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Tag Archives: David Attenborough

Advertising, Attenborough, Ham, and Humility.

11 Monday May 2026

Posted by Thin Air Factory in Uncategorized

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David Attenborough, Film, green-eyed-monster-films, Humility, learning-through-landscapes, nature

In Advertising [or at least the advertising world that was] the gifts were obvious, and all about us. Creativity was ostensibly king and the rewards plentiful: Large [and for some vast] salaries, living like ersatz Lords and Ladies; expensed lunches, production company jollies, and the ‘second office’ [whichever pub was closest to the agency] from which to do business. And then there was the old creative team joke of starting a script with the words ‘Open on a pair of international plane tickets…’ There was so much to be enjoyed that, if you weren’t careful, any real gifts could pass you by, and you’d never ever notice.

Spurred by watching David Attenborough’s 100th Celebration. this post is about one of those gifts; a much rarer one; let’s just call it a revelation.

If it is possible to have a Damascene moment in what had become a quite bloated, self-aggrandising industry, mine happened at the tail of my tenure in old school advertising land.

It came via a call from long-time collaborator, the very fine and brilliant Mark Downes, of Green Eyed Monster Films.

“I’ve a small scripting task, if you’re up for it?”

A beer was had and chats revealed that it was for a trust called Learning through Landscapes, a small and rather amazing bunch focused on helping schools unlock the power of their grounds to enrich education, nurture wellbeing, and deepen connection with nature. The jewel in this crown was that one of their Trustees was the indomitable Sir David, and he was prepared to front the film if his schedule allowed. We just needed to spark his interest and commitment to being involved.

We developed a film idea, called ‘Conserving Wonder,’ focused on how the natural world stimulates children’s sense of wonder in nature, and why that’s worth conserving. The film set out to illustrate in simple terms the pressure on schools’ depleting outside spaces, and how nature could work as an offset strategy to school children’s increasing classroom incarceration. It felt like something only Sir David could land, in his own inimitable way.

Obviously, Sir David is written through every moment of my own sense of natural wonder growing up. His voice was seared into my psyche. He was solely responsible for bringing the natural world into my sitting room. Sunday was the perfect day for his wonder-filled sermons on the natural world: there was a sense of reverence and majesty in every episode. And amongst it all, Sir David seemed blissfully unaware that of all the creatures he filmed, he was one of the rarest. In that way Attenborough is a unicorn: a creature whose very existence within it seems to hold the world in balance. So to say that I was excited to be working with him is an understatement of life-sized proportion.

Prior to the shoot, I had both the honour and the pleasure of sitting in Sir David’s library room in Richmond, surrounded by his books and mementoes of travels to far off places, talking about the best script narrative and arc for the film. It was a golden gift, a once in a lifetime experience. But it was only the beginning. He is indeed the gift that keeps on giving.

As we drove to the school where the filming was to take place, I posed him a question. I used to walk around Regent’s Park every morning. At the northern-most point of my walk I would edge along the path next to the zoo. I would delight in the sounds of the animals in their morning reverie. But one thing fascinated and amused me more than any other. There was a bird who would ‘kick off’ every time it heard a police or ambulance siren [which was often]. I had recorded the bird on my phone, so I played it to him. He listened intently to the bird’s call, chiming with the police sirens passing around it, pondered, then said “I think that may well be an Australian Whipbird” My own private nature lesson.

We arrived at the school, excited and expectant. Before filming was to happen, Sir David was going to address the children. It was a master class in story telling. The particular story he told in their assembly was about Crocodiles in the Everglades at night. They were mesmerised, as were all the adults. He knew his audience.

When filming began, another masterclass. His ability to internalise our narrative and execute it reminded me that he is a storyteller of epic proportion: a master of his art. The children adored him of course, and they had none of the legacy of a life time of his storytelling to ignite them. In person he just is that person.

Which brings us to the ham in our story sandwich.

