Stars and Whites

The kids are now two days into the Easter countdown and February half-term already seems a long time ago.  But the memories remain.  

Some people we know used the break to visit exotic locations including Dubai and New York.  And we were equally flash.

Here are three members of the White family enjoying the blue skies of Doncaster.   

  

And this is two of them in Barnsley.

Living the dream, I tell thee.  We even squeezed in a shopping trip to Pontefract.

My personal fear is that we've now set the bar too high and the rest of the year will be an anticlimax.  Time will undoubtedly tell.   

After a couple of days to get over the excitement, Jamie and I went to Yeadon Town Hall to see "The Quo Experience" play live.  And it was a very positive experience. 

69-year-old Francis Rossi was played by someone 50 years his junior (fact). He was brilliant.

Meanwhile, a rather more seasoned guitar man breathed welcome life into Rick Parfitt (deceased). 

That was Friday.  Saturday was a very special occasion as Vanessa's fab mum, Judy, celebrated her XXth birthday.  (A real lady never reveals her age). 

That took us to Sunday when the menfolk crafted an international-themed tea.  It's something we do.

It was also our turn a few weeks ago when Portuguese food was on the menu. 

Since then, Vanessa and Charlotte treated us to the culinary treats of Italy.

And on Sunday, him and me went Stateside as we prepared a selection of dishes made famous in the land of Trump.

We started with BBQ ribs and southern fried chicken wings.

They were followed by homemade burgers and fries.

And for dessert, we baked our very own Mississippi mud pie.     

God bless the United States of America. 

Heatwave alert

If Brexit wasn't making the TV news bleak enough, this evening we will be hit with dire warnings about how the country is set to disappear under ten million billion tonnes of snow.

But I urge you to ignore them.   

There won't be any snow tomorrow, at least not in Guiseley. And there won't be snow here on Wednesday either.  Or Thursday.  Or Friday.  Or ever.

And why am I so sure?

Because I've just bought Jamie and Charlotte new sledges.  

I would've been much better spending the cash on sun loungers.  

Happy New Year

Yes, it's been an entire calendar month since I last updated this drivel, although I suspect you haven't even noticed.

Since Boxing Day, we've done a few bits and pieces including a week on the drink in Northern Ireland.  (Only Vanessa and me, to be fair.  Jamie and Charlotte are doing Dry January).

After a fun New Year's Eve, Granda and I took Jamie for his first game at the home of football.
 

The Bannsiders even managed a thumping win.

Accompanied by their Auntie Vicki, we visited the home of a famous Norn Iron resident.  First name Pat (which I didn't know).  Second name Tayto. 

And did we leave with any crisps?  Er, yes. 75 packets. courtesy of Mr Tayto himself. 

We had a trip around night time Belfast.

And some more drink was drunk before Vicki left for home.

It was then back to the North Coast where Jamie made a return trip to Coleraine Social, sorry, Football Club.  

It's been relatively quiet since then, other than a burst of shameless publicity to promote our part-sponsorship of next weekend's inaugural Aireborough RUFC Beer Festival.  (More on that anon). 

Until yesterday, that is.

We spent last night in a Premier Inn close to Manchester's Trafford Centre. 

And today, you join me at the nearby iFly indoor skydiving centre.

We all had a go in November, as I documented here.

Vanessa and I quickly made the decision to retire on a high (can you see what I did there?)

But him and her are here to have another go.

This was Jamie’s first flight just a few moments ago.

And this was Charlotte’s. 

There will be no talking to them on the way home. 

Bucket pissed

Season's greetings!  (It may be Boxing Day but I'm a firm believer in the 12 Day of Christmas mantra so we're only getting started).

We had a great day yesterday (thanks for asking).  The kids seemed happy with their lot, which is always pleasing. 

Jamie and I shared one present.  Yes, we're off to see The Eagles in concert next summer.  Jamie's been a big fan since I took him to see a tribute band earlier this year. Eagles tunes have also encouraged him to push on with his guitar practice.  Money well spent, I say.

