the helicopter was spinning out of control over the Thames

“Help. Help. Help. We’re running out of fuel”
“Oh God. Oh gof. What the fucking fuck’s happened to Juliet?
“Where can we crash land?”

Black sweat patches blossomed out his beaming highlighter-orange Under Armour training top.

Veins thick angry pregnant pythons crawled his forearms. His mammoth hands gripped the controls.

Dara, the co-pilot. Unconscious. Putrid bile scrambled across her face.

Dara’s face flopped to the left like a toddler asleep on a 45 minute car drive. A Strawberry & Banana Elf bar rested in her lap.

The hot sickly smell of burning fuel and black smoke billowed.

Would they enter the beautiful Theatre of Death?

The pilot screamed down the radio

“May Day… we need help?
“May Day… we really fucking need help… please SOMEONE… ANYONE… for fuck sake ANYONE?

The OXO Tower reflected in his steamy silver Prada sunglasses. The bird spinning downwards.

spinning
spinning
spinning
spinning
spinning

down.
down.
down.

On the plummeting descent - a kaleidoscope of London - flashed before their fear-drenched eyes - London Eye.

OXO Tower - Big Ben - Flashes - flashes - flas-h- e- s -

The Chopper feebly bobbing along the choppy waters of the sky.

No Copper could save The Chopper. Nay, not even a Rugby Chopper from Loughborough Rugby First XV could save the Chopper.

Below the Thames glistened a gorgeous sparkle.

97897 feet down.

An UBER boat with three happy-clappy Louisiana tourists chugged along the Thames.

Colin. Darnel. Marty were onboard. Marty in orange crocs, the other two in yellow and blue.

Colin wore a two saggy Real Madrid shirt. “Franks 7” printed on the back. All chomped Mango Soleros.

Colin looked up and said “When I see planes or helicopters I realise anything is possible”

Oh how very, very, very wrong Colin was.

spinning
spinning
spinning
spinning
spinning

What happened to the helicopter?

Fuck knows. I made up the story. Didn’t come to a conclusion. That’s up to you mon ame.

Butttttt…

Helicopters and Airplanes teach us a vital lesson about brand building.

High Agency - George Mack

Al Barrat, founder of GRENADE was in a plane crash when he was 18.

What does Al do?

He doesn’t sit around fiddling with his twinkie, wallowing in a wailing whirlpool of poor-me. .

He gets up.
Dusts himself off.
Says Fuck This.
Goes and learns to fly.

Al Barrat is High Agency.

High Agency is an essay by George Mack. One of my favourite ideas at the minute.

Top 1% Founders aren’t glass half full.
Top 1% Founders go beyond that.
Top 1% Founders with HIGH AGENCY are the FUCKING TAP.

Everywhere you look and everything built was built one courageous-crazy possessingungodly, unfathomably amounts of High Agency.

High agency is everywhere you look.

Planes.
Trains.
Buildings.
Ships.
Sky Scrappers.
Cars.
Universities.
the iPhone you’re reading this on
the laptop I’m typing on.

All of this was created by someone with high agency.

Deeply implore you to read the essay by George Mack.

An ambition hack I’ve developed recently.

When I see a plane in the sky (sound like a fucking toddler)

It’s a reminder that ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE WITH HIGH AGENCY.

The Wright Brothers. One day looked at a bird. And thought fuck this. We’re going to learn to fly.

In 1899, they began experimenting with kites and then gliders, eventually building a full-sized piloted glider.