Can I interest you in a Christmas sing-song?

We fly off tomorrow morning to spend Christmas in Jamie's other home, known to the locals as Norn Iron.

I'll try and update this dross at least once before our return next Tuesday (29th).

But, until then, I leave you with The Whites' Festive Medley which you can access via the link below. (It took me ages to do so you'd better bloody access it - and don't forget to turn your speakers up!)

http://elfyourself.jibjab.com/view/7EvgB23IH4Oia7kuf2I3

MERRY CHRISTMAS ONE AND ALL!

PS Even Gordon

Barry's Office Christmas Lunch 2009

It was alright.

Christmas comes but once a year - thankfully

I've reached that time of the year when I genuinely fear there may be more alcohol flowing through my veins than actual blood.

I had a big works do on Friday which finished in the wee small hours. Then, this afternoon, I was at a drinks party. Tomorrow is my office Christmas lunch. And finally, on Wednesday, I have another drinks thing.

Well, I say "and finally." But we're off to Coleraine on Thursday - Christmas Eve - to begin five days and nights of guaranteed carnage. And then Wee John's due up almost immediately for his traditional New Year backdropped "long stay."

Changes in January, folks, big changes - if I'm still alive, that is.

Vanessa and I arrived arrived back safely from Manchester first thing this morning after an "interesting" Pet Shop Boys concert (where much more drink was taken).

I say interesting because it was good rather than great. As Vanessa pointed out, at times it was like a watching a recording of Top of the Pops. All the music was pre-programmed (unsurprisingly, to be fair) and a lot of the vocals were also clearly on tape. Plus, the not full crowd was a bit flat and the sound wasn't great.

But, having said all of this, it was still a privilege to see them. And, my word, were they camp.

Above, you can see the four stage dancers wearing their lovely cardboard boxes (which both band members also came on stage donning)

Later the four bouncing cardboard boxes became four gyrating buildings.

And, to finish with, four swaying Christmas trees.

So, you know, it wasn't dull. Hopefully tomorrow's office Christmas lunch won't be either (unlike last year's which was held in a "dry" restaurant. I'm still struggling to get over that).

Going West to see Neil Tennant and the other one

Assuming we get there in the current weather (and there's no guarantee on that), Vanessa and I are off to Manchester later for the the third and final leg of the Whites' Christmas Concert Triple-Header.

And hopefully we're saving the most spectacular till last, because it's the Pet Shop Boys.

I've only got two of their albums and one of those is their greatest hits CD. But they're one of those bands I've always wanted to see and, thankfully, Vanessa agreed to buy into the plan.

Indeed, rather than simply buy in, she decided to make it into something much more significant because tonight will be the first full night that both of us have spent away from Jamie. I've been away for a handful of nights over the last 18 months and so has Vanessa, but never together.

His Grandma Judy and Grandad Mike have the dubious honour of looking after him and it's obviously important that he's good if we're ever to get away again. Regular prayers are likely to be said.

But back to this hotel. Vanessa's got a well-deserved reputation for finding a good deal and she's managed to unearth a particularly bizarre one on this occasion. Basically, she got us into a rather plush establishment for the paltry sum of £20 (they'd run out of £10 rooms). But the catch is that you have to spend £75 in the restaurant, which doesn't open until 7pm and the support act is due on stage down the road at the MEN Arena only 30 minutes later.

We're not particularly worried about seeing the warm-up, only the main event. But we're still going to have to eat, drink and drink a bit more fairly swiftly if we're to make it on time. That said, I've faced many more unpleasant challenges than this down the years.

Now then, where's my pointy hat...

Snow funny

We've had a lot of snow round our way, thus providing the perfect opportunity to drag Jamie outside into the fresh air - and away from the telly.

But I made a schoolboy error before taking him into our garden: I forgot to turn the telly off.

Still, we'll know for next time.

Time for tears as a legend signs off

Unless you live on another planet (and I appreciate many of you do), today was the day when Sir Terry Wogan broadcast his final breakfast show on Radio 2. And, I have to admit it, I'm still in bits.

Like so many millions of others, I've listened to Terry on and off for most of my life. And, since he confirmed his intention to give up his morning show a few months ago, I've been tuning in pretty much permanently.

But this week has been very hard for his loyal fans - goodness knows how it felt for him. Each passing morning obviously brought the inevitable sign-off ever closer. And, when it came at shortly before 9.30am today, it would have melted the heart of the devil.

As Terry himself said in his closing remarks, many of his listeners' children have had children of their own during his 37 years on the air. I, for one, began listening to Terry whilst my mother spoon fed me my Weetabix in the early 1970s. It was therefore particularly poignant for me to be feeding my own son his Weetabix as Terry was playing one of his final tracks. And it really brought home what a major deal it was that the great man was actually moving on.

It's hardly original to say it, but Sir Terry Wogan is truly a legend, will always be a legend and millions and millions of people like me will be eternally grateful to him for his part in brightening up our lives.

If you didn't get a chance this morning to hear him say goodbye, you should really have a listen by clicking onto the link below. And even if you did catch it, you may not have seen the pictures.

But I warn you, tears may well result.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8420339.stm

Something you'll have to wait for

This is the time of the year when children across the world are waiting for Father Christmas to arrive (we're well into single figures in terms of sleeps left now kids).

Meanwhile, parents are waiting for lots of different things. Gifts ordered online for spouses but which haven't yet arrived. Many (meany) parents are simply waiting for the entire festive season to be over (boo you!) And Vanessa and I are waiting to catch our son's new party trick on camera.

Yes folks, Jamie can now do the actions to "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." Well, he could yesterday morning. And he could do it particularly impressively on Tuesday, both at nursery and at home before bedtime. So, last night, I thought I'd get the camera out and capture his routine for posterity.

