Busy doing nothing

Other than having lunch out yesterday, Vanessa pushing Jamie around the locality and me going for a couple of runs, the Whites haven't exactly achieved much this weekend.

Indeed, mother and son are currently having a nap, as the above photo confirms. And why not.

I'm now half way into my two weeks off work and it's been great doing pretty much nothing other than fatherly chores, baby bonding and Olympics watching (I didn't take this particular fortnight off by accident, you understand).

But the pace is due to pick up in the week ahead with several family outings planned, guests coming to stay and even a fun baby sitter lined up so Vanessa and I can get some food on our own for the first time since Jamie moved in.

By the way, the picture on the right was taken during our lunch in North Yorkshire yesterday. It features little Luca Sutton who's two and already something of a character.

As his mum Nicole and dad Ian explained and the photo clearly illustrates, things don't necessarily get easier as your child gets older, "new challenges" simply present themselves.

A proud mum puts it perfectly

"Those who do not dream do not live."

The words not of Shakespeare or some other poet type bloke but of proud Coleraine mum Jenny Campbell after her son Alan came home fifth for Great Britain in this morning's final of the rowing men's single sculls.

If you haven't been following this story, 25-year-old Alan dedicated the last four years of his life to preparing for these Olympics and had a realistic shot at gold.

But, in a stroke (pardon the pun) of the cruelest luck eight weeks ago, developed a serious knee infection - sparked off by a simple tooth abscess - and was forced under the surgeon's knife.

He spent the next five weeks out of his boat and many thought he would never make it to the start line of the heats never mind become the first British single sculler since 1980 to make an Olympic final.

As Jenny (right) put it so well this morning, many of us did dare to dream as we woke up and turned on our televisions.

Unfortunately the race - Alan's fourth in eight days - proved just one too many given the training he'd missed.

But he did himself, his family and his wee town incredibly proud.

Roll on 2012.

The return of a great leader?

At a time when our country is crying out for a great leader to show the strength and courage to lead us out of the climate of increasing financial uncertainty we now face, my mind turns to Churchill.

Winston would've known what to do. He always did. He was brave, he was bold and he was daring.

During the Second World War, he even offered to fight Hitler on the beach if it would help.

And then I look at my son, whose head of once thick dark hair is gradually thinning out. And suddenly I see it.

Is Churchill amongst us once again? Has he returned to save us from our spiral of impending economic doom?

I think he has and his new name is Jamie.

Either that or I got bored when Vanessa was out swimming yesterday and thought it might be a laugh to see what Jamie looked like in a bow tie.

Whatever the truth, I think he's a dead ringer for the greatest Briton of all-time (just like almost every other recently born baby boy I've seen in my life, I grant you. But let me have my fun).

Alan's wheelie great

Our son's just seven and a half weeks old and already he's got himself a new set of wheels - thanks to a nice man called Alan.

Let me explain. Vanessa and I were pushing Jamie around in his pram last Saturday when we noticed that one of the left front wheels was, for want of a better description, wonky.

Being in the "not in the least bit technically gifted" category of men, I did the obvious thing and hit it with a hammer. No improvement. So I hit it again. And again. Still no joy.

I then spent the next half an hour plus on t'Interweb trying to see if I could buy a replacement. The good news was that I could. The bad news was that it would take four to six weeks to arrive from America. Even worse was the fact that I'd have to fit it myself. As if.

So there was nothing else for it, we'd have to get a new pram.

The two of us began by checking out eBay for a good deal but none jumped out.

So on Tuesday, just before Vanessa's visit to Next and mine to the photo shop, we headed into Mothercare. This time, one or two prams did jump out but we couldn't agree. Plus, at the end of the day, it seemed both a shame and a waste to chuck out an otherwise perfectly good pram just because of a wonky wheel with hammer damage.

I was lamenting this fact to the nice store assistant when she mentioned the existence of her "best friend" Alan.

As well as being her best friend, we quickly discovered that Alan was also the in-house "pram technician." No, I'd never heard of a pram technician either but basically he fixes prams which obviously worked for us.

Alan was summoned and both he and store woman spent the next 15 minutes checking on the computer to see if they could order in a new wheel direct from the makers. Unfortunately the answer was no as our pram was an old model. I was gutted.

"Hold on, I'll go and see what I have in my workshop," Alan announced, as I bent over to scoop my guts back in - we were back in the game.