Charlotte was just as excited to learn that she and her mummy will be going to see Little Mix in November.  I'm not so keen for Miss White to follow in their scantily-attired stiletto steps, but still.

In the early evening, I did my big family phone call back home.  Everyone was gathered at my eldest sister's.  Jacquie has had a time of it in 2018.  She returned from holiday in the early part of the year to discover that her house had flooded.  Completely.  Ceilings, carpets, furniture all destroyed.  She's had to reside with family and friends ever since whilst the inside of her home was essentially reconstructed.  The kitchen and bathroom were only finished last weekend, finally enabling Jacquie to move back in.

However, my father phoned me in a grump on Christmas Eve to report a problem.  Jacquie's toilet wasn't working and everyone was going to have to use a kindly neighbour's loo for all of Christmas Day. But my dad wasn't having any of that.  Not a chance.

So when he arrived at Jacquie's for his Christmas lunch, his hands were full.  One was carrying his presents.  The other was clutching a "portaloo," otherwise known as a bucket.

It was only when he went to "try it out" that the rest of the family revealed the toilet was indeed working and always had been.  It was all a wind-up and everyone else was in on the joke - including the kindly neighbour. 

The Whites can be so cruel.     

Murder on the living room floor

We went to church today for a bit of a singsong. A carolokee, if you will.

Vanessa’s dad was reading a lesson and delivered it like the pro he is.

We then came home for tea. Vanessa said she wasn’t hungry. Fine. But not a morsel of curry or lemon chicken remained shortly after I served up. Jamie, Charlotte and I managed to grab little a bit each when she wasn’t fully concentrating.

But here’s the thing. I got annoyed. Charlotte was wearing a big white fluffy coat thingy that Auntie Jacquie bought for her birthday on Wednesday. And, somehow, Charlotte managed to dip it into her curry. Yes, I forgot to get naan bread, but that’s not a proper excuse.

I hurtled out to the kitchen to apply wet wipes and Vanish before Charlotte’s cherished attire hit the washing machine. I followed-up with a swift lecture on not being so bloody careless. 

It was just as I was catching my breath that Jamie’s curry flew off his lap tray and landed upside down on the living room carpet. And then I kicked over my glass of wine. And then, as Vanessa was cleaning up Jamie’s mess, she dipped her dressing gown into the lemon chicken.

We truly are a family made for each other and not for laptray teas (which are rightly a rarity).

Have a wonderful Christmas Eve.

I didn't see that coming

I've worn contact lenses since I was 18 years old.  I got them so I could catch the ball better when playing rugby, but quickly realised that my butter fingers were more responsible for me dropping it than my eyes.

I've had glasses since then too but rarely wear them because I look every bit as silly as you think I might.  I don't do hats for the same reason.  Nor sunglasses (not that there's a great need for sunglasses when you live in Leeds).

I've now entered that tragic "needs must" stage of middle age.  All sorts of bits are falling off and the few powers I once had are beginning to wane. That includes the ability to read without screwing my eyes up.

I never understood why people wearing reading glasses often looked over them when talking to me.  Maybe, unlike me, they thought they looked cool and regarded their specs as a fashion accessory.  But over the last few months the reason became more clear (unlike sentences on a page).

I first noticed my diminishing up-close vision when I was trying to decipher the cooking instructions on the side of an SFC bargain bucket.  (The "FC" stands for "fried chicken" but it comes from Morrisons so the "S" doesn't stand for "succulent").  The bucket had white writing on a red background (just like in Kentucky, so not a coincidence) and I couldn't make it out.  Over subsequent weeks, I continued to struggle with reading non-black letters on non-white backgrounds. One particularly embarrassing moment came when I misread how many units were in a bottle of wine, drank half a glass too many and fell over.  (Always drink responsibly, kids).

After careful consideration and a further period of denial, I decided it was time to head to Specsavers to book an appointment.  On the way, I called into the local Sue Ryder charity shop to buy Charlotte a set of cat ears (pretend ones) after she left hers behind at a music lesson.   And I noticed one of those spinny stand thingys displaying a selection of "readers."  They ranged in strength from -0.5 to, well, it was very difficult to read.  But I found a pair that made a positive difference after testing them out on a children's book (which Charlotte got instead as they didn't sell cat ears.  "Never have done," declared the assistant, arms folded ).

