The boss is in town. So, naturally, I'm in hospital

The premise of this newsletter/diary of workplace neuroticism is that every week I relay the ebb a flow of starting a marketing division.

I thought I would have mountains of content overlooking valleys of stories and insights — and that's still true, I think.

But I didn't take into account how long it takes for those tectonic plates to shift.

I've been in this job for eight weeks. The first four weeks were spent learning how the lights turn on and off. Then there was Christmas. And then outrageously, 2023 turned up.

So, in the grand scheme of things, not much has happened. Except everything is happening. Everything, everywhere, all at once*.

I've spent the past few weeks honing what I call MBK's "Four Pillars". Ignoring the temptation to sign into a bunch of marketing accounts and tinker, I wanted to ensure that there were lights to turn on and off first.

I'm a staunch believer that marketing needs a point, and, broadly speaking, that point is to make a business money. The recruitment business model is fairly simple in that respect: you place candidates for clients and they pay you for it. So, your marketing efforts are predicated on making that happen again and again and again.

The how part is what makes this job fun.

What are the four pillars?

In a nutshell:

1. To attract candidates to your jobs and retain contact with them in a meaningful way
2. To attract new clients and consolidate and strengthen the relationships you have with current clients
3. To establish a 'voice' externally, and develop meaningful methods for "getting your voice out there"
4. To build a high-quality employer brand so a) people want to work for you and b) people want to stay with you

There are many points of overlap. If you attract higher quality jobs and advertise them well, you'll attract more candidates, who'll be more placeable and more attractive for potential recruiters, and you'll have more to say about the hiring process outside the walled garden of your business. Whew!

Certain pillars will demand more attention at different points of the year, but my intention is to build them in lockstep and not let one dominate the others. You might get away with three strong pillars, but you won't have a house.

London's calling

Last week, our CEO Spencer was in London from the US. We spent a couple of hours in a Borough Market coffee shop talking shop and getting a sense of where we see MBK heading.

What I love about MBK and Spencer's vision is that it's rooted firmly in long-term thinking. There are clear goals and objectives reaching well into the 2030s. As a goal-orientated person, this is like catnip.

Spencer's visit also augmented something rare but enjoyable in the MBK universe: a chance for the UK team to work together in the same room with people. MBK EMEA doesn't often see each other, but every time we're together, it feels like coming home. (I need to figure out how to write that in a brief because if I crack it, I've basically nailed Pillar 4.)

Last Wednesday was to be our delayed EMEA Christmas party. There were a number of reasons why we didn't hold one in December, but it can be boiled down to the majority of the UK crew dying from the flu.

The timing also fit nicely with the end (or beginning?) of the first major project under my watch: a total rebrand. The company has a laser-focus on being a $100m business in 7-10 years. But if you want to be taken seriously, you can't rock up wearing your dad's suit.

I often wonder if marketers enjoy the rebranding process or hate it with a fury of 10,000 raging suns. I go through periods where I adore it ("Oooh, new hex codes to learn, awesome.") and palm-to-forehead despair ("Oooh, our new website has just vanished off the internet, awesome.")

So with Spencer in town, Team EMEA in the same room, and the rebrand project a week out from opening night, it was shaping up to be a perfect moment.

Cue Sammy.

The bit with the hospital

There are more than 40,000 cases of bowel cancer diagnosed in the UK every year. Of that, more than 53% of patients survive it. Given how prolific it is, it's still discussed in hushed tones and presumed embarrassment.

After all, it's all about poop, and that's gross, right?

Well, let's get this out of the way:

Poop.

You should be reasonably desensitised to what follows. But just in case...

Warning: About to get into some TMI territory from here.

I have a stoma. I got it about 18 months ago as a painful but necessary "FU" to bowel cancer. It, quite literally, saved my life.

And I'm not even slightly embarrassed about it. I can, and often do, talk candidly about what life is like having a bag. I was sad to read about Matthew Perry's apparently traumatising experience with them. The backlash from the ostomy community was swift because his story is by no means the norm. Life with a stoma is almost mindnumbingly boring in its normalness. I wrap a belt around mine and I barely think about it until I need to. I would surmise most people do the same when it comes to bodily functions.

I nicknamed my stoma Sammy. Sammy's a good lad who means well. I've flown long haul to New Zealand with him; I've lifted weights with him; I've rowed 100,000km with him. He's my good time boy.

Buuuut sometimes, he gets a little caught up in himself. Literally.

One of the problems with stomas is that they can get knotted up. They're literally a hernia. When they can't do the thing they're supposed to do, the gut sends a signal to the brain that it's not working, and your body has a wee tizzy.

Your stomach fills up with liquid with nowhere to go, you balloon up, cramp up, and go a little bit Violet Beauregarde.

I've had three such episodes. The first one was during a holiday to New York on my wife's birthday. The second came on my birthday in early January. The third happened last Wednesday during SK's visit. The universe do be pranking, though.

Shortly after lunch, I realised something was happening and that things weren't going to fix themselves. I pulled Spencer aside and said "So, I'm about to unload a whole lot of information on you very quickly". I explained the situation, told him I was heading to the hospital, and told him to take a raincheck on that pint.

And so it was that 20 minutes later I was en-route to St Thomas' Hospital.

Much has been written about the NHS in the past three years. As the son of a nurse, I've heard way too many stories of abuse and general dickishness levelled at medical people. I've made a personal pledge that whenever I'm under medical supervision, I'll do whatever I can to be The Best Patient in the World. I never want to be the reason a nurse goes home from their shift, opens up a bottle of something and thinks, "Man, fuck this job".

I'll say this: St Thomas' is within two minutes from Big Ben, right smack in the middle of central London. I was triaged, assessed, scanned, fixed with a stomach tube, and admitted within a few short hours. The on-call gastro consultant massaged Sammy back to normal and told me to eat mash potato for a week.

Quite simply, pay doctors, nurses, orderlies, clerical staff, paramedics and everyone else in the NHS what they want and then double it. Then tax idiots like me more because they are worth every single penny.

The unspoken fifth pillar

A week later and I'm fine. I might ease off lifting anything at the gym until a doctor gives me the all-clear, but I'm staring at a to-do list that's longer than a Leonard Cohen song and I couldn't be happier.

The four pillars will shape how my year plays out at work, but I've realised there's something else holding me up: the unconditional support of everyone at MBK. I was inundated with well wishes from everyone, which was a balm when you're lying in a hospital bed with a tube in your stomach.

I want to do well—I will do well—but it's going to be easier to erect four pillars when you've got the best people holding you up.

*Best movie of 2022. Come at me with your reckons.