Biggest fuck up?
Working for the man, whoever he is. With that relentless sense of dread that we all have. Of going nowhere fast within the restrictions of rules made by someone who has never thrown chips, pissed, at the bloke in the kebab shop, carving the finest cuts from the big spinning stick.
Redemption came in the form of getting the sack from one of those jobs that don’t suit anyone’s personality, you know, the type of employment where your nearest claim to being a human is having a name on a plastic day glow badge, it doesn’t even have to be your name, no one cares.
I digress, an opportunity came from disaster (the only cliché we can use here), and I created my own clothing brand with an ethos that felt right for me, that hopefully, others will enjoy. An ethos which, much like yourselves, has no flim-flam.
Motivation posts motivate no one. Whiteboards are the bastard child of white-collar propaganda.
Once a year, lock yourself away, put your phone down, get a couple of beers in, some funny cigarettes, get the comedy box sets on; Peep Show, I.T Crowd, Blackadder, Faulty Towers, get the tunes on; The Smiths, Oasis, The Prodigy anything pre-2000, watch some classic films; Goodfellas, The Goonies, Pulp Fiction, you know the cool shit.
You may not end the day a different person (check your name badge), but you’ll have dusted some of that bland, mediocre modern-day shit from your shoulders, and you’ll be hungry. Time to visit the big spinning stick.