News you think you'll never hear

I know I'm not alone in wanting to see the back of January.  I feel like that pretty much every year, again, in common with most other people.  But I can't remember another month in my lifetime when so many much-loved public figures have been taken from us.

Lemmy will be missed.  So too Alan Rickman.  And David Bowe's death was a particular low point for his legions of devotees.

I wrote here less than three weeks ago about my personal upset at the passing of Ed "Stewpot" Stewart.  Since then, we've lost Eagles founding member Glenn Frey.  Vanessa and I were hugely fortunate to see the Eagles play live in Leeds 18 months ago.  I've loved the band for years, with Don Henley right up there amongst my favourite ever singers.  But until that night at the First Direct Arena, I didn't fully appreciate just how good Glenn Frey was.  It's now a memory I'll cherish forever.

However, with the greatest possible respect to all of the above, this morning's passing of Sir Terry Wogan has floored me.  I was lucky to once meet and talk to the great man, and recalled it here some years ago.

As so many other people of my generation have said on social media today, Terry's been an ever present and the fact he's gone will take some getting used to.

But, for me, the biggest shock's been the realisation that he was just like the rest of us.  Terry Wogan dying?  Nah!  It'll never happen.  But sadly it has.  And we're all the poorer for it.  

Going the distance

One of the best parts of being a 43-year-old dad to a 7-and-a-half-year-old son is "involving" him in regular metaphoric trips back to your own childhood.  Whether he wants to go there or not.

I say this because, on Saturday morning, Jamie and I are off to the cinema to see Creed.  My idea.

If you don't know, Creed  is the seventh and latest Rocky film.  This time our hero -  finally retired at the age of 81 - returns to boxing to train the son of former heavyweight champ Apollo Creed, who appeared in the first four films before being battered by a big Russian.   And the reviews have been very good, which is an added bonus.

The only thing is, I haven't taken Jamie to a "live action" movie before and I wanted to minimise the risk of him spoiling my day out.  So I made him do his homework.

Rocky fans will know that the original was a bit more adult-orientated than the others.  Plus Rocky loses, which is disappointing - particularly for Yo Adrian.  I therefore didn't force Jamie to sit through that one.

Instead, I started him off last week with the fight scenes at the end of Rocky II when the Italian Stallion first wins the title.  And Jamie took an interest.  Excellent.  Cue Rocky III. 

A much bigger HIT!

Indeed, so much so that Jamie insisted on recreating the training routines.

Genuinely his idea.
     

Rocky IV  was next (you can't fool me), with Jamie claiming this as his favourite thus far.

We're not going to bother watching Rocky V, mainly because it's crap.  Even Sylvester Stallone has admitted that.

So, with Vanessa and Charlotte out tomorrow night, we have Rocky Balboa (aka Rocky VI) lined up to pass our boys' time together, leaving us fully prepped for Creed the following morning.  

And when Saturday comes, Jamie had better be prepared to sit through all 133 minutes of it.

Because as Rocky himself would readily confirm, "it ain't over till it's over."

Mind the gap

Jamie lost his front tooth overnight.  He thought he'd swallowed it but Vanessa found it somewhere near his pillow.

Both developments are certainly positive from Master White's point of view.

First, the tooth's recovery now means the Tooth Fairy has an invoice for whatever she chooses to leave this evening.

And second, the tooth itself was chipped and made him look like Jimmy Tarbuck.

Jamie damaged it quite a while ago when he was propelled off a roundabout.

Walking to the Post Office this morning, I told him that he'd been really unfortunate by what had happened.

"But you're also lucky because kids get a second set of teeth," I patronised.  "If you were a grown-up, you'd have to get it fixed."

He pondered this pearl of wisdom for a couple of seconds, before responding: "But an adult would never fall off a roundabout."

Oh I don't know...

Bye, bye Stewpot

The death of David Bowie is not only dominating news across the world, it is also the talk of outer space with Brit astronaut Tim Peake tweeting about it.

I was never a big fan of Bowie's music, in truth, but he did seem like a good guy and it's sad that he's no longer with us.

I was a lot more upset on Saturday evening when word broke that DJ Ed "Stewpot" Stewart had passed away.

I found out when I checked my phone during the interval of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang at the West Yorkshire Playhouse and it dominated my mind throughout the second half.

Most people my age will best remember Stewpot as the presenter of Crackerjack in the late 1970s.

I still occasionally think about it at five to five on a Friday.  (Fans of the show will know what I mean).