We broke for lunch, and for Sir David to rest. There was some confusion about where the sandwiches were, but they were eventually located in the headmistress’s office. People milled about chattering and grabbing sandwiches and crisps, then suddenly, the door closed, and there I was with Sir David, perched on smallish chairs, with our sandwiches on small paper plates. It can only have been 20 minutes or so, but we sat, eating sandwiches, speaking of his recent travels. He had just returned from his grand tour of a vast community of global scientists and naturalists. Until this moment he had eschewed wading in on the Climate Crisis conversation. He was a scientist. He needed empirical proof of its truth. He’d been given it; and seemed laid low by it. He was obviously troubled by what he’d been told – and he was aware that suddenly time was against him, and he felt there was much to do.

As we nibbled on our ham sandwiches, the one thing that struck me about him, beyond his passion and professionalism, and the visceral sense of care he felt for the natural world, was his humility. Given all he has achieved, he is a remarkably humble man.

As someone who’d spent decades in an industry riddled with hubris and an often wildly misguided sense of its own greatness and importance [I include myself in this], here was a man who was truly engaged in shaping the culture of our world and changing it for the better. But his demeanour was one of sublime humility in the face of the majesty of the natural world he loved and his commitment to conserving it in whichever way possible.

They say ‘don’t meet your heroes, you may well be disappointed.’ In this instance, this was about as far from being the case as is possible. Being with Sir David, for even the shortest time, was revelatory, and for me at least, life changing. My story is I am sure, one of tens if not hundreds of thousands of similar stories told and retold over the years about how Sir David Attenborough has changed people in some profound way; but it’s mine.

Mark Downes made a remarkable little film; discrete, well balanced and beautifully judged. It tells a simple story: of what nature means to children, their education and their sense of wonder in the world, and what we can do to help conserve that wonder. Sir David ends the film with a typically quiet yet profound question: ‘if children do not understand and experience nature, they will not grow up to protect it. And if they don’t, who will?’ Quite.

Watch it here.

It was an honour to be a part of this project, so I thank Mark and the smart folks at Learning through Landscapes for the gift of that experience – and Sir David for opening my eyes a little more to what is possible with the right passion and perseverance. Steely is the word they use for. him. Thank god for that. We are all the. richer for it.

Unicorns, Humanity & the Voices of our Redemption

23 Tuesday Apr 2019

Posted by Thin Air Factory in Uncategorized

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Abrahamic Faits, Anthropomorphism, Christianity, CofE, David Attenborough, Disney, Donald Trump, Genetic Science, God, Goodness, Islam, John Denver, judaism, Maya Angelou, Michelle Obama, Morgan Freeman, Mother Theresa, Oprah, POTUS, Toy Story, Unicorns

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We are funny.

We’ve spent thousands of years navigating the theologically and intellectually boulder strewn path from the pagan arts and necromancy of the darker older world through proscribed religions to finally arrive at a what we think is a mostly enlightened secular state unfettered from the domain of Church and the blind abstractions of the Faiths they vaunt.

And in doing so we have notionally put most other faiths in the same hell-bound handcart on which we dumped our own spirituality.  This is not necessarily always a disrespectful or dismissive pursuit, though the “My Books better, older and more profound than your Book/Scroll/Tablet” sociopathic bullshit of the more bellicose monotheistic religions might make it seem otherwise.

We tend to quite favour religions other than the one’s we are born into. Vast quantities of westerners raised as goodly Christian and Jewish children have embraced other faiths. We’ve had a good old roll in the karmic hay with all forms of Buddhism recently, and plundered some rather shiny variations on an existing religious theme – Kabbalah for instance – courtesy of Madge and a few A Listers.

But certainly in the predominantly Christianity rooted West, bar the odd few tens of thousands of God fearing Commie hunting, Koran burning, Gay baiting, Abortion stoning, Feminist damning, 21st Century hating, gun totin’ rootin’ tootin’ yihaws; some fiery Baptists; and a clutch of die-hard papal purple purists with a fist full of dollars and an incense ball and chain keeping the dream alive in most of Middle and South America, western religion is broadly redundant intellectually speaking other than as a point of plane to pivot and lever off. 

It has become a vestigial spiritual tail – a divine obsolescence from our millennia in the metaphysically charged dark forests and the last three thousand years under the auspices of ‘pick an Abrahamic Faith, any Abrahamic Faith.’

But in doing so, we never really think through the contingency and legacy planning. Mostly we lean on Science as the replacement – the thing that will fill the void left by what has gone. Bt that is to assume that everyone responds in a non metaphysical left brain attenuated manner in times of distress and duress.