"He'll find something," said store woman with a smile. "He's great Alan, he's got everything in there." (I felt compelled to silently order all grubby thoughts to leave my mind).

The tension was building, even for Jamie who let out a dull blast on his bum trumpet.

A few more minutes passed before our hero - who reminded me a bit of Mr Hooper from Sesame Street - emerged with two sets of front wheels under his arm.

"I'm not sure," said Alan. "They haven't got any logos on them."

"Doesn't matter to us," I pleaded. "Really, we're not Posh and Becks."

"But loads of people treat their prams like their cars," said store woman.

"Not us," said I. "Plus I can't drive so I wouldn't know."

And off Alan went to his workshop. And not only did he bring the pram back with the wonky wheel changed, but he had replaced both front sets - and even went to the trouble of taking the logos off our old ones and transferring them on to the replacements to ensure they matched the back wheels.

According to what I saw online last Saturday, a single wheel would have put us back at least £30. This fine gentleman replaced all four wheels and charged us a total of £15 for the privilege.

It's little happenings like this which restore my faith.

So both thanks and sincere good wishes to store woman and her best friend Alan, two very fine human beings. And don't forget to shop in Mothercare.

Jamie Four Pictures

Vanessa and I took Jamie to be weighed earlier today and he's up to an even 12 pounds, so everyone's happy. Just for the fun of it, we also got the tape measure out and, from top to toe, he's now exactly two feet tall. (Should I buy him some basketball shoes now or should I wait?)

A side effect of his sheer largeness is he can fight back when needs be and this is not always desirable from a mummy and daddy point of view.

For example, whilst in Bradford on Friday afternoon, we took him to a photo booth in the station to get his passport picture taken.

Showing how naive the two of us can still be at this parenting game, we thought it would be a piece of cake. It wasn't.

The problem centred on the fact that the hands of the person holding the baby - mine in this case - cannot be in shot if the photo is to be deemed valid. But it's obviously very hard not to show your hands when the little gentleman you're holding clearly doesn't want to keep still never mind gurgle "cheese."

We paid our £4 for three goes but, each time, a rather self-satisfied message came up on screen to tell us we hadn't done it right. How polite, thought Mummy and Daddy (not really, we swore). Jamie didn't really have a view.

And then, after the third and final try, the machine simply printed out our first effort (presumably for posterity) and kept our cash. Great service, I'm sure you'll agree.

Thankfully, the story ends happily (other than the loss of our £4) for yesterday, as we drove into a retail park in Leeds, I spotted a specialist photo outlet. Leaving Vanessa in Next (where she's always happy) I took Jamie across to enquire if they by any chance offered a baby passport photo service. And, to my great delight, they did.

Two minutes later, I had Jamie pinned by the arms to a small white mattress on the shop floor while two young girls took it in turns to get his best side. You can judge how successful they were above.

All we have to do now is find someone "of standing" to verify his character by signing one of the pics.

Rather them than me.

Every cloud has one

In case you don't know (which wouldn't shock me), the gentleman on the left is Gerry Sutcliffe MP, Her Majesty's Minister for Sport.

Gerry's not been the most high profile holder of this position since Labour came to office. Indeed, previous incumbents have included Dick Caborn, Kate Hoey and the late Tony Banks who were all well known and well liked during their time in the job.

Mr Sutcliffe has also had the added difficulty of being just the third most important Minister in his own Department with regard to sport; not only does he have to play second fiddle to Culture Secretary Andy Burnham who's many years his junior, but also to Tessa Jowell who carries the somewhat grandiose title of Olympics Minister.

As a result, poor Gerry has had to rely on some of the other areas of his bits and pieces job description - which includes responsibility for pubs and lap-dancing clubs - to get any sort of recognition. And this hasn't always gone according to plan for the Bradford South MP.

For example, you may remember his infamous post-Budget gaffe when he broke with convention to criticise Chancellor Alistair Darling's decision to raise tax on beer. After initially refusing to back track, he was forced to issue a statement which read: "My comments do not accurately reflect my views. I fully support the tax measures in the Budget, and the Chancellor’s decisions on tax." It doesn't get more cringe worthy than that.

And it now appears Mr Sutcliffe has mucked up again.

After being teased by Australian Sports Minister Kate Ellis who predicted British athletes would "choke" under pressure at the ongoing Olympic Games, our Gerry promised to wear an Australian kit at a future British sporting clash against the old enemy should Aussie come above us in the final medals table.

