Waking up at 3am soaked in sweat. 

Noticing that the bedsheets have turned yellow and smell like they’ve been slept in by a rugby team.

Wearing layers whatever the weather.

Standing in the garden on a dark February evening in my bra while my best mate assures me that the heating isn’t even on inside the house.

I was chatting to a friend and fellow business owner just the other day.

She told me she didn’t think her personal story was interesting, and she certainly didn’t think it was relevant to her business.

Now, I know her story.

And it has everything to do with her business.

‘This was supposed to be my year! We’re only three weeks into January and so far I’ve had a married man and a scammer!’’

My back pressed into the cold, hard floor.

My legs ached and my hips were screaming.

The footsteps were getting closer. Sweat dripped down the back of my spine as the slow creep of impending doom padded across the floor toward me.

Then it happened.

I walked out halfway through a workshop a few weeks ago.

It was one of those free events where you get a taste of something valuable, in exchange for your time listening to a shameless pitch. 

We’ve all been to these, we all know the drill.

And I have zero issue with this kind of transaction. 

But there’s something that I have no time for.

She’s standing at the threshold, dressed in the first clean things she could get her hands on. 

Both hands are clutched around the strap of an overnight bag.

The door is open. All she has to do is walk through it.

I’ve got a birthday coming up.

I’ll be 43.

And as I venture deeper and deeper into the wild waters of my 40s, I’m thinking of the things I wish I’d known sooner.

I’ll never forget the day I got the text.

I was at work, sitting at my desk and thinking about dinner (I can usually be found thinking about dinner). When my phone pinged I had no idea that the universe was about to tip on its axis. 

You take a deep breath and push open the door.  

The interview panel raise their heads to look at you.

Appraising you. Judging you. 

You take your seat and clear your throat. Your tongue suddenly feels like sandpaper and sweat is collecting at the back of your neck.

You have green hair.

No, you do.

It’s as green as a Granny Smith.

Don’t believe me? Read on.

The year was 1987.

A coffee company captured the heart of the nation.

And they kept hold of it for 6 whole years.

I am of course talking about the Nescafe Gold Blend serial ad campaign, starring Anthony Head and Sharon Maughan as two neighbours who fell in love over the course of twelve 45 second adverts, and a cup of coffee.

Did you ever see that movie, Hitch?

The one where Will Smith is a dating coach who helps men to woo women for lasting, meaningful relationships?

Well, that’s what copywriters do. But for businesses.

One of the best lessons I learned from my mentor at the start of my career was this.

The best product isn’t the one that sells. The product that sells is the one with the best marketing strategy.