So where do we look to these days when all the dark truths of our humanity hove into view? Where do we cast our eyes when our profligate destruction of the beauty of the planet we inhabit overwhelm us and the darker recesses of our human psyche demonstrate themselves in brutality, cruelty, rape, torture, murder, genocide and war?

Morgan Freeman.

Yes. Morgan Freeman.

In the absence of God, many multiple thousands of us look in reverence and seek reassurance from the 81 year old son of a teacher and America actor and star of Shawshank Redemption fame.

OK. To be fair, the substitute religious reverence things is a little muddy here. Morgan has ‘played God’ which might confuse many – and in a far less destructive way than most of his species and more importantly his gender.  But there is something more about him than his Oscar and nominations and  loose, white, open shirted God performances might predict.

Morgan Freeman’s voice alone can salve the most anxious heart and fevered brow. 

Something I called the Morgan Freeman Effect, when discussing how one might make a film that helps patients to relax and perhaps focus of take in information in the midst of being told some very distressing, complex and frightening news rooted in genetic science. Bring Morgan Freeman into the room and into that moment to pop the bubble:

Morgan: Hey…

Patient: hey…

Morgan: Now…you’re not really listening to what that smart doctor lady’s saying are you?

Patient: No

Morgan: Kind of confused and scared?

Patient: I’m really scared.

Morgan: What say you and me take a walk and just talk – about anything – your favourite John Denver song – favourite Toy Story Character? I don’t care. Anythings fine with me.

Patient: OK then.

And with that, most of us would mostly probably get up out of our chair in that Medical Consultant Specialists room and take a walk with Morgan. With no rational reason for doing so.

His calming modulated tones and open expressive and gentle face are a modern human phenomena.  It is a form of gift – one that is hard to explain in our hard edged data fuelled rationally obsessed world.

There is the sense of everything is going to be OK while Morgan is in the world.

In that way he is remarkable. In that way he is no different to the Unicorns of myth, whom some believe to be a sign of the world being in balance – and their death or absence being indicative of the world tipping toward the dark.

And in Unicorn terms I am most assuredly referring to the horsey single horn mythological creature type as opposed to the over blown silicon valley algorithmically charged frothy Investment stock type of the new digital world order.

Granted – Unicorns can make many people respond with anything from a bluster to an outright screech of derision, and, if the following answer to the question Are Unicorns real? posted on answers.com were to be taken at face value no-one would want to be identified as a believer in any kind of Unicorn:

Actually if you are christian you should know that they did exist well the story begins back with the story of Noah’s ark see the animals were going on the ship but the unicorns just stayed there and played and Noah couldn’t get them aboard so he had to leave them to drown. but many people think (including me) that the unicorn still lives somewhere possibly on an island because unicorns are magical nothing will stop them.

But saying that [and someone really did], lets take this in the spirit in which it is meant. AKA just go with me on this for a minute.

Unicorns represent a sacred creature to whom the prospect, balance and spiritual well being of the world are inextricably attached. Unicorns merely by their presence predict good things – even the briefest glimpse of them augurs a world where good prevails.

On that basis, Morgan Freeman is a Unicorn for millions of people – in that his presence in the world offers us a sense of salve and reassurance. But thankfully for him, he is not alone.

Another of our Unicorns is David Attenborough. One of the most remarkable creatures we share this planet with. His one man crusade to bring the truths and beauty of the natural world to bear across millions of screens in millions of homes is a staggering act of will and craft.

That he creates such compelling and mesmeric filmic storytelling without the sickly sweet confection of Anthropomorphism favoured by Disney et al is even more remarkable. 

Unlike Morgan Freeman, David Attenborough carries the added hindrance to his fantastical mythical Unicorn status of being a die-hard sharp-cornered scientist rooted wholly in the rational world. There isn’t even a whiff of the spiritual about Mr Attenborough. [Even if there was, I sense it would be a be of the swift-5-minutes-of-High-Church-C-of-E-chapel variety, with a cup of tea and a slice of cake in the sacristy to smooth out the God wrinkles in it all.]

