White Stuff

Up for the Cup

2012-01-26T12:51:00.002Z

Today didn't got off to the start I had hoped for, but there's plenty of time to put things right.

We Whites are due to clamber on to a teatime flight from Leeds Bradford to Belfast, before heading up to the North Coast to begin our (OK, "my") Irish League Cup Final preparations.

My beloved Bannsiders were nowhere near the Final when I booked. But a couple of incredible wins have meant that the weekend to come will hopefully be one to live long in the memory.

Yes, for Vanessa, Jamie, Charlotte, it might not all be about the football. In fact, it won't be in any way about the football as they are not amongst the 2,500 Coleraine fans lucky enough to have tickets for Saturday's game. Plus, they're not arsed. But there will be plenty of other distractions and attractions for them. Kids' stuff, women's stuff - you get the idea.

Which brings you to this morning's fun and games when I woke up to find that the hole where my recently extracted tooth once lived had become infected. Excellent.

However, a quick visit to the dentist to have it packed with iodine and to get a prescription for alcoholic anti-biotics should hopefully do the job until we get back on Monday evening.

COME ON COLERAINE!

Tell me it's snot true

2012-01-24T08:10:00.000Z

More than three and a half years into the job, I think I've become fairly unshockable as a dad.

Dirty nappies? Not a problem.

Vomit down my collar? We have a washing machine (called Vanessa).

Runny noses? I've even stated sharing tissues, so relaxed have I become with snot. Or so I thought.

I say this because this morning on Radio 2, Chris Evans reported something about his experiences of fatherhood which so was so gross that I had to put my toast down.

He was talking about baby colds and how their tiny little noses often get bunged up.

But he added: "When they're really small, you have to suck the snot out yourself to allow them to breathe."

To any prospective parents out there, let me assure you that, yes, maybe occasionally, you may feel inclined to do a bit of excavating with the nail on your little finger. But sucking out snot? No!

To any actual parents who may have performed this hideous procedure when drunk, I would suggest you're much sicker than your sniffly sprog could possibly have been.

Words won't come easy (to him)

2012-01-21T15:52:00.000Z

As I reported earlier in the week, Charlotte is now on her feet and walking greater distances by the day.

Her next exciting landmark will be the gift of words.

I mentioned this to Jamie this morning and enquired what he might say to her when she was able to speak.

"I would ask her if she would like to talk to me," he said.

"And what do you think she would say?" I continued.

"No," said Jamie.

And I thought he thought she liked him.

The son, the stars and the planets

2012-01-20T09:36:00.000Z

I was walking Jamie home from nursery last night and experienced a moment I am unlikely to ever forget.

It was a dark but clear evening and the stars were beaming in the sky. Jamie likes stars.

So, keen to help him along with his astronomical education, I pointed at the brightest light of all and attempted to get all clever.

"That's not a star, Jamie," I announced proudly.

"Yes it is," retorted White Jnr with total disdain.

"No, that's a planet," I replied.

"Ooooooooo," he cooed. "Is it Earth?" (I told him last week that we all lived on Planet Earth).

"No, it's another planet called Venus," I explained. "Isn't that exciting?"

"Yes, that's very exciting," said Jamie, without any obvious hint of irony.

Giving it a couple of minutes, I decided to find out if what Professor Daddy had just taught him had stuck.

"What's that bright light?" I asked, pointing skywards once again.

"It's a planet!" he declared proudly.

"And what's it called?" I enquired further.

"Penis!"

Maybe he's still a bit too young for planets.

Walk this way (if you're 12 months old)

2012-01-19T21:55:00.002Z

Perhaps one for the purist this, but I thought you might like to know that our Charlotte can now walk; a handy skill if ever there was one.

And if you're bored, can you briefly see her strut her stuff by clicking on the play button below (sorry it's a bit dark).

Actually, I'll let you into a secret.

What you can see above wasn't the first take; this was the first take.

So, really a work in progress then.

Mind the gap

2012-01-19T17:12:00.001Z

So, what kind of day have you had thus far?  Rewarding I hope.

Me? Oh, nothing dramatic. Other than having a huge tooth yanked out of my mouth with big pliers.

Well, I say tooth. But it was only really the root - the rest having been broken off a couple of weeks ago. That might sound like the procedure was therefore less of an ordeal, however, the opposite is true.

If the whole tooth had been there, my dentist could in theory have achieved a firm grip of the bugger with her instrument of torture. As it was, she had to dig into my gum in search of something to clamp on to. And when she did get hold of the offending piece of me, she seemed to take great pleasure in rocking my head around violently (think AC/DC fan) in an attempt to get it out. For a good 10 minutes.

At one point I told her I felt like a horse (and even had the legendary song "My Lovely Horse" from Father Ted cantering through my head) but I think my quip just stiffened her resolve (and my neck).

Anyway, it came out in the end and I've been drinking my own blood ever since.  And to think, I lovingly polished that tooth for all those years.

Further news is that I'm not allowed tea, coffee, hot food or anything delightfully alcoholic until tomorrow.

Still, the bad days make the good days more fun, eh?!

My life's going down the toilet

2012-01-18T10:56:00.001Z

I was listening to Radio 5 Live this morning and heard the female presenter lament about the fact that her partner will turn 40 in a few days' time.

"I can't believe I'm going to be going out with a 40-year-old bloke," she spat. "I might only be a couple of years younger, but still. He's going to be 40 - UGH!"

Now, I am due to reach the big 4-0 in a couple of months. And Vanessa, like our friend on 5 Live, is a couple of years younger than me.

Am I really going to become a figure who disgusts people (including her) simply for still being alive?

It is possible if truth be told.

I remember the days when coming home to a new computer game or a cassette tape through the post got me hugely excited.

But, on Monday, I can barely describe my sense of elation when I arrived back to find this perched on our toilet.

Yes VELVET! 16 ROLLS of Velvet! Does it get any better? I say not (other than Kleenex).

So I'm almost 40, I'm proud to be so and, yes, I am disgusting.

A modern heroine

2012-01-17T11:54:00.000Z

An undoubted high point in Charlotte's year-long existence came along yesterday when she was awarded a Certificate Of Bravery.

Some people I can think of have had to fight in wars, or enter burning buildings or tackle crocodiles with their bare hands to achieve such high recognition.

And Charlotte's feat?

She had not one, not two but THREE injections in the same morning.

I can tell you're impressed.

So too was Jamie who got to eat her sweet.

It's curtains for us

2012-01-15T17:55:00.000Z

The final piece in the jigsaw which is our redecorated living room arrived yesterday in the form of our new curtains - loving crafted by hand by my mother. And they look great.

However, whilst my mum's brilliance as a curtain-maker should really have been the most challenging aspect of making our front window look nice, it didn't appear that way to me. Because I still had to put our new curtain rail up.

Indeed, I fretted about it all last night. I am a man of few gifts, you see. And something I don't possess is the ability to cause anything other than destruction with a drill.

Getting out of bed this morning, I decided there was nothing else for it; I had to get another man in.

So, dear friends, meet Jonathan.

Jonathan, who also happens to be my brother-in-law, is a man who knows about lots of things - one of which is putting up curtain rails.

And, well...

...just have a look...

....for yourself.

My relief at a potential domestic disaster being averted was matched only by Jamie's admiration for his uncle.

At times I cannot help but wonder what my son thinks I'm actually for.

Where there's a will there's a White

2012-01-13T17:30:00.001Z

Vanessa and I have just had the joyous task of signing our wills.

Lovely.

Was it sensible for us to arrange to undertake this grim procedure on Friday the 13th?

Well, let me put it this way.

If it wasn't, you are likely to know before we are.

I've been bobbled

2012-01-12T19:59:00.000Z

Tonight, I was planning to tell you all about my hilarious capers with my new bobble remover which arrived in the post this morning.

I had all sorts of innuendo and, well, filth to impart in a teasing but inoffensive manner as I set about shaving anything and everything I could find get my mitts on.

But then I arrived home, opened my piece of hi-tech equipment (£4 on Amazon) and guess what?

That's right - it doesn't f***ing work.

Now I've no idea what I'm going to do for the rest of the evening.

And you thought you had problems.

Water off a daddy's face

2012-01-11T18:44:00.000Z

I had a stinker of a night last night when, once again, my manly abilities were exposed for what they are: non-existent. I'll try to keep this short.

Jamie and Charlotte were about to have their bath and I noticed that the radiator in the bathroom was cold at the top.

It was time for me to get my bleeding key (or f***ing key, as I was to call it shortly afterwards). I gave the little screw thing a twist, the radiator spurted large amounts of smelly wind and dirty water all over my face - and, bingo, it immediately heated up.

What a guy!

