Dawn starts and donkey milk. How I shine like a Dimon in the mornings

Messages from the archive of Rutherford Hall, critical communications strategist

From: Rutherford@monkwellstrategy.com

To: Stephen@monkwellstrategy.com

Stephen — do you see all these articles about how power players start their day. Thought I’d offer my own version for a few select colleagues. What do you reckon?

Back to work week often seems to include a run of blogs, videos and articles explaining how the rich and successful start their working day. Many sit in awe of these titans who rise early enough to eat a gourmet breakfast, clear their inbox and complete a triathlon before heading into the office. 

Not that this is any surprise to us here at Monkwell. We are already pretty “on it”, champing at the bit and ready for success. You may have seen that Jamie Dimon apparently likes to start the day at 5am. Well some of us have been shining bright like a Dimon for some time.

I’ve spent years rising early, giving it 110 per cent and delivering in high-pressure roles (not least the years I spent in Downing Street). I don’t usually like to talk about it. But given the fashion for sharing, I thought people might be interested in my own regime and experience just in case it inspires anyone else.

5am: Rise like Jamie, drink a glass of filtered water and retreat to my study in the east wing (the room above the garage) to speed read the complete works of Dostoevsky. You can learn a lot from the master. I have set Google alerts for every client and sector we cover and spend the time making sure I am entirely across every development. I check them all as my first order of business. This is a slog, but it is essential and made a little easier by the intern I have ordered to get up at 4am to fillet the alerts so I don’t have to deal with the rubbish. I scour our clients’ social media as well as our own to make sure there are no problems. Too many firms let inexperienced youngsters run these accounts and it gets them into trouble. It’s a rookie error. 

Finally, I’m a firm advocate of zero inbox, so I clear all emails and send out early marching orders for the day before showering and heading to the kitchen.

6.30am Power breakfast. Salmon and avocado, chia seeds, protein shake — or whatever’s left in the fridge. One latte prepared on my new Rocket Espresso coffee maker. It’s a monstrous indulgence, I know, but you really can taste the difference, and it looks awesome. I use only donkey milk, for the beneficial effects of the extra lactic acid. If I have a work breakfast, which I often do, I cut this back to a coffee and a banana.

7am: Wake and say goodbye to the kids and leave them for nanny to prepare for school. Head to door before remembering that we don’t have a nanny. But the good news is that kids miraculously manage to get themselves to primary school on time every morning without my help. Dash back to the kitchen to make their organic packed lunches. Once a week I go in late and walk them to school because I believe in sharing the parental burden.

7.10: 20 squat jumps and then I’m on my bike. I like to get out before the worst of the traffic and can be in the centre of town in 25 minutes. Cycling through London not only sharpens the senses it also clears my mind for the day ahead. At weekends I challenge myself with longer rides. Find me on Strava and check out my KoM. As I zip through the outer boroughs I chuckle at the soon-to-be-abandoned husks of vehicles owned by the drivers who could not afford to pay the anti-pollution Ulez charge and delight at the cleaner air I am already breathing. They say you can’t put a price on lungs. Well in London it’s £12.50 a day. Quick shower at work and I’m raring to go.

8pm: Back in time to read kids a bedtime story. Do we really have three of them? I was sure it was two last time I looked.

Keep it real, Rutherford

Find me on Strava, KoM Sydenham Hill, PR London to Brighton 3h 17m

WhatsApp to Stephen: Am getting some odd texts? Anything going on? 

WhatsApp to Stephen: What do you mean the intern thought I wanted it posted on my LinkedIn page! It was a joke. Who the hell sent it to him in the first place? How could he think I was serious? No one believes those articles.

And how did we let him run our social media? Get him to take it down immediately and tell him that shows of initiative are seriously overrated. Can’t do it myself. Am trying to tie a seven-year-old’s shoelaces. 

Letter in response to this article:

‘It came to me during my early morning run’/ From Jason Nisse, Director, The Nisse Consultancy, London N5, UK