Crappy nappies = crappy day

When your luck's not in, your luck's not in and, at the moment in my world (yes, you've guessed it), Mr Luck remains on an extended summer break.

As promised, I did rise this morning with a brighter outlook on life and a plan to take my dad and Wee John on a guided tour of Bradford and Leeds city centres.

We pretty much "did" Bradford by 11.30 including a stop at the very impressive sand sculpture in Centenary Square, which you can see above.

My dad and I were then waiting for John to finish a chore before we all jumped on a train to Leeds for lunch and the Ashes and football exhibitions at the city museum.

But then my phone rang. It was Jamie's nursery calling to say he wasn't well and could I come and take him home immediately.

It wasn't really a surprise. He has been teething quite severely over the last 36 hours or so and didn't sleep much last night. Of course, teething isn't just about sore gums; it often includes various side effects including a heavy cold and upset tummy - both of which our little man currently has.

According to the nursery lady who called me, he had rather horrifically filled three nappies in the two and a half hours he'd been there (like you really wanted to know that) and the policy in such circumstances is to get the poorly individual out the door and away from the other kids as quickly as possible. No complaints on that.

With Vanessa working in York all day, it fell to me (still on leave for the cricket) to pick him up whilst my dad and John - at my insistence - continued on to Leeds without me.

The good news is that Jamie seems alright. I had to use all the tricks in my locker to get him to eat some lunch but he had a reasonable amount all told. He's now having a sleep and, when he wakes, I'll take him out for a push.

I've found it hard to take anything particularly positive from the disappointments of the last few days but I've found one: if the cricket had continued into its fifth and final day today, I would have ended up having to come home to do what I'm now doing anyway. And what would it have been like if England has needed 50 runs or two wickets to win the Ashes?! Indeed.

A small comfort but a comfort nonetheless.

And, most importantly of all, I think he'll survive.

UPDATE 1901: Just back from The Great Northern (it's a pub) and suddenly the world seems brighter.

Firstly, I've thought of a new headline for this post: "Three Shites and You're Out." Are you having that one?

And, in the same vein, number two (sometimes I impress myself). A funny little incident just occurred which I wanted to relay. The Great Northern is not great. In fact it's really rather poor, but my dad liked the barmaid who didn't take herself too seriously.

"Will you throw us out, please?" asked my dad about 15 minutes ago after three plus hours of drinking.

"No!" she replied with some force. "We're glad to have customers!"

I'm at one with the world again.