So I rushed downstairs to tell Jamie it was time for Bob The Builder to hand over his hard hat because I was the new Mr Fixit in town.

"Wow!" purred Jamie, and he was right. I was magnificent. A true hero. A man amongst metrosexuals.

What a guy!

And then I heard a wail from upstairs. It was Vanessa.

"There's no hot water!" Oh. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.

So I checked the boiler. It had turned itself off. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

An hour and a half later, boiler manuals, torch and screw driver in hand, I finally managed to get it working and the water was hot.

I was great once again - what a guy!

Then, about 20 minutes later, I checked the radiator in the kitchen. It was cold. So too were the radiators in the living room and the hall.

Meanwhile, whilst not exactly hot, all of the upstairs radiators were working.

I spent another half an hour poking at the boiler and then an hour on Google trying to work out why, in our house, it was warm high and cold low. By the end, I was none the wiser.

I left things overnight but, first thing this morning, there was no other option. It was time to call for Mr Water (also known as Mark).

And by 10.30, our central heating system was working better than ever.

According to Mr Water, the boiler went off as a result of my overbleeding the system and starving it of water.

And although I got things going again by putting more water in, I hadn't tightened the screws properly afterwards. Oh, and I pretty much wrecked the screws too after using the wrong screwdriver.

As he left (with 35 of my quids in his pocket) Mr Water gave me two pieces of advice:

Don't ever touch the screws on the boiler again
Actually, forget 1 - don't ever touch the boiler again.

Thankfully Jamie wasn't there when this sharp piece of guidance was issued to me, so will hopefully retain just a semblance of admiration for what he thought I did last night.

But I can barely look in the mirror.

What a guy.

He can watch the highlights on the telly

2012-01-09T20:06:00.001Z

My ongoing project of brainwashing, sorry, explaining to Jamie that he is in fact an Ulsterman continues to gather pace.

And at times I believe I'm getting somewhere.

Like tonight, for example, when someone on Radio 2 said "Northern Ireland" and, from his bath, he shouted it right back at me. Very pleased with that.

Us Whites are due to go across for our annual January visit in less than three weeks and, this year, the dates could not have fallen with kinder fortune.

Because, on the afternoon of Saturday 28th, my beloved Coleraine FC will walk out at the Ballymena Showgrounds to take on Crusaders in the Irish League Cup Final.

It will be a very proud day for the town and one I hope to remember with affection for the rest of my life (if we win, that is).

And, in theory, it would be an even more special occasion if I could share it with my boy.

But that will not happen. Because he's bound to misbehave and that would spoil it for me.

So he's not going - tough.

Thou shalt not gain weight

2012-01-08T17:20:00.001Z

I don't know whether "they" say you're never too young too get active, but I certainly do.

I therefore recently invested in Nickelodeon Fit as a means of starting Jamie and Charlotte off as I hope they'll intend to continue.

And yesterday it made its debut in our house.

According to the bumf, Nickelodeon Fit "provides young children with fun, developmentally appropriate 'moderate' to 'vigorous' physical activities."

In practice, what this amounts to is 30 individual games ranging from pretend bike riding to pretend boat rowing to pretend ball throwing, with lots of variations along the way.

And as well as the Wii Remote, participants also get to use the famed Wii Balance Board (if their parents have one) which will be familiar to all Wii Fit loving folk (normally girlies) up and down the country.

Yesterday was a little too early to force Charlotte to get involved, but Jamie was made to sweat for a good hour and a half - and earn his bath for once. He also seemed to have a lot of fun (something of a bonus).

So, all in all, I'm very pleased with my purchase.

And it was much cheaper than two mini rubber suits and a treadmill.

A flash with a pan

2012-01-06T17:04:00.001Z

I've been attacked by the Sinusitis Monster again over the last 48 hours, hence no updates.

However, my painful condition is nothing a nose break and a couple of black eyes won't sort (according to my GP). So I'm off to see the consultant in Leeds next month, after which he will inflict said damage.

And to think, this time last week 2012 held such promise.

But I might be getting off lightly, as yesterday we had a little bit of drama at Jamie's nursery.

Vanessa picked him up as normal but, before departure, was asked by one of the nice ladies if she had time for a quick word. It was to report a crime

One of the other detainees had called Jamie a bad name.

And the response of Master White?

Yep, he whacked the offender over the head with a plastic frying pan.

Thankfully no physical damage was caused - so no lawsuits should hopefully be forthcoming.

But was it right for me to feel proud of my boy? I say yes, but perhaps it's best not to tell him (or his nursery).

Crawling from the nest

2012-01-04T18:34:00.000Z

With Vanessa back at work, another landmark moment was reached in our house this morning when Charlotte joined Jamie at nursery for the first time proper.

Between now and September, the two of them will be there two and a half days a week.

And then Jamie starts school.

Bloody hell.

Somewhat predictably, Charlotte didn't have the happiest of days in her new surroundings. But (according to those who know) it normally takes 3-4 weeks for the youngest new inmates to settle in. So she'll be alright.

However, our little boy and little girl are really growing up.

And only parents with the hardest of hearts could have anything other than mixed views about that.

Gnome sweet gnome

2012-01-03T18:31:00.002Z

In the rare absence of Wee John over Christmas and the New Year, yesterday Jamie insisted that some other little men come to live with us instead - and instructed me to buy some gnomes.

Sadly I had no luck at Poundstretcher in Guiseley (the lady advised that this wasn't the gnoming season), but Poundland in Keighley did come through for me at lunchtime today.

Master White seemed pleased when he met his new playmates a few minutes ago and immediately asked for the honour of naming them.

So, ladies and gentlemen, from left to right, please meet Paul and Sebastian.

We hope they enjoy their stay.

Back to the future

2012-01-03T07:56:00.002Z

This is my least favourite day in the year.

After the excitement and expectation of the festive season just gone, the prospect of returning to "normality" is one that has traditionally caused me more mental anguish than it really should.

Vanessa, meanwhile, has always been much better equipped at dealing with these things and, as you can see above, she didn't allow the actual arrival of 2012 spoil her New Year's Eve.

However, this year she could be forgiven for feeling just a little more sorry for herself than most as our "alarm" (i.e. Jamie) went off at 6am.

Because, after 13 months of maternity leave, Mrs W is heading back to work.

And that has got to hurt. (Tee hee!)

Down with the beer and out with the year

2011-12-31T17:40:00.000Z

New Year's Eve in our house hasn't quite panned out as envisaged, but the nice food and champagne (...and Guinness and lager and wine and...) are in the fridge, Jamie and Charlotte's Auntie Vicky is on her way and we fully intend to have an evening to partially remember.

Having had some unexpected time to kill earlier, Vanessa and I decided to do what we do best.

That's right, humiliate our children.

Do you reckon Jamie makes a good Woody from Toy Story?

What about Buzz Lightyear?

OK, my final offer.

Charlotte as a snowgirl?

Whatever you're doing tonight, I hope it's great.

And HAPPY NEW YEAR to YOU!!!

Pull the other one

2011-12-30T19:06:00.001Z

I got in tonight to hear that Barratts Priceless are to make more than 1,600 staff redundant after a buyer for the company could not be found.

It's horrible news at a terrible time for those affected.

However, this morning I had a hint of why the firm is where it is.

I was in Barratts in Leeds and picked up a size 10 shoe which I quite fancied. So I tried it on, had a shuffle around and asked the nice man at the till if I could try on both together.

He disappeared off for a couple of minutes before returning, looking a touch embarrassed, with remarkable news.

"I'm afraid we only have one size 10 shoe left, sir," he said, "although we do have a pairs in size 9 and size 11."

I do hope his day didn't get worse after I thanked him and left - empty-handed.

Robin Daddy

2011-12-30T18:41:00.000Z

I've just got back from an afternoon at this year's Bradford pantomime, Robin Hood, featuring the now omnipresent Billy Pearce in the lead role.

And fair play to him and everyone else involved.

The special effects were genuinely top drawer, the cast were hugely enthusiastic and the laughs were plentiful.

Bradford fully deserves its now well-established reputation as home to the best panto - year in, year out - in the North of England.

And the high point for Jamie?

The Lightsaber I was forced to buy him on the way in.

Kids.

A day of contrasting results

2011-12-30T07:53:00.000Z

Yesterday, after more than six months of trying, I finally realised why our broadband was operating at carrier pigeon speed and managed to fix it.

Bully for me.

But did this wondrous achievement counterbalance the "disappointment" felt after I broke the garage door several hours earlier and had to cough up £125 to get an emergency man out to repair the damage?

Er, no, it didn't.

All's well that finally ends

2011-12-27T09:16:00.000Z

Above you can see pictures of my mate Paul "Merv" Gaile and REM lead singer Michael Stipe. I can't say for sure which is which.