It may not have escaped your notice that Team GB is not doing as well as we would wish in Beijing. Indeed, I've personally lost count of the number of "brave eighth places" we've achieved in finals thus far. (Unfortunately, there tends only to be eight competitors in the finals).

Thanks to a wonderfully brave performance from Scottish canoeist David Florence earlier today, Britain's medal total has now gone up to four. Australia, meanwhile, has scooped nine.

One of the conditions of Gerry's bet was the kit he would don would be an actual replica of that being worn by the Australian team in the event he was attending.

For his sake and ours, I hope Ms Ellis doesn't take him to watch the gymnastics.

I told you he could smile!

I said on Friday that Jamie had begun to show flashes of his smile but I couldn't quite catch them on camera.

Well, last night, he finally decided to let the world see.

The picture above was taken before his bath, the one below afterwards.

Unfortunately he hasn't smiled a great deal more since then but hopefully the next happy session isn't far away.

Woman problems

I went for an eight-mile run today as part of my training for the Leeds Half-Marathon in four weeks' time.

I haven't done a lot of training, if the truth be told. A combination of a new knee injury (in addition to my old knee injury), general lethargy and the arrival of a certain young man has ensured that my only goal is to finish.

But a problem has just arisen which threatens even this.

I've entered the race as a woman.

Filling in the online form a few months ago, I clearly remember putting a large "X" in the box marked "Male." Well, I think I did. Well, I must've done. Mustn't I? However, when I got the confirmation e-mail a few minutes after completing the registration process and paying my money, the "Male" had miraculously become "Female."

I didn't see this as a huge problem at the time. I mean, so long as I didn't actually win the woman's race (which clearly I wouldn't - I couldn't win the kids' fun run) then no-one would ever need to know. Surely.

But when I received my race pack earlier this weekend, it quickly became clear that things were not going to be that simple.

"Your running number is unique to you and cannot be passed to another entrant," said the cover letter. Yeah, yeah, yeah. "These are numbered 1-3500 for men and 4001 onwards for women." Okay, fair enough, but no-one will notice, thought I.

Then, in amongst the other bits and pieces, I found my actual number.

Yup, it's pink.

And you can be fairly sure the other male competitors won't have pink numbers. Bugger.

I've since fired off an e-mail to the race organisers, begging for mercy. But I read somewhere that the race is now full so the odds aren't on my side.

And there was I was hoping to make Jamie proud as I glided across the line like a haggered Sebastian Coe.

But there again, I suppose now's as good a time as any for him to discover his father's an idiot.

Jamie meets a nice South African

A nice treat for Jamie this morning when he received his first visit from a South African.

Vanessa and I first met Jan and her husband Matt (who unfortunately wasn't able to make it today) some years ago when they ran The Springbok bar in Leeds.

They've since moved to Egham, near Ali G's home in Staines, where they now run another hostelry. We haven't seen them for ages but, in the intervening period, they've produced two lovely kids, Lauren and Tommy, who also came along today, together with Auntie Vicky who you've met before and is playing host in Bradford. The picture shows them all together, with Jan on the right.

Earlier, I was up with the lark to see Coleraine Inst Old Boy, Great Britain rowing star and absolute class act Alan Campbell (right) win his Olympic single sculls heat in Beijing.

My sister is very friendly with Alan's formidable mum Jenny and dad William, both of whom I've had the great pleasure of meeting.

Everything's crossed for him between now and next Saturday's final.

Bring your Jamie to work day

Just back home and now on holiday for two and a bit weeks. Luxury.

Given it was my last day for a while, I thought it might be a nice for Vanessa to bring Jamie into work to meet the ladies who have to put up with me of a daytime.

Pictured from right to left are Marie, Saima, Sally and Kim who have all been terrificly supportive from the moment I told them I (sorry, Vanessa) was pregnant.

Always ready with advice and abuse in equal measure, they've kept me right throughout and I love them for it.

Jamie arrived in a bit of a hungry grump so was quickly handed to Saima to be fed. And as soon as he was done, Sally held him for ages and even made him smile although, despite several attempts, I couldn't quite get it on camera.

Jamie seemed to like everyone he met, confirming him as a fine judge of character.

Big Rod,London Town

The door bell rang at about 7.20 this morning and I bounded down the stairs to find our friendly postman waiting for me, parcel in hand.