However, it will be Christmas mornings when I'll miss him most.

Readers of a certain age will hopefully recall Ed Stewart's "Family Favourites" afternoon show which went out on Radio 2 in the early 1980s.  I remember listening to it most days after coming home from primary school.

It was resurrected as Junior Choice on Christmas Eve 2007, returning the following year on Christmas morning from 10am-noon. It stayed in that slot for the next seven years with Stewpot broadcasting his final show less than three weeks ago.

And it became a staple of our Christmas.  In fact, in 2014, he even played a request for us Whites after I described the show in an email as my favourite two hours of the year.  "You're a sad man," he told listeners.  How right he was.

But when I tell you that regular tunes he played included Puff the Magic Dragon, A Windmill in Old Amsterdam, Captain Beaky and His Band, Champion the Wonder Horse and - best of all -  Morningtown Ride, you'll hopefully accept that I'm a sad man with fine nostalgic taste.

Poor old Stewpot, Christmas mornings will never be the same.    

Phil Spencer doesn't do irony

I'm writing this because the new series of Location, Location, Location is on the telly and this week it's from Leeds, meaning Vanessa wants to watch it.

I used to be an avid fan but Phil Spencer put me off.

First, his trait of talking like he's got a full Jaffa Cake wedged in his mouth began to get to me.

Then second, I met him.  He and Kirsty (who's much less enormous in real life) were doing a book signing in Leeds.  Vanessa and I were just about to buy our first house and I thought it would be fun to buy their book and get it signed for Mrs W.  What a nice Mr W I am.

So I got in the queue, reached Kirsty who was very charming, before moving on to the next part of the table piloted by her co-presenter.

I was second in line and decided to listen into the conversation Phil was having with the lady in front.  The crux of it was that Phil and his wife had just bought a new house that morning.  What a coincidence, him being a house expert and all that.

Suddenly I was "on" and handed him my book.

"Who is it for?" Phil mumbled, spraying me with pieces of Jaffa Cake.

"My wife, Vanessa.  Please."

"Mumble...chew."

"Errmmm," I piped up, "I heard you say that you'd bought a new house today."

"Yes, that's right," he said, sounding bored.

"Congratulations," I continued, unabated.  Before going in for the killer line.

"Do you take anyone's advice before buying it?!"

"Er, no, I just took my own," he replied, handing me my book.

I took it and headed back to the office for a coffee and a Jaffa Cake  

Gym'll Fix It

It was back to the gym today after two weeks - save for one morning run on Portstewart Strand - of gorging and glugging.  And needless to say I wasn't alone. 

Yes, the great post-Christmas waddle to health and fitness clubs across the country has begun.

For most it started yesterday.  But sadly my local gym had to close early after a particularly large lady got her arse jammed in the main doors.  (OK, I made that bit up).

It was a spin class for me, alongside Maria who hosted us so fabulously (daaahling) on New Year's Day.  Vanessa was actually in the building, but went for facial instead.  Probably to have the remnants of sticky sweets and chocolate sandblasted off.   

But back in Studio 1, my spinning buddies and I sweated and harrumphed until we could do so no more.  Mainly, because another class needed the room.

It was the only time in my almost 18 months of gym membership that a spinning class I'd signed up for was full.  It was the only time that a register was taken in case non-bookers had attempted to sneak in.  (Honestly, a register).  And it was the only time that every one of the windows and the all-important (for some - you know who you are) wall mirrors turned fuzzy because of condensation.  

Michelle was the trainer in charge.  I like Michelle.  She's smiley and fun and goes like a steam piston.  On her bike.  She's also around about my age, I think, which is reassuring in an "if she can do it, I can do it" kind of way.   (It makes sense to me, which is all that matters).   

The only problem is that she's really small and, when you're at the back of the class (as I tend to be), she's hard to see and therefore follow.  When she's standing up on her pedals, I'm often down,  And when I stand up to see if she's down, she does go down and immediately disappears.  Still, it breaks the tedium.

But we all got through it, Maria and me on our bikes and Vanessa in her face machine.  We're all due to return on Thursday when I suspect the gym will already be less busy.  

Fun and games for us and the weans

What that was fun.

Yes, Christmas and New Year are sadly at an end and it's time for reality to bite once again.  But what a laugh.

Briefly and as I mentioned last time, we went to Coleraine/Portrush/Portstewart for the Christmas bit.
And within an hour of arriving, Vanessa and I were already spending some quality time with this lady.