A few weeks ago and under the influence of the demon drink, Paul persuaded me to enter an "easy paced Christmas fun run" called the Chevin Chase. It takes place every year on Boxing Day in and around Guiseley.

Unlike me but in common with his chilled-out partner Mandy, Paul - a proud Coleraine man - is a very accomplished distance runner and both of them have run the Chevin Chase in the past.

"You should do it this year," he enthused, "you'd love it!"

So I entered the race online and told him I'd look forward to seeing him and Mandy on the start line.

"Oh, we're not doing it - bugger that!" he said (or something similar).

The "easy paced Christmas fun run" turned out to be a seven mile trek straight up into space and back, across muddy fields, dirt tracks, boulders and a tiny bit of tarmac.

And who did I meet at the top of the highest climb yesterday morning? Yup, Paul and Mandy. Wrapped up in their winter woollies, as warm as toast.

The good news is that I did get to the end, although my body is getting its own back in some style this morning.

The even better news is that, about two minutes after I arrived back home, Paul and Mandy pulled up outside after making a special trip to say well done.

And then the drink came out.

I like stories with a happy ending.

I trust you had a good day

2011-12-26T07:53:00.002Z

Good morning all - and how's your head?

I can certainly recall feeling more sprightly than this and, at 11am, matters will take a serious turn for the worst. However, more on that next time.

First, Christmas Day at our house and a fine occasion it turned out to be.

I didn't undercook/overcook our turkey (crown) - which means it must have been nigh on perfect.

Jamie and Charlotte got all they desired from Santa Claus.

And they even had the chance to camp it up with their cousins later in the day.

In many ways, it could be described as a Christmas classic.

It's Merry Christmas from them (and me)

2011-12-24T18:04:00.000Z

As I write and according to Google Earth, Father Christmas is whizzing over Mount Everest en route to the UK. All good (if you've been good).

We Whites have just returned from a somewhat bizarre mass nativity play at a local church in which everyone (i.e. you didn't have to be a child - there were two women in it almost as old as me) was invited turn up in costume and play whatever part they wished.

This obviously provided an ideal opportunity for Jamie to get a third and final wear out of his Wise Man outfit - so up on stage he went.

Not only that, he got to deliver his first ever line through a microphone when he informed the packed audience that he'd brought the baby Jesus some myrrh. (He hadn't).

And, of course, Charlotte was there too although, as an elf, she didn't get to perform much.

This was in contrast to her cousin Holly (below centre) who was quite magnificent as an angel.

The kids are now having tea. After baths and the inevitable battle to get them into their scratchers, it will be time to wait for his nibs.

In the meantime let me wish you and yours the very merriest of Christmases.

And genuine thanks for continuing to even occasionally read this rubbish.

UPDATE 1943

Magic stardust deposited in back garden...

...brandy, cake and carrot left by the chimney...

...it's over to you know who.

I apologise for any inconvenience caused

2011-12-23T10:29:00.001Z

Over recent days, I've seen countless of those electronic Christmas "cards" that are now the rage.

The funniest one for me was from East Coast trains. But I don't think it was meant to be amusing.

My point is this: what would the chances be of an East Coast train running on such a snowy day?

Methinks almost none.

Oh no, not him again!

2011-12-21T22:20:00.002Z

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

Well, obviously not - it hasn't got wings.

No, it's a reindeer. And not just any reindeer.

It's his reindeer.

Tonight Santa was on his annual pre-Christmas visit to Guiseley. It's organised by Guiseley Lions and local charities are the beneficiaries.

We Whites waited outside our house for as long as Jamie and Charlotte's patience would allow us (about five minutes) before going in search.

But thankfully Father C seemed happy to be found.

Only four sleeps to go.

As an aside, I mentioned last week that our fridge/freezer was so cold it had gone on strike.

Well, six days on, it suddenly decided that it quite likes Christmas too and wants to be part of the fun.

Lazurus, it's good (and timely) to have you back.

The countdown to Christmas (and summer)

2011-12-21T11:54:00.001Z

Despite today being the shortest day and the countdown to summer officially beginning tomorrow, I am starting to feel particularly Christmassy.

Never more so than this morning when our milkman brought our first festive pintas.

I have questioned several times in recent months whether paying a bloke on a bike to bring our milk was really the best use of family resources when Morrisons is but a mere sprint away from our house.

But today, I feel happy with our choice and warm towards our milkman.

That said, two other Christmas moments this year have made me smile even more.

First was the news that three police cars and a police dog were scrambled to a hotel in Hartlepool - after a row broke out at the local plain clothes detectives Christmas party.

The second was when a man phoned in to a radio programme to relay a conversation he'd just had with his young son. It went like this:

"Daddy? I need to write another letter to Santa."

"Oh, why?"

"You know I asked him for a bike?"

"Yeessss..."

"Well, I don't need one any more."

"What do you mean you don't need one any more?! Why don't you need one any more?!!!"

"Because I've just found one hidden behind the sofa."

A big day for a little lady

2011-12-19T21:54:00.000Z

Christmas might not be far away but, in our house, there was a very important landmark to celebrate first.

That's right, Charlotte was born a year ago today. I can hardly believe it.

Party hats were purchased...

...guests were ferried in...

...a cake was baked...

...presents were bought (thank you to everyone for your kindness)...

...opened (with brotherly help)...

...and closely inspected.

And, d'you know, I think she had fun.

I hope she'll let me play with her again tomorrow.

T'is the season to be Santa

2011-12-18T14:08:00.000Z

Yuletide kicked off good and proper in our house this morning, when Jamie and I followed a visit to see Arthur Christmas on the big screen with a brief hook-up with the main man himself.

And, despite living in the North Pole, it appears Father Christmas grew up in West Yorkshire.

I also got the impression he was looking forward to Christmas Day much more than anyone else, but perhaps for different reasons.

"Ey up, little boy," he growled to White Junior.

"This time next week I'll be back in t'Lapland and Christmas will all be over for another year. Eeeee!!!"

Methinks he'll have had at least a crate of Christmas spirit by this time next week too.

It's so cold, our ice cream has melted

2011-12-15T22:33:00.001Z

I was a bit annoyed/downcast/bereft last night, and it was all because of our "big fridge."

We have two fridges, see. It's not because we're posh. In fact, it's the opposite - it's because we can only get a small fridge into our kitchen. And, upon moving to Guiseley, we put our old/big fridge into our garage.

Still with me or just bored? Don't answer that.

Last night I paid a visit to our big fridge (pictured above). In fact, I'll be more specific. I paid a visit to the freezer compartment of our big fridge.

I was after some ice cream - Bailey's Haagen Dazs, since you're asking - which, to my horror, I discovered had gone soft. A bit of rummaging around soon revealed that everything else in there was also soft.

But how come? I checked the fridge part of our big fridge (i.e. the bit that isn't the freezer compartment) and the light was on. So it wasn't a power issue.

Nope, the freezer compartment was kaput and we'd have to buy a whole new big fridge. Just before Christmas. Great!

I even got my laptop out and began investigating what Argos had to offer at a reasonable price. (Answer: very little).

Then I had a thought. Would the fact that the temperature in our garage was around -1C have anything to do with it? So I checked the user manual, which advised the following: "The fridge-freezer should not be located in a cold place such as an unheated garage, cellar, outhouse or cold kitchen." Oh good.

But I read on: "If you cannot avoid locating your fridge-freezer where low temperatures will prevail, you may need to set the thermostat dial to 4 or 5 during the winter months."

It had actually been set at just below 3, so I knocked it up to 5.

And tonight...our ice cream is still soft. As soft as last night? Hard to tell. But, by this time tomorrow, we should know for sure what way this riveting tale is going to end.

What an exciting life I lead.

Very happy to show you mine

2011-12-14T21:37:00.001Z

Jamie's nursery nativity has come and gone - and it was predictably hilarious.

Unfortunately, I can't show you any of those on parade other than Wise Man #3 (R Jamie).

The reason is that, whilst pictures were allowed and I do have plenty, there were objections from parents last year when images of their little lambs (literally in some cases) appeared online.

I have no such qualms, however.

So, here's when Jamie's costume rode up at the front...

....and, later, at at back.

Oh, and Charlotte was there too.

Good night.

A Wee Wise White

2011-12-13T18:30:00.000Z

Tomorrow night's delayed broadcast of the Royal Variety Performance (which was in Salford, meaning only Princess Anne could be arsed to turn up) should be our nation's stage highlight of the day.

But it won't be. Hell no.

Because also tomorrow, Jamie will take what I hope will be many bows after he's been a Wise Man in his nursery's nativity play.

It will be the second of two performances, the first being today. But I wasn't there so that doesn't count.