I signed where indicated before turning the item over to see if the sender's name was written on the back. It was: "Big Rod, London Town."

"Big Rod" is so known only to himself.

To the rest of us, he's simply "Rodney." Rather like Prince, Madonna, Kylie or Godzilla, one word is suffice to put his large head to his moniker.

We worked together when I also lived in London Town and have remained friends ever since. He was Groomsman/Master of Ceremonies at our wedding three years ago and did OK. (Some people said he was good but there were a lot of drunks at our wedding).

One reason he got away with it was he's a barrister who specialises in keeping people out of jail. As you might therefore expect, he can talk. But don't be fooled into thinking he talks any sense. He doesn't. He talks absolute rubbish but he's skilled at making it sound good, which is why he's so sought after in his chosen profession.

He's also a man with political ambitions and stood against Ian Paisley at the 2005 General Election, picking up 6,637 votes with only a four-week campaign. This was a surprise as I previously wasn't aware there were 6,637 people in North Antrim who could spell "X."

I haven't seen Rodney since April when he very generously bought Vanessa and I dinner the night after I ran the London Marathon. And I'm not due to see him again until October when I go down to watch the mighty Ulster rugby team play Harlequins in the Heineken Cup. I'll probably buy him a packet of Bacon Fries at the game to make sure we're even.

He lives near Waterloo Station with the lovely Firuza (pictured) who clearly could do better. Thankfully Firuza's positive influence and taste was clearly demonstrated by the two lovely little outfits for Jamie contained in this morning's parcel.

However, the need for her to have an even greater role in his life was evident in the rude card that accompanied them, together with the message:

"Congratulations on two children now Vanessa. Best wishes, Rodney & Firuza."

So that my friends is Rodney - Barrister-at Law, likely future Member of Parliament and modern day village idiot.

Jamie can't wait to meet him.

Jamie the Sea Dog

We've just booked a week in September to take Jamie across to Northern Ireland for the first time and I'm rather excited about it, not least because we're going on the Liverpool-Belfast ferry.

It's twenty years since I last made that trip. It takes eight and a half hours and the onboard facilities were, in those days, very good. Hopefully they'll be even better now.

The original plan was to travel overnight but it's extortionately expensive so we're now sailing at 10.30 in the morning.

On the plus side, although cabins are stupidly priced at night, they're really cheap during the day so we've bagged ourselves a four-birth en-suite room both there and back.

I'm praying we'll have a porthole and I'm already on the lookout for a baby Captain's hat.

Did I mention how excited I am about this?! (Oh yes, sorry, I did).

Odd one out

You might remember that Sesame Street song which goes: "One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong..." (etc etc).

Well, look at the mugs gallery above. All four are colourful characters. All four also have extremely square jaws. But only one of them is my son, making him not like the others (can you see what I did there?)

I've noticed this about Jamie recently; he's got a long, slender body but also a really square jaw.

I see this as a definite advantage, particularly should he ever get in a fight in later life (and I very much hope not). But anyway, there you are.

Can you guess which one is him? You're only allowed four goes.

TV STAR ASSAULTED BY BABY

You may have read in the newspapers over the last few days that footballing chav Wayne Rooney is alleged to have spat on a member of the paparazzi.

If it goes to court and Monkey Boy is found guilty, he'll be done for common assault. Let's hope so.

Whilst I would not expect the victim in the case I'm about to mention to actually press charges, it would appear he would have every right to do so - and expect to secure a conviction.

Yes, Jamie has pooed all over Grandad Geoff.

Without giving you too much unnecessary detail, our son's been a bit constipated over the last couple of days and we've been getting worried.

However, not long before I came home from work, his system suddenly decided to unclog itself. Spectacularly so.

And this, coupled with what Janet Jackson might describe as a "wardrobe malfunction," conspired to ensure that the devoted new grandfather and former Yorkshire TV Political Editor Mr Druett (who, for the record, interviewed every serving British Prime Minister from Harold Wilson right through to Tony Blair) was forced to suffer the indignity of a baby mud shower all over his jeans.

As one would expect of such a media pro, Geoff took it with his customary good humour and moved on to the next item - a chocolate biscuit, I understand.

However, it's days like today when I'm most glad I write this drivel. Because in a few years' time, I'll be able to dig this story out and ask Jamie to apologise to the great man. Marvellous.

Telling my side of the story

A tiring but productive day thus far.

