'Never tell a fool that he is a fool. All you'll have is an angry fool.’
The Talmud

With his long ears, short attention span and boundless energy, springer spaniel Dillon was very much part of the Carroll household. When he wasn’t chasing birds or his own tail in the back garden, he tended to hang around the kitchen in the hope of scraps from his mistress’s table.

One day, at home alone from school, I decided to prepare myself a Bejam meat pie and baked beans. Though no culinary expert, I felt I was up to the task.

Dillon sat up straight, anticipating opportunity.

I located a meat pie in the chest freezer we kept in the garden shed and promptly popped it in the oven, setting the heat at an approximate level. Then I stirred the beans and set to reading the next chapter of my Graham Greene novel. After some time, alerted by a concerned bark from Dillon, I discovered the pie was beginning to burn on top.

That’ll be well done, I thought. And so I slipped it onto a plate and spooned the beans over - with a little dash of HP sauce for good measure.

As I tucked into my mid-day feast Dillon regarded me with fierce intensity.

Blimey. That’s not what I expected. Though burnt to a crisp on the outside, the Bejam meat pie was still frozen on the inside. I didn’t know that was scientifically possible.

I deposited the unsightly mess in the swing bin.

Dillon retired to his station under the telly, the look on his forlorn face suggesting he should have expected nothing better.

I read recently that dogs are able to identify stress in humans from their sweat and breath. Indeed new research published in Behavioural Processes has found that canines are capable of recognizing people’s competence at completing certain tasks.

In the first phase of the study scientists arranged for hungry dogs to watch people attempting to open a food container. The conditions were set so that one sample of humans succeeded in the task (‘The Competent’) and another sample failed (‘The Incompetent’).

When the same humans revisited the exercise in the second phase of the test, they were observed by the same dogs. This time the canny canines fixed their gaze on the Competent openers, ignoring the actions of the Incompetent.

The study concluded that dogs can recognize ineptitude and anticipate its reoccurrence. The article also noted that females are particularly good at spotting inadequacy.

I suspect it’s not just dogs that can sense incompetence. As you walk into the room to find half the attendees are running late. As you embark on a discussion without any clarity about the objectives and duration of the session. As you observe the debate running off subject without any moderation. You just know this is going to be a meandering mess of a meeting.

I’m well aware that many executives think meeting hygiene is beneath them. But what some consider cool, the rest of us consider feckless.

'Details make perfection, and perfection is not a detail.’
Leonardo da Vinci

I often advise Planners to address their career in two phases: rigorous youth and then cavalier maturity. My suggestion is that we should employ the first years of work to learn the ABC of business, to assemble the tools of our trade. After that we can afford to be more self-confident and bold; more flamboyant and expressive.

On hearing this recommendation, most people tend to focus on the cavalier element of it. It sounds like fun. But the tedious truth is that successful careers are founded on rigour, reliability, discipline and attention to detail.

Although Dillon regarded me as inept, he was nonetheless happy to accompany me on brisk walks to Haynes Park and beyond. He had the capacity to forgive failure. Which is perhaps another worthwhile leadership lesson.

'Maybe I'm a fool
For loving you so.
And maybe I'm a fool,
I don’t really know.
But I can't stop loving you, darling,
Even though I tried.

So if you should decide
To try me once more.
All you got to do is knock on my door,
And I'll say that I've taken you back.
If taking you back would be foolish,
Then maybe I'm a fool.’

Aretha Franklin, ‘Maybe I’m a Fool’ (J. L McFarland)

No. 412

When I was a child we had a Springer Spaniel called Dillon. Springer Spaniels are somewhat eccentric dogs with inexhaustible energy and passionate loyalty. Dillon’s coat was liver and white and he salivated liberally. He had long shaggy ears that required a special tall bowl to eat from so he didn’t get them caught in his food. In the long hot ‘70s summers I had many happy reflective moments sat with Dillon in the back garden watching birds. But for the most part he was rather a disruptive influence around the house: scratching paintwork, scavenging for unattended Garibaldi biscuits, barking at passers by on Heath Park Road from his elevated vantage point in Sarah’s bedroom. I always imagined Dillon was something of a class warrior as his absolute favourite activity was disturbing the peace at Haynes Park Bowling Club.

