotland.  I did work with a Maori girl once in Edinburgh... I asked her full name... 57 minutes later she was still reciting it ...

Also, discussing ‘working class opportunities’ is a bit rich coming from someone who had a fucking tennis court in his ‘back garden’ 

And when darling Fiona is espousing a socialist utopia from a tax dodging, kiddy fiddling, Nazi collaborating channel island I’m inclined to point out the irony  

So at times my righteous or maybe wrongeous anger has gotten me blocked by useful idiots 

A fellow Paul from Boroughmuir was offended by a simple question I offered regarding Alex Salmond’s new post as Putin apologist ... Sturgeon thought it fishy ... & an anonymous SNP source was quoted as follows “What the fuck was he thinking?’ 

I wasn’t nearly so crude.  I simply offered the polite question “In working for Putin’s RT... Is Salmond PG Wodehouse or Lord Haw Haw?” 

Paul & I had studied history together in the same class with Meriel, Boroughmuir’s second best looking girl.  We both fancied Mez rotten so our enmity goes back several decades.   Neither of us won her heart.  But when we had a mock election at school & Paul obviously led the SNP campaign, Meriel & I, being contrarians, were the only Tories

Salmond, Paul’s hero, made his name battling for Scottish independence, for a country’s right to determine its own future.  Is it therefore appropriate to take Kremlin money that also pays to suppress protest, free speech & independence around the globe...? 

The same rubles have reduced Donetsk airport to rubble... bought bullets used in Kyiv & Crimea, paid for the BUK missile that downed MH17 killing 298 men, women & children* ... barrel bombed Syria & paid for gas attacks in that country, Wagner mercenaries in Africa, military support to suppress protest & free speech in Venezuela ... is that enough ammunition for my case...? 

(Source; opensource... ‘We are Bellingcat) 

I’m not sure how much time Salmond has for his RT (Russia Today) show recently as he’s been occupied crowdfunding legal costs associated with his sexual assault trial where he was acquitted & subsequent legal battles

Salmond’s seductive powers might be questionable but he has been seduced by the power of tin pot demagogues before...

“Trump went over their heads. He started wining and dining the head of the nation, Scotland First Minister Alex Salmond, a pro-business stalwart. “Salmond believed Trump’s crap,” says Suzanne Kelly, a reporter for the Aberdeen Voice. “He enjoyed flying back and forth to New York, eating Trump’s steak and lobster dinners. He got the Trump mojo put on him.” A year later, Salmond decided to override the environmentalists and the locals and the Aberdeenshire Council and grant Trump permission to build his golf resort, dunes be damned. “Six thousand jobs across Scotland, 1,400 local and permanent jobs in the northeast of Scotland,” Salmond reasoned. “That outweighs the environmental concerns.”

“Trump Aberdeen is a money pit. According to the required tax papers the club had to file, it lost $4.5 million in 2017. Remember those 6,000 people Trump was going to hire? It employed just 85 in 2017.” (Source, Commander in Cheat, Robert Reilly) 

Paul, I’m sorry that I’ve offended your hero but I’m of the opinion that like Branson & Bonham Carter, Salmond is a cunt

Christopher Hitchens as usual puts it best; we should judge a man’s reputation by his actions ... not his actions by his reputation 

And finally ... it took me me a few years to achieve but I finally got Tommy Wilson to block me 

How to introduce Tommy ... his self published book helps

“... a sensitive, grieving screenwriter, is persuaded to visit his ebullient, womanizing best friend Tommy Wilson in Moscow, where Tommy hopes that the vibrant music scene and beautiful Russian girls will help John move on from the death of his girlfriend... Moscow's buzz, its colourful characters and their vodka-fuelled fun certainly have an effect, and, when John meets the alluring Olga, it seems as if Tommy's plan has worked.

But the powerful attraction between John and Olga is not enough to bury the past and they seem destined to pay the price for a cruel trick of fate. Love's Roads twist and turn as Olga faces up to the truth and John must choose between living in the past or taking the future into his own hands”

... & those were his own words 

A book so brilliant that I offered it as a prize at a training session where Tommy was acting as the client 

‘The winning team gets a copy of Tommy’s book, the losing team gets two copies’ 

Tommy was a marketing director/pop star ... an unusual dual title in the business.  David Brent is the only other example I can think of ... 

I always refused blew to smoke up his arse ... at dinner once he was trying impress Olga Barskaya, a smouldering Cossack beauty (or ‘alluring’) of Gusinsky’s NTV.  He told a long winded joke with me as the punchline. I responded with...