But none the less, there he is: the voice of such superior human vantage, such purview, creature insight, expansive understanding and natural intimacy that grown men and women almost weep when they hear him, and people clamour to be near him in much the same way they would pilgrimage to touch the sleeve of their most revered prophets sages and saintly personae.  

Now, is this a male dominated domain, like some throw back to a paternalistic misogynist church or medieval men and their power lusts?

Nope. Oprah is right up there for me on the runway to Unicorn. And Michele Obama [though sadly not the next POTUS – but how we pray!!] is also a Unicorn in waiting.

And death will not silence the Unicorn, however sad its coming. Maya Angelou, though gone from this mortal coil has [and I use the present tense knowingly] a similar effect – her words and recordings chiming the zenith of our humanity and the depth of our feeling in such a way as to give people succour and support and bolster them for what life may bring. She is alive in, with and through them. 

Equally I cite the saintly phenomena that was Mother Theresa, even with all of her subsequently revealed peculiarities and sharpness [who wouldn’t be consumed and sharpened by witnessing and carrying so much suffering].  

So I’d like to give a small ‘praise be‘ on this Easter Sunday, and say, in the increasing absence of any kind of faith in advanced cultures, let alone Abrahamic ones, and in the face of the staggering circus act of hubris currently being demonstrated by left brain reasoning and a blind faith in science knowing all, thank deity for Unicorns in all of their wondrous being.

Something tells me that, as more fires and floods ravage, as more religious fundamentalists scour and murder, and as the pillaging self interest of corporatism supported by the likes of the straw haired idiot to the West continue to thrive, we’ll need as many of them as we can get. 

Clinique, Morgan Freeman & a search for Certainty.

24 Thursday Nov 2016

Posted by Thin Air Factory in Uncategorized

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Baileys, Bruce Almighty, certainty, Christmas, Christmas Sales, Clinique, David Attenborough, Donald Trump, face Serum, ferrero rocher, Frasier, gogglebox, Gucci, John Lewis, Life On Earth, Living beyond Our Means, Living The Dream, Morgan Freeman, orang-utans, Pam Oil, Shawshank Redemption, Simon & Garfunkel, Social Contract, The Holidays Are Coming, Warren Buffet

Unknown.jpeg

I was trapped at the roundabout at the bottom of Fulham Palace Road, going nowhere. This gave me ample time to admire the sharpness and surety of a Clinique Bus Side communicating  yet another miracle creme.

It was a master class in the art of communicating Certainty.

It was less the actual nature-defying aspect of the crème itself and the certainty of what promised and more the surgical certainty of its sense of self – its absolute right to be on the side of a bus telling me everything’s going to be OK. The precision and fixedness of the way it looked and felt – the production values – and the voice with which it spoke that seduced me.

Everything about the bus side, the clarity of the type face, the exquisite finishing on the photography – the meticulous attention to detail and the inherent balance carried a confidence and absoluteness that screamed Certainty. Even the white background was more certain of its whitest whiteness than any white background around it.

Surely nothing bad can happen in a world where Clinique exists. Not really. Clinique exists in a world where YouTube beheadings don’t happen. Where the Far Right is merely a reference to which end of the Front Row you’re seated at when the GUCCI show comes to London fashion Week.

The CERTAINTY which the bus side imbued me with, even just fleetingly, was mesmerising, desperately delusional but boy it felt good.

Thankfully the news on the radio reminded me that I do in fact live in a world where places like Aleppo exist, along with the pain and human suffering and outrage that seem to accompany our species on our journey to self-determined extinction.

In Clinique World Baby Orangutans don’t get ripped from their dying mothers in a rain forest and sold for a couple of dollars – all for the want of some palm oil to grease the palm of western vanities. You can be certain of that. Not here. Not us. Not Right Here Right Now.

But that’s escapism for you. It doesn’t always have to be a movie or a song. Escapism comes in many forms. And at the beating heart of Escapism is certainty with a dash of hope. Hope of better. Hope of something else.

Certainty can be consumption; even the toxic kind. Especially the toxic kind. The kind that helps me forget even just for a second that I am simply surviving with stickers, unlikely to ever reach the giddy heights of just Being, free at last to unclutter my life of all the ballast of Certainty I’ve been propping myself up with along the way.