Above you can see him in his full regalia during one of many dress rehearsals in our kitchen. And I hope you agree he looks the part.

But can he play it?

All will be revealed at 4.30pm tomorrow - followed by a full review here.

I trust you're as excited as I am (although, if you're not, I understand).

I look horny

2011-12-12T13:48:00.000Z

Yes, that is me (629) with my antlers during yesterday's Reindeer Stampede in a park near Bradford.

A brilliantly organised event (and I'm not just saying that because my pal Simon organised it) raised what I hope was a large pile of cash for Action Epilepsy.

Funnily enough, I had no qualms whatsoever in handing my adornments to Jamie immediately afterwards. But I would expect Charlotte to make a more powerful claim for them next year should I be persuaded to enter the 2012 event.

A round of applause for a song about Claus

2011-12-10T13:43:00.001Z

Jamie's public performance career got off to something of a rocky start this time last year after he threw away his crook and stormed down the aisle during the local church's nativity play.

Matters improved a little a few days later when, dressed as George Pig, he sang a few bars of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" at his nursery's festive revue.

Moving forward 12 months, his biggest artistic challenge of 2011 will come next week - much more on that then.

But first, this morning, and his music class's guest appearance with a very odd group of individuals who describe themselves as "an orchestra." (I would more accurately describe them as "bored").

However, with the stage set, our tiny heroes did their thing - and you can watch a bit of it by clicking on the play button below. Jamie's the one with the wooden block.

Needless to say, Vanessa, Charlotte and I were immensely proud.

OK, Charlotte thought everyone should really be looking at her instead, but still.

Surprisingly, he doesn't drive a Mini

2011-12-09T14:19:00.001Z

I spent my two nights in London this week staying with Wee John.

Above you can see his flatmate Shane (left) and brother Charlton (top right) enjoying our low key, sober dinner on Tuesday.

Wee John and Shane moved properties just a few days ago and, with the new flat, came a new, personal parking space.

It took me several minutes to work out why Wee John's space had the initials "AD" daubed on it. And then it came to me.

"A Dwarf."

A false start to the party season

2011-12-08T22:50:00.001Z

I was working in London for the past couple of days, hence no updates here. And last night I was due to attend the annual Irish Embassy Press Party.

I've been to the Irish Embassy several times before but, before setting off there yesterday, thought it best to re-check its location on Streetmap. I found that it was pretty much right beside Marble Arch Tube station. Easy. So I arranged to hook up with an old friend before going on to the main event.

I spent longer with my friend than I had intended, meaning I got to Marble Arch with only 45 minutes of the two hour party remaining.

But there was no sign of the Irish Embassy. So I did what I do when I'm lost; I walked around in circles - and got more lost.

25 minutes later and with a mere 20 minutes of the party left to go, I asked a doorman outside a posh hotel if he knew where it was.

He had no idea, but helpfully pulled out a handheld thingy to look it up on Streetmap. And there it was, right beside the Tube station.

Hyde Park Corner Tube station, not Marble Arch Tube station.

Oh.

"It will only take you 20 minutes to walk there sir," he said.

I decided against it.

Meet Traffic Bike Lady

2011-12-05T19:45:00.001Z

Her and me had a night off from him and her on Sunday when we went to Manchester to see Coldplay in concert. A fine evening it was too.
But it started off more than a little bizarrely.

I've had a police escort a couple of times in my life. However, like you I would imagine, I've never had a traffic enforcement officer escort. And I've certainly never had my path cleared by an outrider mounted on a bicycle.

Until last night.

In short, we couldn't find the city centre car park we had a voucher for and ended up totally lost. So I got out to ask a nice lady in a cycling helmet.

I didn't realise at that moment that she carried all the powers of a fully-fledged traffic buster. And she quickly made clear that we would get to our destination. Cars were her thing, after all (even as a professional cyclist).

"Hold on," she said, "I'll take you there. Just give me a minute."

I climbed back into our car to tell Vanessa the good news, before realising that I didn't fully understand what our hero meant by saying "I'll take you there."

"I'd better get in the back," I said, expecting the nice lady to jump in beside Mrs W.

But I was mistaken.

The next thing we knew, the nice lady had climbed on to her metal steed, rung her bell and was gesturing us to follow her as she began turn the pedals.

And off we went...

...until, five minutes later...

....our car park came into view.

It was one of the most surreal moments of my life, and it was absolutely hilarious.

What a thoroughly nice Traffic Bike Lady she was.

Boys in tights, anyone?

2011-12-04T10:40:00.001Z

As if having my brother-in-law Dagenham Dave as your father isn't bad enough, His Dopiness has now taken to dressing his boys - Alexander (left) and Oliver - in girls' tights "to keep them warm."

This startling sight was enough to prompt Jamie to pretend to be a ballet dancer (a proud moment for me).

And by the time we left last night's little family gathering, Charlotte simply couldn't bring herself to look any more.

(IMPORTANT NOTE: These pictures were reproduced with the kind permission of Hannah, aka Mrs Dave. Poor mare)

Merry Christmas

2011-12-03T22:21:00.001Z

It's Christmas. It must be, because our Chistmas tree is up.

Jamie was pleased to shove it up the fairy's bum, which was nice.

Meanwhile, Charlotte can't really remember last Christmas so was excited to be part of this one. Methinks she might enjoy it.

There's a hole in that bucket, and that one and that one

2011-12-01T17:52:00.001Z

I had the great pleasure earlier today of lunch at The Dalesway Hotel in Ilkley.

But whilst the freshly cooked chicken and chips in a basket won top marks from me, the meal was not what will remain longest in my mind.

No, it was these.

That's right, three buckets; one for coal, one for kindling wood and one for ash.

Or so it might appear.

But let's have a look inside the coal bucket.

And I'm not taking the p*ss (although, for the record, I did have one in its kindling wood companion).

Superbluffer

2011-11-30T19:15:00.001Z

Vanessa and I attended our first ever parents' evening last night when we visited Jamie's nursery to find "how he's getting on."

In between mouthfuls of fish pie - they invited us to choose sample dishes from his weekly menu, which was novel - we were informed that he was regarded as something of a superhero inside them there walls.

This was something of a surprise given the time he spends behaving like an arch villain at home.

His sister's reaction suggested she didn't believe a word of it either.

Battered

2011-11-29T19:00:00.001Z

World-renowned fish and chip seller Harry Ramsden opened his first ever shop, here in Guiseley, in 1928.

And for the last 83 years it has done Guiseley and the Harry Ramden's chain - now 35 branches strong - incredibly proud.

But then the Whites moved in.

And today it was announced that the Guiseley restaurant (and only the Guiseley restaurant), which we have been to several times over the last six months and always enjoyed, is to close.

I would like to believe the two events are entirely unconnected.

Someone else needs help

2011-11-28T20:43:00.001Z

I wasn't planning to write anything tonight.

But that was before our next door neighbour fell out of his loft and I was scrambled to help carry his stretcher into the emergency ambulance.

Vanessa's first question as I returned home more than a little unnerved by what I'd seen?

"What colour was their kitchen?"

I'm appalled.

Early release for good behaviour? Dunno yet

2011-11-26T21:51:00.001Z

Day one of Operation Don't Kill The Kids (Vanessa's away for the weekend) must be judged a success on the simple basis that both are still with me.

But some drastic action was nonetheless required to achieve this end.

That's right, I put them in baby jail.

Harsh? Maybe.

Did it make life easier for me? Absolutely. But surely that's what their mother would've wanted.

I might get trollied

2011-11-25T18:19:00.001Z

I have potentially the most testing weekend of my life coming up.

Because early tomorrow Vanessa leaves for two full days shopping in that London, arriving back at around 8.30 on Sunday evening.

This will leave me in sole charge of our sprogs. And there's only so long I can keep them imprisoned in a shopping trolley.

Am I terrified of what may lie ahead over the next almost 50 hours?

Is Jamie licking his lips at the look of terror which is already obvious in my eyes?

Is he going to try and take me for a ride?

Might Charlotte lose all of the little bit of love and respect for her daddy that I've tried so hard to build up over the last 11 months?

The answer to all of the above, I fear, is yes.

Prayers said and candles lit would be very welcome indeed.

He's a joker

2011-11-24T22:49:00.001Z

The last two Thursdays (tonight being number two) haven't exactly worked out as planned.

Casting our minds back to last week and the Children In Need Rocks Manchester concert, regular readers might remember that I didn't make it because Charlotte was taken ill.

No regrets there - she's me little girl and I was happy to be with her. No, really.

So we fast forward to tonight and Stephen Merchant (he of The Office, Extras and Life's Too Short) doing stand-up in Bradford.