And of course Clare, the world's greatest living bar person, looked after us.

In fact, we were back the next day too - Christmas Eve - where we were joined by other familiar faces.

But there were other pressing matters that day too, including getting two young 'uns off to their Yuletide scratchers.

After leaving refreshments, obviously.

And despite being at Granny's as opposed to ours, Santa did find them in time for Christmas morning.
We then headed off to my sisters for the big day where I received one of my favourite ever presents (from my mum).

Boxing Day brought the only meaningful football derby.  Mercifully the good guys triumphed 2-1.

Sad goodbyes followed, particularly to Katie who, as ever, excelled in her big cousin duties.

And then we were back in Guiseley where the pace was expected to drop.  But not a bit of it.  

This was us on New Year's Eve.

Sometime after midnight. Ish.

And we spent New Year's Day with friends old and new, where the adults played this.

Some things are better left unsaid, so go and check it out for yourself.

Suffice to say that it provided the catalyst for one of the funniest days with some of the best people I've met.

And then Saturday came when Charlotte had her fifth birthday party.

Awwww.

But it became very noisy too.

 Still, all good entertainment and a fitting way to end a particularly memorable two weeks.

  

Thumbs up all round.

No snow - but still set for a White Christmas

Greetings from a speeding train now well on its way to Coleraine where Christmas can get going for real.

As I pointed out in a post a few days ago, it'll be our first family Christmas on this side of "the water."  We did attempt the journey in 2009 when Jamie was 18 months old.  But sadly the snow ploughs at Leeds Bradford Airport weren't up to the task.  

However, without wishing to tempt fate, all is going almost swimmingly well this time.  Our bags had enough room for our Christmas booty, our plane was on time and so is this train. The only slight blip was when the driver almost put our airport bus into a wall. But he missed, serving as a symbolic reminder of just how safe Belfast is these days. 

We're heading to my mum's in Portstewart first to get the kids settled.  And then, well, who knows?  I've always found that travelling makes me thirsty.  As does not travelling.  And Christmas.  So perhaps we'll see if we can do something about that.

Then tomorrow - in common with everyone else - it's final preparations (think lots of wrapping) and some further thirst-quenching in advance of the big day.

I know I haven't been updating this guff as often as I used to, although I am hoping to do better come 2016.  

But thank you for continuing to check in on the sporadic occasions when I have been arsed.

More importantly, I hope you have a wonderful and entertaining few days with the people who make you happiest. 

Merry Christmas from the Whites! 

"Thank you Guiseley, you've been awesome.."

Yes, dear friends, our Charlotte kind of rocked it as Mary in this afternoon's St Oswald's Primary School nativity.

Above you can see Miss White delivering her line (in a photo taken by the school and put on their blog).

And, in a sight I fear we'll see again, here's a group of strange menfolk bowing down to Her Ladyship and giving her presents.  

If you're feeling all Christmassy or simply want to see a load of cute kids dressed up even cuter, feel free to have a gander at the school's excellent selection of pics HERE.

Rates for Charlotte's autograph are negotiable, and all proceeds will go towards Mummy and Daddy's Christmas Wine Fund.  

It's Cwistmas time, and thewe's no need to be afwaid

There's a feeling of feverish anticipation in our house tonight.

It's the St Oswald's Primary School Carol Service tomorrow afternoon featuring a nativity performed by Reception.

And, well, of course our Charlotte has been cast as Mary.

It's a bit embarrassing really, as she filled the same role last year whilst still at nursery.  And this time she even has a line.

As you'll be aware, Mary traditionally wears something "dowdy" on account of not having had a lot of manna on her at the time (never mind being forced to sleep in a stable).  But Charlotte doesn't do dowdy so will instead be be kitted out in a spangly number Vanessa Magdalene found on eBay.

I've no idea how it's going to go, but hopefully God will provide.

Sadly, He did let me down on the two occasions I got to perform up front at the Macosquin Primary School Christmas production.

In my final year I was handed the role of "Old Winter" when it was the task of "Spring" (aka Mark Logan) to "knock me out" with boxing gloves.  Unfortunately for yours truly, Wee Logie got carried away, hit me for real and dislodged my lovingly-made cardboard beard which went flying across the stage.

But that was as nothing when compared to the year before when I was in the P6 choir and chosen to perform a solo.

The carol was "The Holly Tree" and I had two lines to sing on my own:

"But my sweetheart loves to rest
"Beneath the shining holly."