Jamie was up just after 6am as usual and, following his feed, sprawled right across my bit of the bed - now becoming the usual too.

Normally he'll wriggle and writhe and not sleep much but, this morning, he sparked out within seconds. This caused a problem.

They say never go to sleep in the same bed as your baby so I don't. But I also didn't want to move him. The result? No more sleep for Daddy.

The bonus of this little turn of events was that it enabled me to make an early start on another little task.

As frequent readers of this rubbish will have gathered, I quite like to write. I also want to do a bit more of it in the time ahead.

I've therefore taken an opportunity to write a piece on - get this - "Fatherhood" for The Suburb, a monthly lifestyle magazine which goes out across West Yorkshire.

Thanks to the help and advice of my trusty assistant (pictured), the copy is now written and ready to go across to the editor.

I'll put a link to the magazine up on this site if and when the article appears later in August. Hopefully you'll like it.

Getting Cold Feet

Given the arrival of Mini White and the prospect of Mummy and Daddy not being able to leave the house until their late forties at the earliest, I've got into the habit of buying DVD box sets to pass all this extra "quality time" we're going to be having.

One such purchase was Cold Feet: The Complete Collection which we've just started to watch.

I hadn't even met Vanessa when the pilot episode was premiered. Then, when the first series went on air, the two of us were only really getting to know each other.

I remember, at that time, thinking the characters were all so much older than us and doing things that were really rather grown up.

As well as the pilot, we've now watched the first two episodes where Pete and Jen have their baby. And instead of concentrating on the laughs, I've been finding myself subconsciously watching to see how often Baby Adam wakes up in the night, whether he's being bottle or breastfed and how bad his nappies are.

I've even started to look forward to future episodes simply to find out when he starts to smile, to walk and to talk rather than what funny one liners Coleraine's very own Jimmy Nesbitt - who plays "big" Adam - is about to fire off.

It's all very disturbing and I hope I snap out of it rather sharpish!

Jamie goes to the osteopath

Yup, Jamie's now got himself a therapist. Well, an osteopath to be precise. I'd better explain.

We've noticed over the past couple of weeks that our little man has at times seemed a little more uncomfortable and carried himself a little more oddly than perhaps the norm.

After asking around, our sharp sister-in-law Helen suggested we take him to see an osteopath - and what a good idea it appears to have been.

For those of you who don't know - and I would've classed myself as one of them only this morning - "osteopathy is a way of detecting and treating damaged parts of the body such as muscles, ligaments, nerves and joints." (I'm copying this off a leaflet, can you tell?)

"Using many of the diagnostic procedures used in conventional medical assessment and diagnosis, osteopaths seek to restore the optimal functioning of the body and aid its ability to heal without the use of drugs or surgery."

Just one sentence left - stick with me.

"Treatment includes a variety of stretching, releasing, mobilizing and manipulative techniques, reinforced by guidance on posture and exercise."

So now you know (unless you already did, in which case I've probably confused you).

Jamie's osteopath was called Dr Wendy and she was very nice. After an initial examination and a few choice prods, she was able to tell us that he'd overstretched his neck either in the womb or on the way out and this was causing him pain.

One of the direct side effects was discomfort in his tummy which, again, hasn't been much fun for him.

It really was ingenious stuff and Wendy reckons a couple of treatments should sort him out, starting next Friday.

She also very kindly showed us a couple of things we could do to help him along in the meantime and even let Vanessa play the role of trusty assistant for a short while. I was very jealous.

The only downside of our visit was Jamie's insistence on playing party music in his pants for almost the entire session. Still, I know someone who once listened to The Eagles on his Walkman whilst having a heart operation so, if it took his mind off what was going on, I suppose I shouldn't complain.

Bouncing back to contentment

Several people told me before Jamie was born that there would be times when we'd try almost anything to shut him up......er......stop him crying......er......make him happy.

And, of course, we've now had countless opportunities to do just this. Some have worked, some haven't.

I mentioned earlier in the week that Granny White had bought Jamie a special departing gift which we thought would come in very useful. Well, I'm delighted to confirm that our hunch was correct.

I can now exclusively reveal that the mystery item is a baby bouncer and it is fantastic. It belts out tunes, it makes nature noises, it even allows baby to hear fishy sounds without getting wet.

Added to this is the fact that it can vibrate in two different ways - continuously or like a heartbeat - and to a strength of your choosing. Simply magnificent.