Vanessa and I were dreaming of a long leisurely evening. A bit of food, some drinks and a good old laugh at a gawky looking tall bloke.

But, as it turned out, Charlotte wouldn't go down so Mrs W missed the warm-up act and it was a sandwich and no drink for her, BUT a KFC and five pints for me!

Swings and roundabouts, dera friends, swings and roundabouts.

And we both had a right chortle at yer man.

Four times a (sleepless) lady

2011-11-23T18:46:00.001Z

Vanessa and I have seen a lot of Charlotte over the last 10 days, principally because she hasn't slept - so neither have we - for 10 days.

So you can imagine how "thrilled" I was to come home tonight to see her passport pictures staring up at me from the kitchen table.

The question now is, where shall we send her?

All four of her.

"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree..."

2011-11-22T19:34:00.001Z

We've lived in Guiseley for almost exactly five months now and, until tonight, I've found nothing not to like.

But then I noticed our "Christmas tree" whilst walking home from work.

It's not often I'm short on words but on this occasion I am.

So I'll keep it simple.

It's shit.

Martin Johnson's big chopper

2011-11-21T19:51:00.001Z

Above, guys and gals, you can see former England rugby manager Martin Johnson last Saturday afternoon.

And below you can see his helipad.

Well, I say helipad. It's actually Ilkley Rugby Club's first fifteen pitch.

On which landed Martin Johnson's helicopter.

It didn't have to come far, mind.

In fact, it travelled a total of 200 yards from Ilkley Cricket Club, literally just over the road, where it was parked.

"Johnno," as he's known to his chums, was in Ilkley to open the rugby club's impressive new £1.3 million clubhouse, for which - to his immense credit - he didn't take a fee. But he was more than happy to accept the offer of a lift.

And after having lunch, conducting the formalities and watching Ilkley defeat Scarborough in the Yorkshire league, it was time to bid farewell...

....climb back on-board...

....take to the air...

...and begin the journey home.

In contrast, my train was late and the bog was blocked.

Enough for Ewen him

2011-11-20T18:33:00.001Z

We Whites went for Sunday lunch today with some good friends, including Ewen who you can see above.

It was a pub which had a very generous "two-for-one" deal on main courses.

But someone forgot to tell Ewen that the offer was not necessarily designed to encourage the eating of two meals by one person.

Still, his burger and chips and Italian chicken and chips did appear to go down well.

That's just sick

2011-11-19T09:51:00.001Z

I would imagine Charlotte was not the only Leeds lady to crawl out of bed this morning looking like what the average bear enjoys scratching on a tree.

Unfortunately her recuperation from bronchiolitis has been set back by the onset of a particularly horrific cold.

But at least she doesn't have work to dread come Monday morning.

Yes, other than Calpol, there are definite positives about being 11 months old today.

Dog and cat terrorise Guiseley commuters shocker

2011-11-18T09:03:00.001Z

This was the sight which greeted commuters at Guiseley railway station first thing this morning, and which led to me having to revisit the cash point before getting to work.

Silly f*****s.

Still, all in a good cause.

Happy Children In Need Day.

Cosy nights in rock too

2011-11-18T00:02:00.000Z

The most bored amongst you might vaguely remember I was supposed to be in Manchester last night for the Children In Need Rocks concert.

But no.

Sadly, Charlotte contracted bronchiolitis, was sent to hospital by her GP and I gave my ticket to Vanessa's sister Hannah so the two of them could go together whilst I literally held the baby.

And, yes, I was disappointed not to see Coldplay and Elbow and Snow Patrol and even Lady Gaga.

But, hey, I did my daddy bit and feel warm for having done so.

Plus I didn't really miss the concert.

Because I was watching it with my girl.

Ready to rock. Kind of

2011-11-16T20:57:00.001Z

This time tomorrow (it's approaching 9pm), I'll not be sitting here watching I'm A Celebrity (shame) writing this poo (let me remind you it's rude to cheer).

Instead, Mrs W and I will be sitting at the MEN Arena in Manchester watching Children In Need Rocks.

If, unlike me, you don't read crappy papers, you'll not know what I'm talking about. So, as my friend I'll tell you.

In short, it's a concert organised by Take That frontman/X Factor judge/ex-dullard fatboy Gary Barrow with all proceeds going to Children In Need (you probably worked the last bit out for yourself).

Those due to appear (other than ex-dullard fatboy) include Coldplay, Lady Gaga, Snow Patrol, Elbow, Michael Buble and others that are much younger than me so I'll not refer to them. (Hugh Laurie, who's not much younger than me, is also due to warble but I regard him as that bloke from Blackadder/Fry and Laurie rather than a singer so he doesn't count).

Anyway, it should be good.

The good news is that it's being broadcast live on BBC1 from 8pm.

The bad news is that Vanessa and me are sitting so far back we're going to be lucky to see or hear anything of note.

So if anyone out there can text me during the performance to tell me how it's going, I'd be very grateful.

UPDATE: The BBC have confirmed that Cheryl Cole, who was booked to perform a duet with Gary Barlow, can't sing. But why waste licence fee payers' money telling us something we already know?

Going Gaga

2011-11-15T11:21:00.001Z

Last night I dreamt that my teeny tiny pal Wee John was going out with Lady Gaga.

But then I woke up to discover he's not.

This is a real shame as I reckon she'd be just his type.

More on Lady Gaga tomorrow.

It's all about him

2011-11-14T19:54:00.001Z

Whilst I will always selflessly try to support the personal dreams and aspirations of my children, I would still prefer Jamie to play rugby for Ireland than football for England. As you would. (If you were a rugby fan. And from Ireland. Just like me, now that I think about it).

So, last Saturday, I took my boy to watch his first ever game of rugby union when local team Aireborough took on Northallerton.

And whilst he initially tried to put a brave face on it...

...and appear slightly interested....

...the pretence didn't last.

Maybe this weekend's game will be better

She near knocked her pan in

2011-11-12T12:16:00.001Z

Last month I told you that Big Sean's sister Fiona was set to go to war with some other vacant mare in the name of charity.

The "White Collar Boxing" event (apparently "bitch fighting" isn't politically correct) took place last night and the excellent news is that "Smokin' Fi" was indeed victorious.

My sister Gwen was kind enough to keep me informed from her ringside pew.

The best text simply advised that Fiona was "giving her death."

However, I'm very relieved to confirm that the "Portstewart Destroy Her" stopped short of actually killing her opponent .

This is positive in lots of ways, including the fact that Big Sean - a policeman - did not have to lead his little sister away in handcuffs afterwards.

So far Fiona's heroic efforts have raised almost £500 for Mencap. But there's still time to give by clicking here.

And remind me not to spill her drink the next time I see her out.

Two sides of the same ballbag

2011-11-11T17:32:00.001Z

This blog has been in receipt of a formal complaint - from no lesser figure than Wee John. (And figures don't come much lesser than that).

He phoned me up this evening to whine that "it's just not fair that you only ever put bad photos of me on there." Aw, diddums.

So, above, you can see a "nice" pic of His Weeness.

And below, just to balance things up, you can see what might be described as "a less glowing image."

I've no idea who that is on his left.

There's (not) room on her horse for two

2011-11-10T18:32:00.001Z

A touching scene, as Charlotte shuffles up and makes room on her rocking horse for her big bro.

Little did she know that, seconds later, she'd be thrown off after Jamie giddied up.

He is now in his room hoping not to hear from Claims Direct.

She'll soon be on the run

2011-11-10T13:59:00.001Z

The life of a baby girl is filled with landmarks, not least the arrival of her first two teeth. And above you can see Charlotte's new gnashers resplendent in her gob.

But the excitement does not end there - hell no.

Because only days after winning her badge for advanced crawling, I can offer you a short piece of footage which shows that it won't be long before she's told to get out of our shopping trolley and push it herself.

Turkey run

2011-11-09T13:28:00.001Z

It is not uncommon for me to do silly things after a little bit too much wine.

But one thing I try never to do in such situations is get my credit card out.  Sadly my determination to refrain is not always powerful enough.

Previous moments of weakness have resulted in the purchase of flights and, in one particular moment of madness, tickets to an A-ha concert at Wembley Arena. (It wasn't very good - no, really).

However, when I woke up on Monday morning, my sore head and dry mouth were suddenly the least of my worries.

Thanks to the vocal encouragement of my good friend and fellow Coleraine man Paul Gaile (above left, bald as a coot), I entered the 2011 Chevin Chase - at a cost of £17.

Let me tell you about this "fun" little event, and I quote:

"The Chevin Chase has enjoyed over 30 years of competitive and fun running.

"Entrants have included world champions alongside Xmas Trees and Santas!

"The run is approximately seven miles and is a winter race run in winter conditions.