Hiding inside a lifestyle we couldn’t otherwise afford without racking it up on credit card – and living the dream of Having It All seems to be the order of the day. Shiny skin creams are Us. Gorgeous smells and not thinking too hard about stuff.

Kind of understandable now that our always-on news feeds relentlessly bombard us with the exceptional output of human madness and cruelty.

As long as I can use my swipey app to order EXACTLY what I deserve in the take away department and be certain that it will arrive, piping hot, aromatic, and with a roll on reward offer – as long as I can treat myself because I’m worth it – hell I’m alive aren’t I? Give me a break.

Certainty is one of those things that acts as a much needed corrective for ordinary people in an increasingly volatile world – a world Warren-Buffeted by collapsing and soaring markets and share prices, the death of the social contract, strange political shifts (has no one noticed the correlation between the rise of tyrants and the exercising of the Populist Vote – or is that just me?) and the onslaught of some rather crazy weather.

The future is indeed bright – the future is Donald not going out for a duck; the near future at least.

I have a theory that there must be a set of scales somewhere – scales that will illustrate that the more screen time Donald gets, the more people will (in the absence of God) crave and stream Morgan Freeman movies.

In times of trouble, Certainty can also be a voice – like Morgan’s, or that of David Attenborough. When the day closes in and stuff gets dreadful, and the reassurance of watching Frasier re runs isn’t working anymore – cue Attenborough’s salving voice and his pictures of beauty – of a world where we are still richly interwoven into something more sublime and greater than ourselves, rather than hovering above it like the sword of Damocles above its head.

As Simon & Garfunkel might one day sing:

“When you’re weary, feeling small

When tears are in your eyes, I’ll dry them all (all)

I’m on your side, oh, when times get rough

And friends can’t be found…

Watch Morgan in Bruce Almighty”

 Certainty can also be a season.

As Christmas roars towards us – having started its mighty yawp on November the 1st, we all start to feel a little more certain; because Christmas is certain.

Christmas lights up the darkest night in the deepest black of the year.

Ping! Gorgeous.

Year in and Year out. Unwavering. Immutable. Unmovable. Christmas allows us to embrace the certainty of it and all that comes with it.

The world lights up (the western Christian one specifically). And life is good.

Who cares if the brands get to milking the Purse of Human Kindness, ferociously pick pocketing every ounce of insecurity in us and replacing it with a rather shiny bauble to give or receive. Love that.

The certainty of Christmas doesn’t just start early because the brands and businesses make more money out of it.

Christmas lasts for two months because we need a new super charged amount of its glorious twinkling certainty to off-set the all the awfulness we have to consume the rest of the year.

We simply aren’t capable of crawling the last few yards to something like a more respectful December 12 or 13th Christmas start.

We would fold into a despondent mess way before then. We are ravenous for the exquisite promise of Certainty that Christmas begins. (And its Sales – because they’re different to all the other all year round sales aren’t they? Of course they are!!)

Even the commercials that the big retail brands produce have become a pillar of that Certainty. John Lewis. Thank-you for redeeming me with a gold plated you-tube film featuring furry creatures on a child’s garden trampoline. Bless you for that.

A sugar coated filmic hit of Certainty.

In a world where a boxer dog’s ears flap up and down with merriment as we ding dong our merrily on high – what could possibly go wrong?

Who cares if there’s a shed load of brands and businesses out there relentlessly reframing their value as some salve ‘in an uncertain world’. We’ve got formation dancing, leaping creatures, red Starbucks cups and for chrissakes, THE HOLIDAYS ARE COMING.

In fact, even in this volatile roller coaster life of ours, of one thing I can be almost certain. Christmas is the bomb when it comes to CERTAINTY.

If I find myself on Christmas Day parked in front of the telly, my face soaked in Clinique For Men Anti Ageing Serum, the milky sweet of Bailey’s buttering my lips, a scatter of walnut casings and Ferrero wrappers peppering my technicolour Ted Baker gilet, watching the Shawshank Redemption, followed by a Life On Earth Double Bill, all to the accompaniment of the chirrup grunt squeak boing of a quality-street assortment of furry creatures bouncing up and down on the  trampoline outside my triple glazed bullet proof conservatory windows – I may just explode in a cascade of tinsel twinkling Certainty.

Heaven.  (If you happen to believe in that sort of thing.)

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