What's more, as tonight's initial trial proved, it shuts Jamie up. Sorry, did it again - MAKES HIM HAPPY.

Above you can see two pictures. The one on the left was taken just before we switched on the baby bouncer, the one the right was taken after we'd fired it up.

Let's just say that Mummy and Daddy regard this new piece of equipment as an extremely welcome addition to their armoury.

Dotty about Jamie

I'm not long back from a five mile run but I can't be any more tired than Jamie who's worn out simply by all the attention he's been receiving today.

First thing morning he was off to get weighed and, to everyone's delight, he tipped the scales at a very healthy 10 pounds and 5 ounces. Spot on.

Then it was round to see Grandma Judy, Grandad Mike and a cast of many others gathered together in Horsforth, before hot footing it across to Cottingley to meet Auntie Dot (pictured above), Uncle Malcolm, Auntie Rachel, Molly, Tom and Olivia for the very first time

Dot, Malcolm, and Rachel are committed readers of this rubbish and I love them for it. I also think they're mad - bless them for that too.

Thanks to all the excitement - and Rachel's very kind purchase of special gripe water for Jamie - we're now hopeful of baby, Mummy and Daddy all getting a good night's sleep. Only hopeful, mind.

And now for something completely different

A nice little break from the old routine today as I attended my third annual 364 Club Lunch at Headingley Cricket Ground.

Held in honour of the late, great Yorkshire and England batman Sir Len Hutton and his legendary innings of 364 which remains the highest ever score by an Englishman in Test cricket, the guest list is pretty much a who's who of Yorkshire cricket and a privilege for someone like me to be part of.

So why was I, I hear you cry?

To cut a long story short, almost three years ago I was deputising for someone much more important than myself at a book launch and was queuing up to get several copies signed by the now also late but equally great Fred Trueman.

Behind me was a distinguished looking gentleman by the name of Colin Slater who I soon discovered was the voice of sport on BBC Radio Nottingham and has been for more than 50 years.

Hearing my accent, he was curious as to my interest in Fred Trueman and cricket in general. Explaining that I was only there as a poor substitute for someone else, I went on to emphasise that I was also a huge cricket fan in my own right and a fully paid-up Yorkshire member.

In an act of supreme kindness, he mentioned the 364 Club Lunch and suggested that I come along the following year as his guest. Several months later he was back in touch and soon we were sitting together at the event which featured Trueman's ex-Yorkshire teammate Mike Cowan as the speaker.

Last year, along with me, he brought John Kettley (Is a Weatherman) to hear Roy Hattersley make the main speech.

Today, with Mr Kettley on holiday (he sent me an e-mail to say how sorry he was he couldn't be there - I loved that!) it was just the two of us (plus 200 plus others) to see ex-MCC Chief Executive and current Surrey Chairman Roger Knight followed by Dom Antony Such, a Benedictine Monk fond of a drink and a flutter. Mr Knight was good, Father Such - dressed in his habit - was magnificent.

On the other side of me from Colin was the Reverend Max Wigley, Chaplain of Yorkshire County Cricket Club. And, yes, I did watch my language.

Before proceedings began, I ran into Colin's friend and mine, ex-umpire Dickie Bird; Colin has known Dickie for years and, until recently, I was a Trustee of the Dickie Bird Foundation.

So, all in all, a quite bizarre few hours but great fun.

But now back to the present - it's time for Jamie's bath.

Granny White goes home with Jamie's thanks

As I write, my mum's currently sitting at Leeds Bradford Airport waiting for her delayed flight back to Belfast. Thankfully it should only be 40 minutes late in taking off - at the moment.

She's only been here four days but she'll certainly be missed, especially by her new grandson.

Everyone has been wanting to hold Jamie since he came along but no-one more than her. Almost every time we've changed and fed him, we've simply deposited him back in her arms and prepared for another three hours plus off duty.

This has been particularly welcome first thing in the morning when, after his 6.30 feed, we've simply taken him into my mum's room and returned to bed until around 10. Absolute luxury.

Shortly before she left today, we picked her up a webcam with the plan of setting up some regular video chats with the three of us on Skype.

She also bought (yet another) gift for Jamie which looks brilliant and exactly what we needed. More of that later in the week.

The only downside of today was being told by the staff at the Stone Trough pub near the airport that we had to sit outside to eat as under 14s weren't welcome through their door. It's a door I'll not be crossing again in the future, you can be sure of that (and no, I didn't swear!)