‘Tommy was in an elevator & one of his groupies approaches him... Tommy I love your music can I give you a blow job... sure he replies “... but what’s in it for me?” 

I forget which communique finally achieved the end of our correspondence 

It might have been questioning the speech he posted about the danger of abandoning nuclear weapons ... that didn’t fucking mention Ukraine 

It could have been mocking his proud family portrait with a blood stained Stalin church as a backdrop. If, like Martin Sixsmith in Philomena, you know Russian history that is comparable to a photo of your smiling brood by to the gates of Auschwitz hanging proudly in your hall 

It was probably because when he announced he was going to learn Russian after 25 years in the country... & that his song ‘I don’t understand Russian’ & would no longer be appropriate. I offered gratitude that we wouldn’t have to listen to it anymore 

But whichever missive achieved my aim of ending our digital relationship ... I did it folks, it took 21 years but I bloody got there 

*Sometimes the full horror of the Kremlin’s huge atrocities can only be conveyed by the small details.  For the Dutch crash investigators working on MH17 it was the children’s toys in the wreckage 

Stockholm Syndrome

If you kept heading East in the nineties & naughties you could enjoy a glittering career

Go too far & you’ll end up in filth; Failed in London, try Hong Kong 

I never made it that far but I did make to Uzbekistan, Tashkent & further south to Bukhara, on the border of Afghanistan ... the trick was to stay ahead of technology.  As media research spread the nerd birds flocked in & media changed from theoretical physics to pure maths

In London I was a grunt, in Warsaw I was gauche, in Moscow a guru ... & in Samarkand I was practically a God.  There was no research in Uzbekistan. But I had a vision... television. With experience of buying TV in rapidly developing Poland & Russia I had a premonition of how to magically predict the numbers blindfolded

After Warsaw I was supposed to sail north to Y&R Stockholm to run Colgate across Scandinavia.  I had some misgivings about this ... partly because Marlboro man Jim at Philip Morris had said  “I don’t see it, you’re an emerging markets guy” But mainly because the Swedish chef I was supposed to cook up media recipes with thought Sean Connery was American 

Luckily I was on maternity leave ... awaiting the arrival of my daughter.  She was a couple of weeks late... a sign of the tardiness to come. So I was delaying my start date in Sweden 

And then my friend Katarzyna McNally called; she’d originally inspired me to move East.  She’d made the move from Chicago to Prague in the early 90s.  Now she was headhunting for someone crazy enough to consider Russia .  Did I know anyone? 

“Yes... Me” 

Russia has never had enjoyed a reputation as a fun destination.  James Bond has never visited Moscow, only St Petersburg in Goldeneye & held prisoner in Azerbaijan by Sophie Marceau, la petit mort indeed.  For media in 1998, compared with Moscow... Baghdad or Bogotá were considered a cushy post.  Or as my boss in London drummed into me...

“I grew up in Africa & India ... & I wouldn’t go to fucking Moscow” 

A famous TV presenter Kiselyov had been shot dead, possibly part of a dispute over the TV pricing, other leading foreign businessmen had been killed, most famously FORBES at the Radisson ... & Saatchi & Saatchi made headlines after visit from armed tax police.  I made a joke about this later & a colleague who worked there responded sombrely 

“Have you ever had a Kalashnikov pointed at your face?”

However I felt this this dangerous reputation held an advantage for me. Less competition 

Moscow was famous as a posting for people who’d slept with people they shouldn’t have, or hadn’t slept with people they should have. I’d be surrounded by womanisers, alcoholics & gamblers ... & even people who liked to spend their cash unwisely. I’d fit right in 

So in early April I found myself in snowy Moscow.  There had been a freak Spring storm & the city looked white, bright & almost beautiful. God had carpeted the capital in fresh, fluffy snow... but my future employers weren’t rolling out a red carpet. Initiative Media were doing everything possible to dissuade me to sign up for a tour of duty. 

I’d been picked up by a spiv in a zhighuili. Taken to the worst hotel in town. And treated to a cold breakfast alone in the cavernous Soviet dining room 

I was loving it. How much worse could it get? 

One nation under Canada

I wasn’t the best media director in Poland, I wasn’t even the best media director at Y&R Warsaw 

Mike Murphy, the client service director was a better media specialist than me.  This was because he was Canadian. Jokes about Canada explain the advantage 

‘Canada could have got French culture, British government & American economics. Instead we got American culture, British economics & French government’ Canadians are self deprecating & capable of introspection... 