Doesn't seem too hard does it?  Well, it wouldn't be if you happen to be a 9-year-old who can actually say/sing his Ls and Rs.  Sadly at that time I wasn't in that particular category.

So I managed:

"But my sweethaat woves to west
"Beneath the shining hawwy."

Honestly, I can still feel the sweat running down my back as I belted it out.  

Hopefully Charlotte will leave with happier recollections tomorrow.

Preparing to get lamped

Twelve months go quickly and, lo and behold, it's time for the first pantomime of the season.  (We're going to two this year.  Get us).

Today's - at The Carriageworks in Leeds - is always special as it doubles up as the Aireborough Lions RUFC Christmas outing.  And it's a very clever arrangement.

The theatre is located right beside the German market in the city centre where they serve beer.  We traditionally congregate there two hours before the performance to enable the adults to wet their whistles whilst the kids complain.  Then we all file in, the parents feeling much more enthused about going to a pantomime than when they arrived.  Genius.  

That's this year's cast you can see pictured above and the lamp tells you that they're appearing in Aladdin.  The title role is filled by Lee Brennan who used to be in boy band 911.  Oh yes, we get all the big names here in Yorkshire.

But he'll have to be good to come close to matching the talents of my all-time favourite panto king.  His name was Billy Bones and, for many years, he was the star turn in Coleraine's pantomime in the Town Hall.

One of my earliest clear childhood memories was speaking to the great man just a couple of hours before curtain up one year.  He was standing in our living room.  And he was standing in our living room because he was our insurance man and my mum was his last customer of the day.

Happy days.          

Once, twice, three times a Wonka

It is often said that life begins at 40.  But my rebirth happened a little later as I was 42 before Morrisons £5 'Match & More' vouchers were invented.

Honestly, they're what I live for - especially on weekdays.  

And whilst obviously very welcome, it's not even the fiver that thrills me most.  That barely buys you a pint in some establishments these days.  (An honourable exception is Johnstons Bar, 53 Railway Road, Coleraine.  Ask for Clare, Seamus or Stewartie).

No, it's more the fact that I've won a little battle with a supermarket chain that is notoriously reluctant to give you 'owt for nowt' (as they say in these parts).

So imagine my excitement this morning when, after filling my basket with a load of shite I didn't need, the £5 'Match & More' voucher you can see above appeared from the self-service machine.

Honestly, I felt like I'd died and gone to Heaven.  

But wait!  Something else was coming out!

It couldn't be!  It really couldn't be!  OMG, IT WAS!!!!!!!

ANOTHER £5 'Match & More' voucher!            

And here it is - check the serial number.  It's different.  Yup, two genuine, spendable £5 'Match & More' vouchers. 

But my life-changing moment was set to get even better.  Because the machine kept whirring.  And you'll never guess what appeared next!

Well, you won't.  What came out was so unlikely that it would be impossible for you to even have a stab at.

So here we go folks.  Sit tight, stand tall, get ready to blow your mind.

It was only a THIRD Morrisons £5 'Match & More' voucher!   I KNOW!!!!

So that's 1-2-3.  Making three in total,  THREE!

And here they are together just to prove it.   

I mean, just look at them.  They're quite beautiful.

Can you even imagine how many £1 packets of chocolate biscuits I can buy with them?  Or £5 bottles of wine?  I can't.  It's bound to be loads.

As the enormity of what's happened begins to sink in, I kind of feel the hand of Charlie Bucket upon my shoulder when he found out he was going to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.

But there's a big difference between us.

Little Charlie had to make do with a single golden ticket.  I've got three.

Maybe one day they'll write a book or make a film about me too. Or they might not.

The only way is down

Even at the distressing age of almost 43¾, I'm still prone to the odd short notice burst of overwhelming excitement.   And I've just had one after opening my copy of the Yorkshire Evening Post.  

In fact, my jets are yet to be calmed.  But this is probably a good thing as I'm likely to need them in the coming weeks.  

I'll get straight to the point.

Leeds is about to get its very own TRAMPOLINE PARK!!!!    
Yes, you read that correctly. Leeds is about to get its very own TRAMPOLINE PARK!!!!!!!!   

Honestly, I'm not even making it up.  And it's opening in less than THREE WEEKS!!!   

Located at Kirkstall close to the city centre, the 20,000sq ft. arena will house more than 80 trampolines.  You can also play dodge ball, jump in a foam pit or tackle a "Ninja Warrior-style obstacle course."  Really. Honestly. I'm not making this up. 