And then it was back to the car - Jamie in his special seat - to prepare to wave Granny White off.

Jamie hopes she'll come back soon.

The Major drops in for tea

Jamie's special guest did make it over to see him last night, my long time friend Major David Sherrard of the Royal Artillery.

Dave and I have been friends for 25 years. We went to school together, played rugby together, attended each other's stag dos and weddings and Dave was even misguided enough to ask me to be godfather to his now eight-year-old son Huw. Following Jamie's arrival, I've promised to be better at that in the years ahead.

From Portrush, Dave is not long back from a seven month tour of Afghanistan dodging Taliban bullets and instructing his men to fire back at the buggers with double the venom (and accuracy).

Previous to that, he served in Iraq during the last Gulf War where he worked with the Americans in search of that nice Mr Saddam Hussein. He really should learn to keep better company.

Now based in Germany, he was on his way down to London from an engagement in Sunderland earlier in the day and wanted to pop in to say hello.

The good news is he's shortly about to start a new posting in North Yorkshire which will allow us to see a lot more of him, his gorgeous and very patient wife Hayley, Huw and their other little boy Niall.

Dave and Hayley are also due to join us for our annual Hallowe'en fancy dress party at the beginning of November.

Above you can see what we looked like at a school disco party in Scotland a couple of years ago. I would imagine our costumes will be a touch more ambitious in a few months' time. Mine might even be a little less camp, although I can't guarantee it.

This little Jamie went to market

Weather forecasters proven wrong yet again (the sun was cracking the kerbstones rather than the thunderous rain cracking our windows), Granny White, Mummy, Daddy and Jamie headed off to Otley just before lunch and a fine day was had by all.

First stop was Otley Market where everyone bought a load of things they didn't need other than Jamie who really, really didn't need anything.

Then it was a pause for Yorkshire fish and chips, except for Jamie who just fancied a drop of milk.

A long walk along the river was the next port of call where the swans seemed to be having a whale of a time showing off to the tourists - until they saw Jamie coming. Clearly aware of our son's increasingly noisy reputation, they attempted to hide from him. Personally I thought they were just being rude.

And finally, it was off for an adult ice cream whilst Jamie took the opportunity for a quick nap.

He's preparing for his bath now as we're expecting a very special guest to join us this evening.

More on this tomorrow, if he turns up.

Making the best of a very sad day

My mum made it over today as planned. Unfortunately my sister Jacquie didn't after her father-in-law, Ted Reid, tragically died overnight.

Ted was a terrific and very talented man who should have had many more years ahead of him. He'll be greatly missed by his family and friends.

In an attempt to make something out of a horrible situation, my mum, Vanessa, Jamie and I retired to the garden for - can you guess? - another barbecue.

Whilst there, Granny White had her first opportunity to feed her grandson and I think he enjoyed the experience.

Jamie will be delighted to know she's prepared to repeat her kindness as often as he wants in the days ahead.

Sleep would be nice

Only me.

A truncated night's sleep last night (can you guess why?) has left me feeling even more wrecked today than I was yesterday.

Just back from a full day's work, the obvious remedy is to lie down and close my eyes. But having foolishly signed up to run the Leeds Half Marathon in just over six weeks and seriously under-trained since Jamie arrived on the scene, I now have to go for a four mile run. After that, I need to cut the grass and carry out several other chores in advance of our next guests' arrival, namely my mum and big (yet tiny - ironic or what?) sister Jacquie.

But it'll be great to see them (although Jacquie's hard to spot). Equally exciting is the fact they've kindly offered to take over some Jamie duties to allow Vanessa and me to catch some zeds.

It certainly won't all be sleep, though, and quite right too. As well as yet another barbecue on Sunday (Jamie has insisted), we'll try and think of a few Yorkshire type things to do to ensure both ladies go home with no option but to tell people how nice we are.

They'll probably want to say something about Jamie too, but that's up to them.

Marking his territory

I'm wrecked. And my bum hurts. But thankfully, both problems can be quickly and easily explained.

The rear ache is the result of walking up and down countless hills yesterday morning searching for my lost golf balls; the breakdown of almost all my vital bodily functions is a legacy of downing the best part of two bottles of wine last night at the Bye Bye Barbecue for my dad and John who departed first thing this morning.

Before the evening ended, Granda' White formally unveiled the nameplate on Jamie's nursery door. Grandma Judy and Grandad Mike joined us for what I'm sure you'll appreciate was another thrilling occasion for all concerned, almost on a par with last week's official opening of Jamie's curtain.