‘Why did the Canadian cross the road?’ To get to the middle. Canadians are famously reasonable & Mr Murphy was an exceptional diplomat

‘Toronto is New York run by the Swiss’ Mike was efficient 

People think the Jewish Glaswegian Jerry Sadowitz was punched on stage at the Montreal Comedy Festival because his opening line was ‘Hello moosefuckers’. But Sadowitz says it was because of what followed “You know what I hate about this country. Half of you speak fucking French & the other half let them” 

So, in a developed, thinly populated, vast country with two languages, media buying is going to be pretty sophisticated. Mike knew media 

Suggested slogan; ‘Canadians; all the advantages of a Yank, but less arrogant & half the price’

Crazy coincidence... or lies, damned lies & statistics

‘Coincidences happen all the time in life, they are not allowed in fiction’ David Lodge 

My father told me that if you have c.20 people in a room there is a 50:50 chance that two will share a birthday 

We had 10+ in media on Madalinskiego, my daughter was born on the same day as one, Malgorzata. Her mother shared a birthday with Yedneral, my boss in Moscow. I’ve had a couple of girlfriends, two had the same birthday 

It’s not magic ... it’s statistics. You can google the maths

Nassim Nicholas Taleb explains the numbers in ‘Black Swan’.. or for an easier to digest version simply watch my cousin Derren Brown.  If that’s too tricky, Will Smith summarises part of the theory in Focus with Margot Robbie ... &. by happy coincidence Margot Robbie explains the black swan of the financial bubble, naked in a bubble bath with a glass of bubbly in the Big Short 

I once randomly sat with a couple in Palma airport, she knew my first boss at Saatchi ... her husband went the same optician as me in Primrose Hill ... where Daniel Craig gets his specs 

Everyone in Liverpool has a Daniel Craig story.  He went to school there.  200 kids per year, 6 years in High school ... c.100 teachers on staff ... everyone has a brother, a sister, a cousin, a colleague who went to that school... my mother lived next door to his music teacher. Do you know James Bond...? ‘If you hum it, I’ll play it’ 

It’s simply the power of numbers, six degrees of separation 

... & then it gets Uri Geller spoon bendingly spooky 

Returning from a student exchange in America I had nowhere to live in my second year at Middlesex University.  Everyone had ‘coupled up’ in various houses around the grottier parts of North London.  But an eccentric English lecturer was advertising his attic so I moved into a garret in High Barnet ... so North London it’s actually Hertfordshire. He was heading to Scotland for some reason so I gave him my parents address ‘in case of emergency’ ... 

The mad bastard only goes & shows up on their doorstep ... he was an looney literature teacher but my father was a crazy Engineer so they survived the night I imagine.  I don’t know, I wasn’t there ... but my sister was.  And in the morning she received a rejection letter from Middlesex

Senior Lecturer Robert Crick turned to Senior Lecturer Robert D Brown; “Hand me the phone” 

~

I met with Jonathan Margolis from the FT to discuss his participation in a conference.  His daughter has the same name as my sister, his son the same name as my father.  I mention an amazing article I’d read about Ikea once in his paper... could he get me a copy. Get it...? He bloody wrote it 

My oldest friendship is with another Jonathan, we were at school together from five years old. In Moscow we had a wonderful nanny for our daughter.  She taught my daughter to paint. 

I could easily remember her phone number in Moscow... it was 2153, the same as Jonathan in Edinburgh 

Big Breakfast in Edinburgh

Pre internet there was a list of Army evaluations that used to get faxed around for office amusement... my favourites were ‘only swam in the shallow end of the gene pool’ & ... ‘his men would follow him anywhere ... but only out of curiosity’ But the one that I felt most applied to me was ‘works only when cornered like a rat in a trap’ 

My continued employment at Y&R London was due mainly to the fact that I had a half decent idea once every twelve months.  While waiting for this annual event my bosses had to keep me vaguely occupied 

They made me attend a weekly traffic meeting. A fascinating insight into the workflow of the agency.  They tried getting me to help with the pro bono work ... my contribution wasn’t considered priceless. 

I was asked to ruin the special relationship with our American cousins on a bizarre AT&T product launch.  A telecoms service so incomprehensible that they would have been better investing their £1 million with the KLF in Scottish pyrotechnics. 