"It is a hilly multi-terrain event which incorporates quiet country lanes, bridleways, rough tracks, paths, fields and stiles (and usually mud).

"However there are beautiful views at the top of Otley Chevin, for those who complete the gruelling climbs."

Oh, and it takes place on Boxing Morning.

Remind me never to take drink.  (At least until the weekend).

Old and older

2011-11-08T19:47:00.002Z

Those of you with nothing better to do than read this pointless blog will be aware that Wee John's 40th birthday came and went the week before last.

But we do like to drag these things out, particularly given the fact that my dad is due to celebrate his own very special landmark on 19 November when he turns 75.

So, on Sunday, we threw a joint party.

The kids ate first...

...then the adults...

....before we combined assembled forces...

...to gorge down...

....two cakes between us.

Next up were some fireworks and Chinese lantern lighting...

sparklers...

...paper burning...

...and beer for children.

See, Sundays can be fun.

Old Game Face

2011-11-07T20:18:00.001Z

Another heavy weekend has come and gone - just like my dad, Wee John and Other John who were at the heart of it all.

Yesterday was a particular highlight, and I'll tell you about that tomorrow.

But first, Saturday and our trip to Ewood Park for Blackburn Rovers v Chelsea.

Despite supporting his beloved Blues for exactly 103 years and seeing them play many times before, my dad had never, ever seen Chelsea win a game.

Until Saturday, that was.

Not that you would have known it.

Sometimes you just have to get on with it

2011-11-03T20:37:00.001Z

Now the dust of last weekend has finally settled - unlike my stomach and connected storage areas - my dad has arrived to knock some sense into me.

But he hasn't got long.

Because Wee John arrives tomorrow night.

Jamie and Charlotte can't believe their luck.

And I can't believe I'm going to have to drink again.

In fact, I'm writing this with a full glass of wine sitting beside me.

I trust I have your sympathy.

Night/morning after 3 - The Final Act

2011-11-03T09:14:00.000Z

Saturday evening arrived and it was time to put the icing on the cake (OK, not true - the cake was already at the restaurant) by getting the ferry across to Lusty Beg Island in County Fermanagh for Wee John's 40th birthday banquet and dance-off.

It resembled a wartime experience as we landed like an invading force, which we kind of were.

John's sister Mary (number 51 of the 67) joined us for the finale along with husband Colin The Bear and son Stephen. And they didn't take long to get into the action.

Dinner was first (steak all round)...

...followed by said cake which was the closest thing to a spongy fire hazard that I've seen.

After some brief "respite" in the bar...

...it was time to dance....

...to a band featuring a rather familiar guest lead singer.

Big Tony asked a local to get groovy...

...but the stranger turned him down in favour of Shane who was more his type.

Initially, comforted by Mary and The Bear, Big Tony took his rejection badly...

...but a few more drinks later...

...he was back in the game...

...just as Wee John got himself a bit of plastic action.

All that remained was for the birthday boy to sail us home..

...in preparation for the inevitable hangover which, four days on, he is yet to recover from.

Thanks for the memories wee man, it was great to be a part of it.

Night/morning after 2

2011-11-02T07:55:00.003Z

Following our Ulster Fries and a final toilet visit - can you guess which of the above Wee John used? - it was time to head north for a bit of sightseeing.

Wee John was actually driving, but he's so small I kept thinking we were on autopilot. (A prize for the first person to spot him).

I'm deliberately not going to show you the many wondrous attractions that lie on the Causeway Coast because, if you're not from Northern Ireland, I demand that you go there to see them for yourself.

So instead we fast forward to our night in Portrush (Major Golf Capital of the World) where, yes, we ate and we drank. As you do.

By this stage, Big Sean had left us as his wife Melanie wouldn't let him out. But not to worry, because it was time for Big Tony (second from right) and his incredibly patient wife Fun Paula (one of John's 67 sisters) to join the fray.

I was then genuinely expecting a nice early night in preparation for Saturday. But I had foolishly forgotten what Big Tony was like and, with teetotal Pav in the driving seat, I was effectively kidnapped and taken to Tony and Paula's house for some more oral lubrication.

John was pleased at the prospect...

...whilst I decided to put a brave face on it.

Really. I wasn't enjoying myself at all.

And, when we got there, neither was anyone else.

As you can clearly see.

What followed were several hours of "high brow" chat accompanied by champagne (thanks Tony), brandy and Baileys (thanks again Tony) and, finally, brandy and milk after all the mixers ran out (f*** off Tony).

I am glad to report that I had actually left before the latter. But Terence hadn't.

And come Saturday morning, it was a matter of great regret to him. Particularly after his third vomit.

After all, it was a two-and-a-half hour drive from Coleraine to Fermanagh - and the main event.

Night/morning after 1

2011-11-01T18:57:00.003Z

Belfast is no stranger to gangs of disreputable men, although thankfully less so in recent years.

But the dodgyometer in Northern Ireland's capital city shot up once again last Thursday night with the arrival of some seriously shifty individuals.

Pictured above (from left to right), in front of Belfast City Hall, are Wee Pav, Wee Charlie, Big Sean, Wee John, Medium Shane and (front) Reasonably Large Terence.

And, joined by Wee John's sister Madonna and hubby Graham, here is everyone filling their faces (with Guinness) in a local restaurant.

Although, as Shane demonstrates, some wine did come into play a little later in proceedings.

Over the course of what became a very long night, we had the rare spectacle of Pav and Sean taking part in a Baldy Battle. Always worth a watch.

And, briefly moving forward to Friday morning, note how the smiles have disappeared as the gathering seeks to collectively recover with first aid Northern Ireland style. Or, as the locals call it, an Ulster Fry.

More tomorrow, when it all begins to get just a little bit messy.

I think he looks ridiculous. U2?

2011-10-31T22:12:00.002Z

No doubt you, like me, will have seen some very scary sights over the Halloween period.

Jamie and Charlotte's skeleton and witch costumes are certainly up there in terror-inducing terms.

But Wee John, dressed as a Joshua Tree era Bono last Saturday night, wins my prize.

In case you're wondering, I have absolutely no idea of the identity of those two characters holding him up. And neither does he.

Don't laugh at him 'cos he's a fool

2011-10-31T18:54:00.000Z

It's the evening after the evening after the three previous evenings, or Wee John's fortieth birthday weekend to be more specific.

Over the next 2-3 days, I'll try to give you a flavour of what went on - or what I remember of what went on, which sadly limits things significantly.

But for some reason I'm still rather tired. No idea why.

Perhaps it was all that rest we had. Because, as you can see above, we were in bed early every single night.

I hope he's bringing ID

2011-10-27T14:01:00.001+01:00

It's Wee John's 40th birthday today and I've got to dash off to Belfast shortly to begin a three-night tour of Northern Ireland hostelries whilst telling everyone that he's my friend.

He's not, though. He's more of a responsibility.

However, like other great men and women who have graced this planet down the centuries, I've taken the decision to do what is right and to help the little person. Well, one little person.

And if that means putting up with what is bound to be a very long weekend of pointless banter interspersed with periods of awkward silence, then so be it.

And...errr...well...Happy Birthday, Wee John. I suppose.

PS You're buying.

Let's hope it Will not be necessary (for a while)

2011-10-26T22:04:00.002+01:00

Vanessa went into the solicitor's today to agree the finer points of our Will, should either or both of us die horribly anytime soon.

She's due to return, with me in tow, in the next couple of weeks to sign on the dotted line.

That's cheery!

I've seen the future

2011-10-25T18:12:00.000+01:00

I was on my way to work this morning when I noticed the above sign in the window of a local pub.

Much cheaper than childcare, and so much more fun (I would guess).

BREAKING NEWS: Charlotte can crawl!

2011-10-23T09:57:00.001+01:00

And here's the evidence.

OK, maybe not as dramatic as Colonel Gaddafi being lynched, but exciting nonetheless.

Any old iron?

2011-10-20T19:12:00.001+01:00

Contrary to London-centric media opinion, I'm not of the view that the North of England is trailing behind the Southerners, hell no.

To illustrate, I was walking through Keighley, West Yorkshire at lunchtime today and what did I see but a rag and bone man.

BBC2/Whatever UK Gold Is Called These Days would have you believe that chirpy, cheeky cockneys Albert and Harold Steptoe had this particular market all to themsleves.

But it's not true.

Because Steptoe and Son aren't even real.

In fact, they're not even alive.

Onwards and upwards, that's what I say.

Farmer Jamie

2011-10-19T10:37:00.000+01:00

Vanessa received a text at 4.30pm yesterday advising that today was "Harvest Day" in Jamie's nursery and he should arrive dressed as a farmer.