And you've not even heard the best bit yet.  

According to the general manager, "You can bounce from one trampoline to the other but we also have angled trampolines so you can literally bounce off the walls.”

And there was you wondering why I was excited.

Due to throw open its doors on Monday 28 December, everyone above the age of five (including 43¾-year-olds) is invited to make a mouth of themselves.

As luck would have it, Charlotte turns five next week so hopefully I'll have not one but two willing volunteers to "drag" me along. 

But if they want sweets, I'm definitely having first go. 

Mine's a Christmas Guinness

Greetings campers, I trust I find you well.

And Merry Christmas while I'm at it.

Yes, the festive season is upon us - or upon me at the very least.  In fact, it's currently jumping up and down on my head and stomach and I'm beginning to feel a bit queasy.  But sure that's all part of the fun.

Our Christmas is set to be a little different this year as, for the first time as a foursome, the Whites are due to spend it in Northern Ireland.

We did try this before, six years ago, whilst still a three-piece outfit.  But sadly it snowed heavily in Leeds and our plane spent Christmas in Yorkshire with the rest of us.  

This time we are a touch more optimistic about completing the journey, helped by the fact that we've chosen to set off the day before Christmas Eve rather than Christmas Eve itself.
 
There has been one other rather important logistical challenge to be overcome too.  We're staying at my mum's and there's been no great difficulty with asking Santa Claus to deliver Jamie and Charlotte's presents there instead (should they have been good enough).  But getting them back will be a little less easy.  So we've reached a compromise: Santa's going to do two drop-offs.

A handful of easily transported gifts will make their way down my mum's chimney in Portstewart.  And the big man will then deposit the remainder at our house in Guiseley (he has his own key) ready for "Christmas to continue" (as Jamie puts it) when we return a few days later.

All good.  Just as long as our plane takes off.  And Father Christmas doesn't forget the arrangement.

And I don't get too carried away in Johnstons Bar on Christmas Eve.  I'll maybe see you in there.

Roll up for the Rodneython

I haven't asked for your help on here for a little while.  But that's about to change.

Anyone who has read this guff down the years will know all about my friend Rodney McCune.  He's a very talented young man.  A barrister by trade, I covered his first trial in the Old Bailey exclusively for the Coleraine Times.  He's stood for Parliament a few times and will, in time, get a seat.  He's been on The Richard and Judy Show after making a citizen's arrest, also getting him in the Daily Mail.  And he was groomsman on my wedding day.  Did a very good job too.

Rodney married a very nice lady from Uzbekistan called Firuza, which brings me on to the reason for this post.

Their wedding took place five years ago in Firuza's native land.  Their youngest guest was a little girl named Samira.  She had her whole life ahead of her and, by all accounts, enjoyed her day.  

Speaking to Claire McNeilly at the Belfast Telegraph earlier this week, Rodney took up the story.   

"Samira was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia in May 2014," he said. "I was devastated when I recently became aware of how ill she is.

"Uzbekistan is not the wealthiest country in the world, but Samira's family and friends managed to scrape together £50,000 to pay for the treatment in Moscow over the last 12 months.

"Now, though, they are struggling to raise more money and that's why I wanted to do something to help."

He added: "There is no National Health Service there. Samira and her mother are completely on their own."

Rodney and Firuza now live in Belfast, and are mum and dad to Charlie who has a cheeky smile.    

"When you're the parent of a young child it obviously makes anything like this more personal," Rodney continued.

"Moscow is a five-hour flight from Uzbekistan and it makes it much harder being treated so far from home. But the good news is that doctors are fairly confident that when she finishes her treatment she'll make a full recovery."

Another £25,000 is required for Samira to get better.  And Rodney is determined to raise it.

"I know there are many worthy causes out there - in Northern Ireland and beyond," he told Claire.

"But for me it's very sad to see any child's life reduced to a financial element, and that's why I wanted to see what we could do.

"This only comes down to money. She is already two-thirds of the way through her treatment. Not every child who's ill can be saved but, with financial support, Samira can be.

"That's what's so significant about it. It's simply down to paying for expensive treatment."

He added: "My wife always says that people in Northern Ireland are very public spirited and charitable when it comes to fundraising and that's why I wanted to raise the profile of this."

If you want to do your little bit to help Samira, you can by logging onto crowdfunding.justgiving.com/SaveSamira.  (And you don't have to come from where I come from).