And how much, pray tell?  £2.  Brand new.  £2.  (So I bought some more stuff because I felt bad).

I suspect they make me look like this.

But I've not looked in the mirror with them on as yet.  I've been far too busy going through our wine rack and marvelling at how much each bottle differs in strength.  That, and sorting out the kids' chicken suppers.

But my new reading glasses have definitely made my life just that little bit easier.

This weekend, I plan to return to the Sue Ryder shop to check out their man wig collection.

Alive, Alive Oh!

The kids have just done their bit as Guiseley joined the rest of the country in marking the centenary of Armistice Day.

As I was delivering them to their respective meeting points, we talked about their granda who I am delighted to report is not dead.

I say this because it appears that half of Coleraine thought he was.   He doesn't know how the rumour started but it certainly spread quickly.

So much so that, as he walked through the town centre yesterday morning, he was met by many startled faces who thought they'd seen a ghost. Literally.

At one point he bumped into my cousin who was both shocked and delighted to see him.  Then her phone beeped.  It was a text from a friend expressing their condolences at my father's "passing."

So, just to make clear, James Edmund Barcroft White Snr is alive and well and will hopefully be walking through  the streets of Coleraine for many more years to come.

Cheers Dad. 

Learning to fly

Is it a bird?  Is it a plane? No it's me - and yes I am flying.

I always knew we were a family blessed with superpowers.

And it turns out that we all have them.

Here's Vanessa, looking even scarier than usual.

 
This is Charlotte, being particularly brave.

And here's Jamie doing a midair tango with Brain, our very patient instructor.

If you're still confused, indoor skydiving was our game.  None of us knew what to expect and we didn't leave disappointed. In fact, I think we're still in giddy shock. 

The best bit was what they call the "hi-fly" where our man Brian took us up to space and back again.

You'll understand it better when you see Jamie in action in the video below.  They're performing the "hi-fly" when they momentarily disappear from view. 

It's quite an experience if you're ever near the Trafford Centre in Manchester and fancy ticking something off your bucket list - or adding it to the end.

If only our superhero costumes were just a little more......er......heroic.

  

Signs of the times

I don't do politics on here and have no plans to start now.

But I was amused by some of the lighthearted placards on display at the "People's Vote" march in London over the weekend. (I wasn't there but do follow these things because I'm sad).

For example, I don't know where Rick Astley stands on the United Kingdom's impending departure from the European Union but I'm sure he would raise a smile at this effort. 

In contrast, I'm not convinced that Ginger Spice would feel quite so enamoured by "her" sign.

Blackadder fans certainly would enjoy this one.

And dog-loving brave Leavers might raise a whimper in defiance of this mutt - before wisely running off.

Definitely an angry Remainer.

So what was the best placard on show?  Well, by common consent, there were two.

Magnifique. 

This is how it feels to be Tommy

We had a little trip back in time on Friday evening with a visit to Manchester for a surreal gig.

Do you remember the Inspiral Carpets? Of course you do.

If not, this might prick your memory.  (I've censored the naughty word that rhymes with duck). 

They were huge in the late 80s and early 90s when their lead singer, Tom Hingley, looked like this.   

And this was him on stage on Friday night.

He now plays under the banner of "Tom Hingley & The Kar-Pets."  And he's still brilliant.  Indeed, he and his band gave it their all for an hour and a quarter and didn't miss a note.

Afterwards, Vanessa got to meet her hero, now dressed in a "Tommy Hingley" tee shirt (can you see what he did there?)  And he signed a copy of his life story (what he can remember of it), the aptly entitled "Carpet Burns."

Vanessa and school-mate/bridesmaid/all-round-fab-gal Jane (who introduced me to the future Mrs White) attended their first ever gig together at the age of 16.  It was at the G-Mex, also in Manchester.     

And the headline act was the Inspiral Carpets.

Where did those 27 years ago? 