Given the short notice, her options were a little limited but, thanks largely to Jamie's kindly cousin Jack, I think the objective was achieved.

What impact his new persona will have on him clearly remains to be seen.

Will he return this evening with a confrontational attitude, wool in his teeth and a belief that the world owes him a living?

Let's hope not.

By the way, I don't mind admitting that the observation made by one of the nursery ladies - who claimed "he looks like Oliver Twist" - was treated with the disdain it deserved.

"All he's missing is his wellies, which you have," I said. "Put them on him and he'll be transformed."

Cheeky bitch.

Are you looking at them?

2011-10-18T09:53:00.002+01:00

Northern Ireland doesn't have a reputation for spawning violent individuals...OK, maybe we'll put that comment in the box marked "debatable."

However, we've moved on a bit in recent years which makes violence and violent people all the more shocking wherever and whenever they appear.

Above you can see my mate Andy, the former Mayor of Larne. Beside him is Fiona, sister of my mate Big Sean.

They look perfectly respectable, don't they?

But both of them are in fact savages.

In the name of charity, the pair have recently surrendered to the new phenomenon of "White Collar Boxing" in which two seemingly balanced and well-bred individuals climb into a public ring and fight each other until one starts to cry.

Andy was first between the ropes last month when, in aid of a gorgeous little girl requiring specialist medical treatment, he somehow managed to overpower a big bloke from Tesco in Newtownabbey .

Here's the evidence.

And next month Fiona is taking on some other mad woman in support of Mencap.

Her training is now going so well that she's even taking on male bouncers in the gym.

But there's still no room for complacency.

Fiona is very much open to sponsorship - here's a link to her JustGiving site.

And after her fight, I suggest both she and Andy might wish to make themselves open to some form of counselling.

Meet the Cottons

2011-10-17T21:33:00.001+01:00

We Whites were very privileged to be invited over to Manchester at the weekend to stay with our long-time friends Jane and Ed.

And not just them, but also their beautiful children (from left) Mimi, Charlie...

...and, the most recent addition to the clan, Rosie.

The highlight? For Jamie, it was undoubtedly Jane's bedtime story.

It is a treat, after all, to have a bedtime story read to you by someone who doesn't talk funny.

Like what I do, hi.

One up, one down

2011-10-16T17:21:00.000+01:00

Jamie might only be three-and-a-quarter years old and Charlotte less than ten months, but their differing personalities are already very well established.

I therefore see it as less than coincidental that this photo, taken earlier today, shows Charlotte with her feet on the ground and Jamie with his head in the clouds.

I predict little change in the decades to come.

It's not a bird and it's not a plane

2011-10-14T09:16:00.001+01:00

I had just left Jamie off at nursery yesterday morning and was standing at a junction waiting to cross the road to catch my train to work.

And what did I see travelling along Guiseley main street?

A bus?

Well, yes. But not just any bus.

No, it was an Ulsterbus. Probably made in Ballymena.

I've never seen an alien spacecraft, but the feeling would not have been any more surreal had one performed a fly past at that very same moment.

If only I could persuade my friend Clare to bring the Railway Arms, Northern Ireland's - nay, the world's - greatest pub over to Yorkshire once in a while too.

A Wise choice

2011-10-13T12:04:00.000+01:00

Jamie arrived home from nursery yesterday with the following note in his Fireman Sam backpack:

"Dear Parent/Guardian of Jamie

"Role in the Nativity - Wise Man

"As our Christmas play is fast approaching, we would like to ask for your outfits by 25th of November. This is so we can start dress rehearsals and also the local paper will be visiting to take photos to be published.

"If you need any help sourcing an outfit, please ask a member of staff or the office for some ideas."

Neither Vanessa nor I had any idea our son had even auditioned for such a high profile role.

But we are obviously thrilled at his success and have already got our in-house costume department on with the task in hand.

We now look forward to walking down the red carpet to see him perform following the 10 weeks of intensive rehearsals that now lie ahead.

A Pleasant truth

2011-10-12T07:47:00.000+01:00

Last night Vanessa and I watched the first episode of Sky One's new comedy drama series Mount Pleasant.

It was my idea to give it a go - we still have six left to watch - because I like this sort of brainless drivel.

And because Bobby Ball is in it.

For almost 30 years I have been constantly amused by how much my pal Wee John looks like Bobby Ball.

And I challenge anyone to argue with me.

She even likes having her tummy tickled

2011-10-11T10:14:00.002+01:00

We don't have a real pussy cat in our house.

What we do have is a nine-month-old little girl who does an increasingly good impression of one.

A captive audience

2011-10-10T19:38:00.001+01:00

Today Vanessa had her first day back at work since beginning maternity leave in late November last year.

But having been left literally holding the children, I'm now glad she doesn't go back for real until January.

Because whilst I have sometimes considered becoming a househusband, I now know for sure that it's not for me.

The secret of success? I have absolutely no idea.

My tactic revolved around captivity but, judging by the looks on their faces, I'm not sure it worked for either Jamie or Charlotte.

Still, at least I didn't lose them.

What a circus

2011-10-09T16:51:00.001+01:00

I took Jamie for his first visit to the circus earlier today.

And here's a summary of what happened.

The lights went down, that circus music we all know came on and a horse came out, dressed as a ringmaster. She then introduced some other horses, this time actual real horses.

Jamie got some popcorn.

We then had a clown, a magician, a tightrope walker, two camels, some more horses and what appeared to be a pole dancer on a rope.

Jamie got a flashing sword.

We had some more horses, a couple of zebras, the pole dancer on a trapeze and the magician again.

Then the horse dressed as a ringmaster (or should it be ringmistress?) came out and told us they'd all be back next year.

So might Jamie and possibly Charlotte. Accompanied by their mother.

The exceptions that prove the rule

2011-10-07T17:36:00.000+01:00

I like to choose for myself which charities I support.

But one way to stop me giving to any particular cause is to be ambushed in the street by one of those soap-dodging "charity muggers" or "chuggers" who asks me how my day is going.

"Sh*te - f*** off!" is the special response I usually reserve for those smiley b*****ds, who I detest.

But, since moving to our new abode a few months ago, I've encountered a new problem in the form of charity cold callers who phone me up to ask me how my day is going.

As it happens, "sh*te - f*** off!" is the reply they tend to get from me too.

But today I feel I owe chuggers and charity cold callers something of an apology.

Because this afternoon I was ambushed in the street by a hairy chugger. And, since arriving home, have been cold called by a patronising woman who asked if I was also a woman.

Sticking to the script, I told them both to "f*** off!" and, as a result, my day is no longer "sh*te." In fact, I've never felt better.

So it's a sorry from me then.

To the child psychiatrist and beyond!

2011-10-06T19:57:00.000+01:00

I've often been accused - harshly in my view - of making my children look silly in the name of a cheap laugh.

But the photo of Jamie you can see above is not of my doing, it's the work of his mother.

She should be ashamed of herself.

And in the name of responsible parenting, I ask you to look away now.

Or after you've had a cheap laugh.

Nuns on the rum

2011-10-05T17:09:00.000+01:00

There were many bizarre sights at this year's Conservative Party Conference - as there are every year.

But this one, in a bar close to the main venue, wins my first prize.

May God go with them all

Ulster Fry?

2011-10-04T11:46:00.002+01:00

Waking up to the age-old tradition of an Ulster Fry - or a "heart attack on a plate" - is something that remains special to many of my diaspora.
And when the opportunity arises, it's nice to share the experience (if not your sausage) with others.

So, this morning, I sat down with more than 100 Ulstermen and women, British and Irish dignitaries, do-gooders, former do-badders and a smattering of plastic paddies for the annual Conservative Party Conference Ulster Fry.

Unlike last year, Martin McGuinness wasn't present, making it easier for me to swallow.

But his Sinn Fein colleague Conor Murphy did make it along, giving me an incredible urge to want to spit.

For the record and because the media were present, it was a temptation I bravely managed to resist.

The Comedians

2011-10-03T10:32:00.000+01:00

Night one of the Conservative Party Conference in Manchester where the highlight was the North of England reception featuring a Chubby Brown-inspired routine from David "It's The Way I Tell 'em" Cameron...

...and a selection of re-heated William Hague one-liners about John "It's The Way I Shag 'em" Prescott.

Sadly, Peter Kay isn't a Tory so he wasn't there.

Sometimes you just have to "spoil" yourself

2011-10-02T16:46:00.000+01:00

I crawled across the Bradford Half Marathon finish line in a time of 1 hour 56 minutes and 12 seconds shortly before 11 o'clock this morning.

And at times I felt like an uphill skier. Without skies. Or snow. But with lots of big hills in front of me. Come on, you get the idea.