The only disappointing aspect of the event was that Jamie didn't turn up. Having shouted the place down for the previous 45 minutes before finally going to sleep, we decided to leave him under his blanket. Still, it was a nice surprise for him this morning, prompting a Gwyneth Paltrow type moment where he cried uncontrollably. Or perhaps that was because I wasn't holding his head properly. Or because he'd pooed himself - sometimes it's just so difficult to tell.

Vanessa and I now have a couple of nights to put the house back together again before our next long weekend guests arrive. More of that tomorrow.

Jamie goes down't pub

It was sort of inevitable and I can't believe it took us four weeks to get him there, but Jamie had his first drink in a pub this afternoon.

Earlier, John and I thrashed golf balls around for a few hours whilst my dad trimmed our hedge (he enjoys that sort of thing and he's good at it, alright?!) before we hooked up with him, Vanessa and Golden Child for lunch at the Bankhouse in Pudsey.

Whilst Vanessa stuck to shandy and John, my dad and I had pints, Jamie had three and a half fluid ounces of Mum's Brew.

It was transferred from barrel to bottle first thing this morning and is a strange concoction, cream in colour and apparently very nutritional.

He's drinking gallons of it at the moment but it tends to make him fall asleep in company before wetting himself.

Hopefully he'll lose these habits when in pubs in later life.

Sadly, I know quite a few people who haven't.

They think it's all over...and it IS! (thank goodness)

I hate to be negative but I'm glad the cricket is now at an end, South Africa having just beaten England an hour ago by ten wickets.

I've looked forward to the game for months but, in the end, it was more than a little disappointing and England's defeat has been inevitable for two days.

The bonus of it ending now is that there's a free day for all three of the Whites to do something with my dad and John and plans are currently being hatched.

The other good news is that our camera appears to have had a Lazarus moment so I can keep the crap pictures coming (plus ones of Jamie, of course).

Above is the pic of the Amy Winehouses I mentioned last night. Aren't they lovely?!

And, on the right, is a shot of a chicken who managed to make his way into the executive part of the ground - as they do. Finally, below is my pic of Freddie Flintoff in full flight. I know it's not very sharp but you can tell it's him so I feel a bit smug.

Back in Jamieland, you'll obviously be fascinated to hear that he peed up his back again during the night. That boy really has talent.

He's also been good to and with our guests. Let's hope he keeps up his high standards for one more day - especially when he finds out he's going to his first pub.

It's all going wrong

Several times over the last two days I've been reminded of when Vanessa gave birth to Jamie, just under four weeks ago now.

There were moments over the many hours from the point we reached the hospital to the stage when the little man eventually emerged that I honestly thought we would never get to the "good bit."

That is exactly how I've felt at Headingley both yesterday and today where my dad, mate John and I were forced to bear two of the dullest days of Test cricket I can remember.

England were awful, South Africa were turgid and I was bored.

BORED! BORED! BORED! BORED! BORED!

Even the fancy dress wasn't as good this year although the Amy Winehouses at least brightened up our Saturday. And, admittedly, the chicken we saw today was also quite fun. Unfortunately I can't show you the pictures as the camera appears to have croaked it too. Marvellous.

The game should end tomorrow when England finally fold.

I'll tell you more then, by which time I'll probably have cheered up and possibly even have bought a new camera.

In the meantime, I give you an early pic of Jamie to hopefully keep you interested.

Laters...

We're wide awake

Up and at it early again this morning after Jamie peed up his back - how do babies do that?!

But the ordeal did not end there. Maybe it's a deficiency in my technique (almost certainly I'd say) but he then managed to poo in three clean nappies before I got the fourth and final one on. Obviously I was thrilled, as was Jamie.

Previous to this I'd given him the equivalent of a bed bath on the changing mat. Then, with nappy on, he had a baby massage with oil (what a modern kinda dad I am) before Vanessa and I took turns to cuddle him in bed. The picture above shows you the effect, which lasted all of three and a half minutes.

Indeed, it was almost as if the four nappy incident hadn't happened (yes, FOUR ****ING NAPPIES!!!........now....c...a...l...m....)

Our guests seemed to enjoy themselves last night with Jamie generally on form and Granda' clearly impressed by the latest addition to the clan.

We set off for Headingley again in an hour.