This Year’s Wrap-Up: The Space Between Then and Now

The Christmas I cried

I LOVE Christmas.

Full of joy, magic and… families.

The first Christmas I was old enough to properly remember, I was so excited to get a Scalextric (Porsche street cars if you’re asking). The electric smell and tyres burning, the sound, the tiny shock when you put your hand on the track. Everything felt immediate, bright and full of excitement.

The house a wondrous waft of overcooked vegetables, booze and pine. Fairy lights and bulbs strewn everywhere, half of them not working, the other half giving off a soft, reassuring hum. A job for a small Cooper to finish off the tree already draped in gordy-looking tinsel.

And then there’s the other part of Christmas.

My relationship with my dad is not quite a Mufasa & Simba tale. In my youth, he was less a comforting presence and more a shadow in the room you learned to move around quietly, just in case it noticed you.

At best absent, at worst abusive, with a heavy smattering of self-centredness and self-destruction thrown in. 

As an impressionable teenager, I collected a few emotional battle scars I wear today, alongside some unexpectedly useful skills in empathy, mediation, and reading the room very quickly.

Incredibly gifted with his hands and curious in mind, he was always busy in his workshop, but Christmas demanded his presence in the house.

And this year, at the dinner table, something was said. I don’t remember the words, just the sensation. The sudden heaviness in the air. The scrape of cutlery. I remember standing up, chair legs catching on the carpet, and stumbling out with my eyes already burning.

Although the comment has been banished from memory, I know the context because of what came next. 

I was so determined to prove my worth to my dad, that I decided I could convince him we were closer than the chasm he had just put between us. 

I remember sitting on my bed, working through an elaborate rhyming narrative using a Ladybird book about how cars work. On reflection: Poetry and mechanics have rarely coexisted in my adult experiences.

As I fumbled over a rhyming couplet for carburettor, my big brother came in quietly and sat with me. I remember him gently consoling me and confirming what I think I already knew, it wouldn’t work, and importantly, not to worry about it.

That was the first and last Christmas I cried.

And on reflection, this short story makes where I am now the obvious origin story.

He became a reference, and as a consequence, no child of mine has ever cried at the Christmas table.

Families at Christmas are rarely a cookie-cutter of christmas trees and candy canes. 

They’re a messy, loaded bunch of emotional things and pressures, full of history whether we like it or not, waiting for love and kindness to bridge the gaps. 

And, if you’re looking for a film that captures that better than most, my gift to you this year is Merry Friggin’ Christmas: a hidden gem. A black comedy that feels very British in spirit, and one of Robin Williams’ last performances. RIP, you genius.

Timing & Messaging

Last month I wrote about Fogg and customer journeys, this month hopefully you will find some space for a digital clean-up. Like emptying the desk before you close for Christmas, I encourage you to tidy your digital things away before January. 

Fewer tabs, fewer tools, fewer half-finished ideas rattling around in the background, January’s sanity will thank you.

Because beneath the clutter, there’s often something else going on. A little mismatch between where we started and where we are now.

Here’s the thing I see again and again.

Businesses grow, but their marketing doesn’t.

Partly because agencies keep paddling the same tactical answers without thinking strategically. 

Partly because businesses want a solution, a product, something neat to be the answer. 

And partly because once something exists, it’s surprisingly hard to change. We tend to stick with language that feels familiar, even when it no longer fits, because changing it feels like risking something we’ve already invested in.

The organisation matures. The work gets better. The values sharpen. The confidence changes. But the website still talks like it’s trying to prove itself. 

The messaging still assumes the same motivations, the same fears, the same customer it had years ago.

People change. Context changes. The world changes.

That’s why a big project like a new website is often such a turning point. It creates a moment to explore that gap between then and now. 

It’s hardly surprising that almost every web project I’ve followed up with this year has told me a tale not just of more leads, but more of the right kind of lead.

I’ve just read Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers. In short, timing and context matter more than we give credit. One example that really stuck with me was that in the Premier League in the 90’s, a study showed 288 players were born between September and November, just after the youth selection cut-off, while only 136 were born between June and August. 

The difference had nothing to do with talent. Those slightly older children were bigger, stronger and more confident when they were really young, they were picked more often, encouraged more and then got more opportunities. Fast forward a few years, that small head start compounded to the reality that you were unlikely to get to the top of your game with an unfortunate birthday.

Timing won, not raw potential.

Messages don’t resonate because they’re “right”. They land because they fit the moment someone is in.

That’s why so many brands feel right or wrong to us, even when everything looks polished, it can be off: The language belongs to a former version of themselves.

There’s a lovely quote, often attributed to Maya Angelou. “Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.”

Most organisations didn’t get it wrong. They just haven’t updated their language to match what they now know.

At the same time, the backdrop matters. 

What’s my north star?

Homelessness is rising. Support in Devon is being pulled back. 

The gap between marketing optimism and lived reality feels wider than it used to.

People can sense when words are disconnected from the world they’re living in.

As I reflect back on the year, I see our focus has shifted.

Not towards louder techniques or trend-chasing, but towards how we work. Digital coaching. Thoughtful innovation. Helping organisations do more good and find the language that actually fits the brand they’ve become.

Not who they want to sound like. Not who they used to be.

Language you can put forward in a meeting. The kind that gives you confidence on a sales call. Or on the days when things are hard, and you need to know why you’re here.

So as you head into the break, here’s the one little question I’d leave you with.

Does your marketing still sound like you?

If not, that’s not a failure. It’s a signal that you’ve grown.

Can you notice where it feels wrong?

If you need a steer of where to look, these exercises may be useful, and if they lack context, this may help.

Thanks for being part of my journey, and for letting me share in yours. If I can help at all, just shout.

Not to sell you anything, simply to help you do better now that you know better.