Ever the glutton for punishment, I'm now about to leave for Manchester where I'm due to spend the next four days at the Conservative Party Conference.

Perhaps, on my return, I'll chop a leg off. And maybe an arm. And then burn all my clothes.

Self-loathing can be such a debilitating disease.

Going the extra 13 miles

2011-09-30T09:12:00.000+01:00

Just over three weeks ago, when the collective Great North Run fundraising efforts of Wee John and myself were not going as well as we had hoped, I entered the Bradford Half Marathon as a kind of insurance policy.

At that time, our total stood at around £500; it has now reached £1,941 with one cheque and one sponsor sheet still to come in. Put the two together, and we hope we'll get to our dream target of £2,000, but we don't yet know for sure.

So, come 9am this Sunday, I'll be be back in my Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research running kit for a second and final time with the number 451 pinned to my chest.

Before me will be 13.1 miles of steep Bradford hills and, in all truth, I am absolutely dreading it.

A combination of tired legs, sore joints, a tender Achilles and christening exertions has meant that I've only been out for two brief training runs since returning from Tyneside. But, hey ho, you only live once so I'll be giving it a go.

A few people have increased their original donations to our fund after hearing I would be doubling my exertions.

If you are a previous donor and would like to follow this generous lead, then please don't let me stop you.

Equally, if you are one of the handful of people who said you would donate but haven't yet done so, I would be grateful if you were now as good as your word.

Or, if you haven't yet given but suddenly feel inclined to do so then a few quid would be very much appreciated.

For the very last time - and I absolutely promise it will be - here is the link where you can donate online.

By the way, if you happen near Bradford and want to come along to abuse me, then please do.

But whatever you shout, make sure it doesn't include the score of Ireland v Italy in the Rugby World Cup, which I'll be looking forward to watching shortly afterwards on Sky+ (with a very cold beer) .

Wonky Wee John

2011-09-29T13:34:00.001+01:00

Before I begin, let me introduce you to the young Whites on parade at Charlotte's christening last Sunday.

Alongside Charlotte and Jamie at the front is cousin Katie; behind are fellow cousins Nathan (left) and Sebastian. I might add that only Nathan was drinking alcoholic beverages.

At the same post-event do, I learnt something fascinating from Wee John's big brother-in-law Big Tony. That's Big Tony below on the far left - two along from Big Sean.

Big Tony alleged that Wee John comes from a clan of wonky-eared folk - the Wee Fultons - with all his brothers and sisters having lopped-sided lugs appended to their tiny heads.

Wee John was not around when Big Tony made this startling charge and Big Tony's wife / Wee John's sister Nice Paula (above right) politely refused to move her hair to enable me to test Big Tony's hypothesis.

But thankfully it wasn't long before Wee John arrived back.

And, do you know what? In Wee John's case at least, Big Tony was right, as the line I've drawn on the picture below clearly demonstrates.

And for all these years I've wondered why Wee John's glasses were never straight.

Am I still feeling tired?

2011-09-28T21:51:00.001+01:00

I am, totally destroyed in fact. So here's another christening pic.

But please come back tomorrow when I plan to tell you about Wee John's genetically uneven ears.

Job done

2011-09-27T20:52:00.001+01:00

We arrived back from wee Northern Ireland at the crack of dawn this morning accompanied by a newly christened Charlotte (and a grumpy Jamie).

On the plus side, I'm delighted to report that we had a wonderful few days crammed with memorable moments.

On the down side, there are quite a few I'll never remember because I drank too much Guinness.

The result is that I'm now totally wrecked and need to be in bed.

So we'll regroup tomorrow.

Until then, I hope you sleep well - because I will.

We name thee Charlotte Frances

2011-09-22T10:31:00.001+01:00

Tonight we Whites set sail for Norn Iron where, on Sunday, Charlotte will officially become an Ulster Protestant. (NB all other religions and countries are equally valid. Apart from Scientology. And arguably Wales).

Great North Run-related activities have meant that I, certainly, am not as well organised for what lies before us as I'd like to be. But the Bishop is booked, so is the pub and I've even got a new suit.

Let's hope yer man doesn't hit her too hard with the champagne bottle when her big moment arrives.

She is only a baby, after all.

A touching (cloth) story

2011-09-20T18:48:00.001+01:00

Jamie is going through a stage of taking immense pride in his poos and even comparing them with living things.

Recent exhibits have included a "snake," a "crocodile" and, after one particularly large Sunday dinner, a "Tyrannosaurus Rex."

But last night he outdid himself after producing two stand alone specimens, one significantly bigger than the other.

After the obligatory thorough wipe, Jamie jumped off the toilet and excitedly gazed down at his work.

"Look Mummy!" he shrilled. "It's me and you!"

It takes a brave male to tell a female she looks like sh*t.

Never in doubt

2011-09-19T20:53:00.000+01:00

The sight you can see above did not fill me with confidence, if truth be told.

It was Wee John's bag the night before our Great North Run adventure, and that really is 200 Marlboro Lights taking up most of the space.

My optimism was even more diminished after I woke up at 5 o'clock the following morning and realised we'd drunk four pints of Guinness and a bottle of wine each as a means of tackling our pre-race nerves.

And I'm not joking.

But, you know, it's the result that counts, and we were both very pleased with that.

I finished the 13.1 mile course in a time of 1 hour 51 minutes and 14 seconds with Wee John not far behind in 2 hours 2 minutes and 10 seconds (his teeny, tiny legs having had to run many more steps than my longer equivalents).

Most importantly, our running total (pardon the pun) has now worked its way up to £1,791 with more still promised.

And if you haven't yet donated, you now have an added reason to do so. Let me explain.

Early last week, our total was standing at just over £500 and we were a bit down. So I had an idea; we would keep the fundraising link open and also run the Bradford Half Marathon on 2 October!

I phoned John to share my Eureka moment, but wasn't able to get all my words out.

Or to put it another way, John interjected with a short statement ending in "off." But I entered anyway.

So, one more time, here is our link.

We'll go on the G of the BANG

2011-09-16T21:12:00.000+01:00

After all the kindness of so many people over recent days and weeks, it's almost the moment for Wee John and I to do our bit. In little shorts.

His Weeness is due here tomorrow morning, just in time to see Ireland kick off against Australia in the Rugby World Cup.

Then it'll be a (boring) pasta lunch and a bit of faffing before heading to our night time bolt hole in Durham, which just so happens to be a pub. But we'll be good(ish).

Then, after a bit of brekkie, it's up to Newcastle where the starting gun is due to be fired by world 5,000m world champion Mo Farah at exactly 10.40am.

You'd expect me say that it's still not too late to sponsor us, and you'd be right - as it's not.

So if you haven't already, we'd really appreciate it if you did so now by CLICKING ON THIS LINK.

And please don't forget why we're doing all of this because, when the wind gets up and the rain starts to fall, I can assure you we won't.

King Bong

2011-09-15T22:07:00.001+01:00

The kind and remarkably generous gentleman you can see pictured above is an old mate of Wee John's and mine. And his name is Bong Liao.

We all went to school together and Coleraine Inst Old Boys will better remember him as Malcolm Yeow.

Him being a "Y" and me being a "W" (stop it!) we sat together in class for a number of years, right at the back.  (Wee John tended to be standing either in the corridor, or outside the headmaster's study).

Some months ago and thanks to Facebook, Bong - now living back in his native Malaysia - got back in touch for the first time in more than 20 years. He subsequently became an avid follower of this rubbish blog and, after I kept going on about it here (you may have noticed), he messaged me to offer a contribution towards our Great North Run fundraising effort.  However, for technical reasons, he asked if he could get the money to me by post.

A combination of my ineptitude and his persistence meant that the arrangement was only sorted out this afternoon. But, my goodness, it was worth waiting for.

A few minutes before he got in touch, our running total stood at £980 and I put an appeal on Facebook asking for someone to stump up £20 to get us into four figures.

"How does 500 quid sound to you?" said Bong in a message which suddenly flashed up on my screen.

When I eventually recovered my composure, I explained that it sounded wonderful, and it is now on its way.

But it was a moment and a gesture I will never forget.

I left voicemails for Mags and Wee John straight away and all three of us remain stunned, and oh so grateful.

What a top man.

As a result of the incredible selflessness of Bong and many, many others, our grand total now stands at £1,510 and we know there is still a fair bit of money to come in.  For example, a church in Keighley is doing a collection for us this Sunday. And, seven days later, there will be another whip round at a very special event in Coleraine I will tell you about next week.

Can we make it to our original target of £2,000 after all?

Maybe, maybe not. But nothing would surprise me any more.

If you haven't yet donated and would like to do so, this link will guide you on your way.

I know I'm biased, but I think you should.