I know Rodney and Firuza would be very grateful to you.

A cooling beer brings cheer at this time of year (hear hear)

This time of the year is laden with key events.

The last grass cut, the clocks going back, Halloween, fireworks night, cut price Quality Street at Morrisons, I'm A Celebrity, the Christmas tree going up (too early yet) and the big fridge packing in.

OK, so maybe it's just our big fridge that packs in, but bear with me.

Our big fridge is in the garage, you see, and when it gets cold out there - which has been since Saturday - it goes into hibernation.  Happens every year.  And for a period of months we have to wing it with a smaller fridge in the kitchen and an ice box.  This is an inconvenience, certainly, but it also represents an opportunity.  For me.

Because our big fridge then becomes my beer fridge.  This makes me very pleased indeed.

As any man fortunate enough to experience this will confirm, having your very own beer fridge is just a little bit special.  Yes, in my case, the fridge obviously isn't on, making it more of a beer cold store.  But still.  I get to spoil myself by sourcing a "range" of beverages which I can gaze at adoringly prior to sampling.

I've now got Corona in there, Carlsberg, lots of lovely Guinness and - an an experiment - some Carling Zest. (Think lager and lime, my original first love. I used to arrive at parties with six cans of Tennants and a bottle of lime.  I would then ask a friend to drink the first half-inch of my can, which I would replace with some lime.  An excellent system I felt, although sometimes people would hide my lime just for a laugh.  Ha bloody ha).  This year I've even generously permitted Vanessa to stash three very small bottles of tonic and a bottle of white vino (which I'll certainly demand that she shares. Call it rent).    

Living the dream, dear friends, living the dream.

Madness in her eyes

Friday night's terrorist attacks in Paris have shocked the world and, initially, were covered with relative calm and dignity by British broadcasters.

And then someone put Kay Burley on a Eurostar.

I don't know if you're a Sky News viewer or, indeed, a Kay Burley fan.  But I just can't watch that woman.  No matter how delicate the subject matter, nothing will stop Ms Burley from crudely trying to get a scoop or thrusting her own shallow musings on an unfortunate audience.

Right, sermon over - let's have some fun at her expense.

Desperate for attention presumably during an ad break, our self-styled journalistic heroine posted this on Twitter.

Nope, I'm not making it up.  She really, truly, honestly did.

And after a few minutes to allow this to sink in, the Twitterati got to work.

Good one.  What about this?

Or this?

And this.

Here's another.

 
An amusing potato anyone?

 
Fluffy bear?

Or perhaps a scary shark.

And finally, something more surreal.

Sure we all need a laugh, particularly at times of adversity.

And you can always trust the good old British public to deliver it.

UPDATE:

The gift that keeps on giving.

Take a Wookie at this

Back in my day, we used to turn up to school in bad jumpers and good trousers on Children In Need day in return for a small donation to an excellent cause.

But the stakes have been greatly upped since then.  "No uniform day" it seems is so 1987.  In 2015 our own kids are instead challenged to "Be A Hero" for the day, dressed in appropriate attire.

Now, I don't have a problem with this.  Yes, us parents are all busy ya-de-ya-de-yadda.  But it offers the sprogs a fun experience so, for me, we've got to do our bit.

That's the theory.  Or at least it was until Wednesday evening when Jamie declared that he wanted to be transformed into the Eleventh Doctor (Who) - think Matt Smith - and we quickly realised we didn't have any of the right garb.

A trip to six shops yesterday afternoon brought zero returns.  So I was left with no option but to wing it, picking up the best costume I could find in the challenging circumstances in which I was by then mired.

Charlotte had already decided that she was going as Merida who, I am advised, shoots witches with her bow and arrows.  Definitely a hero(ine) then.  And we already had the costume.

Job done.

So, back to Jamie.  There were two key questions:

1. Could the character I had chosen for him be legitimately classed as a hero? 
2. Did Jamie like the character enough to want to dress up as him?

A quick straw poll on Facebook and a bit of added Googling told me that, yes, our mystery character had most certainly earned his hero spurs - even once turning down a medal for good deeds.

And was Jamie a fan?  Taking, her life in her hands, Vanessa put the question to him last night and, lo and behold, he was very much an admirer.

So all that remained was for Jamie to get into the costume and "the zone."

Ladies and gentlemen, Chewbacca and Merida White.

Enjoy Children in Need night.

And May the Force be with you.