I was told to pitch the Bingo association in an exaggerated Glaswegian accent to overcome their Northern mistrust of soft southern agencies.  That was a load of balls 

I was even dispatched to the cinema one afternoon. To watch a rough cut of Forrest Gump on behalf of our client UiP... Universal Studios & Paramount. Hollywood at last ... well Hammersmith at least

In a final act of desperation they sent me home for the week ... not my wee flat in north London but all the way to Edinburgh

Knowing that my parents resided in the Scottish capital they understood that I could attend the annual TV festival for the price of a delegate pass. Accommodation being the most significant cost involved in  business trips & Edinburgh in August rivalling Hong Kong for the rent of a mattress. So attendance that would normally cost thousands for me would only be £500.  I forget who paid for the train fare but I enjoyed a week at home; fish fingers for breakfast with Dad ... afternoons with Barry Diller & Michael Grade.  Diller couldn’t have been duller.  Often described as one of the most powerful people in TinselTown he said little of interest in his MacTaggart lecture 

Greg Dyke, notorious for Roland Rat & later to briefly lead the BBC was better. “The problem at Thames TV wasn’t that we didn’t make the right decisions or make wrong decisions... it was that we didn’t make any decisions” 

Best of all was Chris Evans of Big Breakfast fame & soon to dominate the airwaves.  He was a last minute replacement for Phil Redmond of Brookside/Grange Hill ... literally last minute.  I watched some Festival luminaries approach Evans in the bar where we were drinking before the event, the Edinburgh Festivals (Jazz, Book, Film, Fringe etc) are nothing if not well lubricated.  Redmond had vanished & they needed a speaker 

As Evans had nothing prepared he had to improvise ... & fast.  He realised that the best way to fill the allotted hour was to take random questions from the floor.  And here was the genius, he said he was open to any enquiry, nothing was sacred. What followed, given the circumstances, was the greatest media presentation I have ever been privileged to witness

He was brutally honest about his successes & failures.  He explained his different approach for breakfast radio versus late night TV.  He even explained the engineering reasons due broadcast technicalities why a popular urban myth about him couldn’t be true. He hadn’t been caught on camera with his pants down. 

He was honest & enlightening ... he was bloody hilarious & surprisingly emotional... & he wasn’t a wanker. It was a masterclass...

The Dillers & Dykes might rent the tent, but without star performers for their media circus it’s just another empty canvas 

Me & my Shadow

In an attempt to deal with my skill at postponing procrastination, they told me to help the graduate trainee recruitment programme for account executives ... the ‘suits’

After whittling down a stack of similar CVs... some gap yahs but mostly a dull collection of decent diplomas from the usual institutions. Personality was clearly the deciding factor & two candidates  stood out & were recruited. One I had kindly summarised through the selection process as Asian Elvis due to his heritage & magnificent bouffant... a moniker that survived into his employment & maybe he still carries today 

The other was a sharp suited sparky chap with a great Glaswegian brogue... the garrulous Gary O’Donnell.  Gary was later removed from the Kraft account as the client in Cheltenham said she couldn’t comprehend his fine Strathclyde pronunciation.  O’Donnell had clear diction where he rolled his r’s & crossed his t’s ... this lady apparently preferred the inability to say ‘Th’ & dropped h’s & in Thames Estuarial, her kids must have required subtitles for Shrek 

A key element of the graduate trainee programme was that apprentice ‘suits’ spend time in each department.  After a week in creative, traffic, research & others Gary was given the honour of a week sitting by my desk observing me pretending to work. This was far more taxing in the days before we were all given our own PlayStation. It required an element of ingenuity; media owner expense accounts helped fill the hours

By this point in my brilliant career I’d rather tired of schlepping into town for sumptuous lunches with the leading lights of London media.  Rather than a monthly blowout at Quaglino or Bibendum on Lord Rothermere’s dime I realised that daily dining with obscure titles willing to trek to Camden was more efficient. There is such a thing as a free lunch

So most days you’d find me in The Crown & Goose enjoying an excellent Tuna steak Burger with a side of Gay Trucker magazine or Albanian Car Wash Monthly. I later rewarded the C&G’s excellent hospitality via a real postal voting fraud that secured this establishment Time Out Pub of the Year in 1994. Maybe it would have won anyway ... but I’m sure my multiple ballots secured with menaces from colleagues & the abuse of our ‘free’ postal service helped 

I felt Gary deserved some decent dining as well & so I arranged a crucial presentation from Pigeon Racing Post or similar high flying title.  As cocktail hour approached some wide boy appeared & introduced himself by saying ‘I see vey paired two sweaty’s* togever... is vat to get lower prices or sumfing...” 

I said ‘If you’re going to open your pitch with a casual racist comment I guess this meeting is over’ I told him to fly back to HQ. His pitch was over in a minute. He was shocked but Gary was impressed

This was to demonstrate to Mr O’Donnell the importance of diplomacy in client service & to showcase the power of the buyer in skilled media negotiations. Probably I was just showing off for a fellow Weegie

*Sweaty sock = Jock