Do you know this squirrel?

I’m on my own tonight, which means I get to watch exactly what I want on the telly i.e. not Strictly Come Dancing.

Vanessa has gone camping with Jamie and assorted others, and I was expected to be there.  However, as luck would have it, Charlotte has just left on an overnight Brownie trip and needs someone to be here to collect her in the morning.  Re-sult!!!

I must say, I don't envy what she's doing.  Around 100 of them have gone to The Deep in Hull to sleep under the shark tank.        

Can you imagine? 

To be fair, Charlotte will have to imagine as she has a theory that what she can't see can't hurt her.

So she's packed a specially-purchased eye mask.

I think the sharks will be more scared than her.

In other news, the culprit behind a recent spate of thefts in our back garden has been caught in the act.

Jamie likes to do a bit of bird watching and made me buy some big tubs of suet cake to attract more of his feathered friends to our house.

He got very excited the other morning when he woke up to find that one of the tubs had gone.  It had been half full and was therefore quite heavy. 

"Maybe it was an owl or even an eagle that swooped and carried it away!" he speculated.    

Unfortunately, after school yesterday, I had to break some bad news. It wasn't an owl or an eagle that stole the suet.

No, it was this character who I captured scarpering off with another one for his lunch. 

Cheeky b*st*rd.  I will, of course, be passing the evidence to the local constabulary and trust he will be swiftly apprehended. 

For those about to rock

Earlier this year, I asked readers to suggest names for the band Jamie had formed with his school mates.   

They eventually settled on The Aire Heads in acknowledgement of the district - Aireborough - in which Guiseley is located.  Plus it's fun, which is even more important.

They have been putting some serious time in ever since and are now edging towards their first public performance.  But where to play?

Elland Road and the First Direct Arena are probably a bit too big.  Our dining room is certainly a tad too small. And they're too young to book a pub.  So, the assembly hall in St Oswald's Primary School seems like a good option. 

Having secured the secured the agreement of rest of the band, this morning he scooted off to school clutching a letter for the headteacher.

It read as follows:

Dear Mr Sheppard,

I would like to do a Friday performance with my friends: me (Jamie), Euan, Francis and Sam.

We are in a band called The Aire Heads and will perform a song I learnt in guitar lessons, but slightly different, with lyrics I wrote myself.

We won't need a backing track but would like to use the school drum kit if possible.

Finally, I would like to say thank you for his amazing opportunity.

Yours sincerely,         

Jamie White (on behalf of The Aire Heads)

He's at his grandma's for tea tonight so I don't know what response he received.  But hopefully he'll arrive home with a new reason to practise really hard.

Stuck in the middle not loo

I'm feeling all battered and bruised.

"And why is that Barry?"

It was very kind of you to ask.

We spent the weekend at an activity centre close to Barnard Castle in County Durham. There were more than 30 in all, a gaggle of parents and just as many kids.

A similar group of us had been there for New Year but the weather precluded any outdoor adventures, other than walking to the pub (which was every bit as fun).

This time was different.

On Saturday, Vanessa, Charlotte and others indulged in a spot of crate stacking.

Whilst Jamie, me and most of the rest rubbered up for a gorge walk before jumping off a mile high cliff (or so it seemed).

Then on Sunday, Vanessa and Charlotte clambered up ropes.

That's a grimace, not a smile.

As Jamie, yours truly and other rafters built one before paddling it away.

But none of the above posed the greatest challenge of all.  No, it was the triple-decker bed that caused me most problems - not to mention physical harm.

To cut to the chase, I attempted to lower myself down from the top bunk for an early morning wee.  And my leg got wedged.  I'm not sure how, but it did.  And I could not extricate myself.  So I dangled.  And dangled.  Then I dangled a bit more.

I was eventually rescued by a fellow daddy who was woken from his slumber "after sensing that there was a distressed animal in the room."   I'll be forever grateful.

Unfortunately I'll not be allowed to forget what happened for a little while yet.  That's because both of my legs and one of my arms are black with bruising.

Next time I plan to sleep on the floor. And perhaps not drink quite so much red wine.