Thursday 17 May 2012

Leap of Faith

Ask me what I did last week. Go on, ask me.

Well, by my standards (and please consider at what level these might be) I did something overwhelmingly exhilarating. It involved a dip into the good old overdraft. It involved my reluctant hubby. And it involved an athletic leap of faith.

Over the past month or two I have been spending a large amount of time on the internet, a.) looking for tickets to see Derren Brown's latest show, 'Svengali' and b.) kicking myself that I did not know about the show before it bloody well sold out. Clearly I am not the number one fan I thought I was.

And if psychological illusions aren't really your thing you might not even know who Derren Brown is. Or maybe you do and you don't think much of him. Well I do think much of him. And I think the stuff he gets up to is mind-twistingly beguiling. In fact, I can often be found of an evening (my laptop pulsing in the corner with work that really should be getting done now the Tots are in bed) glued to the telly where I've come across a channel which is thoughtfully repeating a Derren Brown programme.

So why the flip didn't I know he had a show coming up? The prices of tickets on eBay were clearly surpassing my (imaginary) budget so the chance of a night out was not looking good. No babysitter. No money. No tickets.

However, being a massive believer that positive thoughts attract positive things, and having an amateur but irrevocably enthusiastic interest in Derren's very own mind tricks, I decided to give it a go. I focused my mind. I pictured the scene. Tickets in my hand. Drinks before the show. The awesome curiousity I feel as he performs. And, to hell with it, these are only thoughts after all, what I say as I meet him backstage.

Tickets. Drinks. Awe. Backstage. Tickets. Drinks. Awe. Backstage.

And it only went and bloody well happened. Thanks to a gorgeous daughter of a friend who babysat the Tots, and thanks to a hard-working hubby who was doubtful of my visualisation techniques, it only went and bloody well happened.

The show was marvellous. I mean really marvellous. Derren did request at the beginning that nobody tell anybody else the content of the show. That we should keep it a secret so as not to spoil it for anyone else who might be attending. This was a clever trick in itself. It made us feel special. Part of a secret club. It drew us together as an audience and gave us a special bond with Derren. What a clever man. That, my friends, is how you get an audience on your side.

So no juicy details about the show. But I will tell you that hanging around the stage door afterwards had its rewards. And the drizzle was a blessing in disguise as we got pulled indoors a few people at a time to see the man himself. I got into a little chat with him about NLP (Neuro Linguistic Programming) and was also tempted to ask him to recommend a few techniques to mind-warp and thus calm an unruly four-year-old, or hypnotise a baby into sleeping through the night. But I bit my tongue. Maybe that's a conversation for the next time.

A few days later when I was flicking through my uber-glossy 'Svengali' programme, I came across a DB quote that resonated with me. And the resonation had nothing to do with psychological illusions or mind trickery. It had to do with parenting. Of course it did. That's what I do now. And here it is:

"I am often dishonest in my techniques but I'm always honest about my dishonesty."

Parents. You know what I mean.

















Have fun. Go well.

Abi


Wednesday 2 May 2012

Party On Dad

Why the nation was avidly watching The Voice, Britain's Got Talent or a heady, back-to-back, Sky Plussed version of both last Saturday night I do not understand. For there was a heated finale playing out in my own living room worthy of any slickly choreographed light show or swaying gospel backing choir. The. Final. Logo. Decision.

Yes, I did it. After going through a whole block of Post-Its and bullying anyone within spitting distance to give me an opinion I finally went ahead and formed an opinion of my own. After all, it's me who's got to be happy looking at it several years ahead when my business has dramatically morphed into a multi-million dollar empire. It's me who's got to slap it on everything related to my professional identity. And I am happy with it. I am excited about it. It is the only logo candidate that made me actually feel something. Whether a logo should do that or not is potentially a thesis all in itself but, being a girl who follows her heart, I have done just that.

So now is about the time I should be publishing it to the world, isn't it? And while we're on with it, why not actually tell people what my business is all about? Erm, well, no, actually. And there are two reasons for this:

1.) I am going to apply for a Trademark for my logo so nobody can nick it, meaning publishing it before that point, to all you good people, whilst I trust you all implicitly, would be rather dumb.

and . . .

2.) When I'm ready to go I want to be really ready to go with all whistles and bells and frills and cherries on top and a slickly choreographed light show and a swaying gospel backing choir etc etc. Considering I have yet to print a business card or buy a domain name, all of this may have to wait a few weeks / months.

Oh, and there's a number 3.)

3.) Big Tot and Little Tot don't appear to be going away.

Not that I'd ever, ever want them to, of course. But the fact remains that they are a wonderfully permanent fixture in my life and I must learn to mould my professional life around my domestic pursuits. Mummy first and dynamic entrepreneur second. I am not the first busy, run-ragged, rapdily-ageing parent to do this and I will undoubtedly be the last. And thank goodness because some of the most fantastic business ideas have been born out of the inspirational role of being a ma or a pa.

And whilst we're on the topic I'll raise a glass to my own inspirational pa who passed away last September. What a man. It would have been his birthday today so I'm celebrating with a whisky and diet coke (he was a single malt kind of guy and would not be amused by my cheap, uneducated palette). He was a whizz with graphic design and I could do with some kind of divine communication right now to get a few hints and tips on all my business-related design conundrums. Although I'm sure he's much too busy partying on up there with Steve (Jobs), Jimmy (Stewart), Duke (Ellington) John (Lennon) and Marilyn (Monroe, of course) to engage in any immaculate communication with me. Exactly how it should be.

So I will just be happy that I've inherited his eye for design and carry on as I have been. A whole lot of parenting, a healthy dash of marriage, a drop of business planning and a good slosh of being my Dad's daughter.
















Go well,

Abi