As it was the '70s, my family spent most evenings in the over-lit living room, sat on the three-piece suite, watching TV. To prolong its life the three-piece suite was covered in a loud orange-brown floral stretch-cover that Dad had bought from his mate Barry on Romford Market. There we were, five kids, Dad and my sainted Mother ranged in front of The Two Ronnies, The Likely Lads and Tommy Cooper. (I always imagined Dad had commissioned five children as he had not foreseen the advent of the TV remote control.) Dad would be smoking endless Embassy cigarettes; the rest of us consuming endless mugs of sweet tea and toasted Sunblest. ‘To be young was very heaven.’

Despite the general domestic reverie, Dillon was none too happy with this arrangement: he was being ignored. He had discovered that the traditional canine method for attracting attention precipitated a rather gruff response from Dad. In this particular environment he would have to be the dog that didn’t bark.

Eventually Dillon worked out that the best remedy was to position himself under the telly itself, looking out at the Carroll family. Thus he could at least imagine that it was him we were looking at. He could watch us, watching him. He had found proximity to the action. He was involved. And he was back where he belonged: the centre of attention.

Thinking back on Dillon’s idiosyncratic behaviour, I now understand that he was teaching us a fundamental lesson in strategy: don’t seek to distract attention; seek to be at the centre of it. Find your own way of participating in culture. Find relevance, join in, get involved, contribute.

Over the years working with Clients in many different sectors, I noticed that often there was a kind of melancholy amongst those who managed brands that were not in some way part of the zeitgeist. Their fellow Marketers were having so much fun working with mobile phones, tablets, craft beers and yogurty drinks. They could gleefully contribute to trend presentations on connectivity, the wisdom of crowds, artisanal craft and holistic health. They were being lauded at black tie functions in luxury hotels. Their brands were being shot in the Evening Standard with Cara, Rita, Taylor and Ellie. But what if you worked with a hot beverage or a biscuit, a bank or a breakfast cereal? What if you were operating at the margins of culture? What if no one cared?

And yet we have seen in years gone by how gravy can be at the heart of the reconfigured British family, detergent can encourage child development and whisky can redefine aspiration and success. We’ve seen how soap and sanpro brands can speak out for gender equality, knitwear for diversity, yellow fats for the old folk. And I can easily imagine an instant coffee brand creating social networks, a tea brand inspiring mindfulness, a bank reviving local high streets and a shaving brand saving us from hipsters. Finding cultural relevance doesn't have to be difficult.

I have come to conclude that it’s possible for almost any brand to have cultural currency. Any brand can find a way of participating in the broader social conversation of the day. Indeed I believe this is consistently the optimal positioning strategy: identify relevant cultural change and locate your brand within it. Contemporary brands need to contribute to contemporary life. They need to commentate on it, participate with it, shape it. Because if you can't make yourself relevant, you're irrelevant.

There are too many introverted businesses nowadays: talking to their own heavy users, about their own sector, on their own terms, within their own conventions. I’ve lost count of the number of Clients who consider themselves converts to the new religion of growth-through-penetration. But if we are to take the penetration arguments seriously, then we ought to be reaching out to new communities and new audiences, and locating ourselves around social and cultural change.

As John Bartle used to say, ‘you’ve got to decide whether you’re in the vanguard or in the guard’s van.’

When Dillon passed away, Dad buried him at the end of the back garden by the rockery. Mum wept for days. I always imagined that Dillon found his way to Dog Heaven. He’d had his day. He’d chased his tail. He’d howled at the moon. And he’d made his own very significant contribution to Carroll family culture. He’d found the centre of our attention.

No. 48

Dogs Can Anticipate Incompetence. Can’t We All?

The Dog Under The Telly: Don't Distract Attention, Find The Centre Of It