But, save for a single point from him to indicate, "Up above the world so high," he wasn't for playing (have a look for yourself).

However, his mother and I will keep at the coaching (and the bribing) and hopefully we'll be able to get it on film and release it globally on DVD in time for Christmas. Or perhaps I'm just talking complete and utter rubbish and had nothing better to tell you or show you today.

Contrasting evenings

More "fun" on Bradford Road again last night.

Despite Laura at United Utilities (Tel: 07778 048008) telling us that Monday would be the sole day we would lose our gas, the company went ahead and turned if off again yesterday. It was eventually turned back on at 10.58pm and only because our heroic next door neighbour Barrington, Vanessa and I tore into them.

Vanessa challenged Laura who responded by lying again, Barrington then kicked her on the ground and I played a minor supporting role by arguing with some other patronising, slippery United Utilities bint who is certainly in the right job with the right company - and that is not meant as a compliment to either. B*stards. But, anyway, we're back on for now at least.

The really "good" news is that, once the gas people have finally filled in the holes in our increasingly infamous road, Leeds City Council are sending their boys round on 4 January to spend three weeks digging it up again. Is Jeremy Beadle definitely dead?

Thankfully Monday evening and the Pogues concert was a much more pleasant way to build up to Christmas. They really were excellent, probably the best I've ever seen them. Shane had three pints of Martini on the go at one point (before the accordion player did a flying leap straight into them) and finished up by downing a bottle of wine. But despite this, he still appeared remarkably sober (these things are relative, you understand) and the gig was all the better for it.

My mate John also seemed to have a good time and cut some incredible shapes into the floor of the Leeds Academy with his dancing, leaving a series of permanent and appropriate reminders of an excellent night.

You've GOT to see this...

A fine night at The Pogues last night - more on that next time.

But first, today, I've got to get through a full meeting of Bradford Council.

Let's hope there's a touch more Christmas cheer in the City Hall chamber than there was at the recent budget debate in the Irish Parliament.

As a result of his outburst, Green Party TD (same as an MP, only Irish) Paul Gogarty is my new political hero - bar none.

Do yourself a favour by switching on your speakers and clicking the link below to see why (and you might also wish to make sure there are no children in the room).

Trust me, it's priceless.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8TRXJ0SHm4

Ready to be dazzled by Shane's new sparklers

It's part two of the Whites' Christmas Concert Triple-Header tonight as, minus Mrs White (my good friend John McIlroy is coming with me), I head off to see The Pogues play in Leeds.

This will be about the tenth time I've seen the band live since 1990 when I saw them during my freshers' week in Newcastle.

In that period, they've kicked out their legendary front man Shane MacGowan for drinking too much (it's like turfing out the Pope for praying), replaced him with the now late Joe Strummer and then brought him back (Shane, not Joe - they're musicians, not doctors. Or mediums).

And a very good thing too. To my mind, The Pogues without Shane MacGowan is like an ice cream cone without any ice cream. A bit pointless, really.

And there's been another major development in Pogueland in recent times; Shane has bought some new teeth.

Aside from his drinking, his dodgy teeth were obviously what Shane MacGowan was best known for. But even he must've got fed up with the predictable jokes and got them upgraded. He's still no George Michael, though, you have to say.

Should be another good night.

A quiet night in

Another weekend, another game of pass the parcel (which wasn't fixed in Jamie's favour this time, so he didn't win).

With the Whites heading to Norn Iron for Christmas, we had a pre-holiday period get together with most of Vanessa's immediate family (and mine too for that matter, given we're married).

Jamie's cousin Jack scared the bejesus out of him using face paint.

His cousin Holly tried to do the same by posing as a donkey. But sadly donkeys aren't scary.

Cousin Oliver ate dinner with him.

And Cousin Alexander simply charmed him.

On the downside, his father almost did him an injury by, after changing his nappy, mistakenly putting both legs into one half of his trousers - and not realising for almost a minute.

And his mother embarrassed not only him, but everyone present, by hosting the gig dressed as a cleaner.

Not sure what we're up to next weekend.

A Christmas compromise

A rather weary Jamie emerged from his pit this morning to find something incredibly exciting sitting proudly in our front room: the 2009 White Family Christmas Tree.

Yes, Mummy's sh*t "tree" from the pound shop has been replaced by a much more impressive and three times more expensive specimen from Asda.

And whilst, at three feet, it might not be anywhere near as big as Daddy would like, he has been forced to accept that compromise is the name of the game this Christmas if Jamie isn't to wreck everything. (The desk top nature of the tree is crucial in this aspect).

So the question now is, how long will the new tree last.

Mummy's guess? "It'll be fine, we'll just have to watch him - we're not getting another one."

Daddy's guess? "Not long - perhaps we'd better get another couple in, just to have."

Christmas Time will tell.

John Kettleeeeeeey.....(Is A Weatherman)

Yesterday, I had an unexpected and, I have to say, surreal blast of sunshine into my otherwise overcast Thursday morning.

I received a Christmas card from John Kettley (Is A Weatherman).

I had the privilege of sitting beside the great man at a cricket lunch at Headingley last year. And he was excellent company.

We talked about cricket (as one tends to do at cricket lunches), football (he's a die hard Burnley fan) and that famous hit single by A Tribe Of Toffs which, if you've never heard it and haven't noticed the visual clue above, is called John Kettley (Is a Weatherman). In fact, you can even watch the video if you want: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Db6WHtNV5-I&feature=related

John - he let me address him as that, rather than his full title of John Kettley (Is A Weatherman) - was excellent company, let me into one or two of his trades secrets (such as the fact that he often looks out the window and checks the sky before doing a live weather report) and then swapped business cards with me.

And I remember feeling a little embarrassed about swapping cards because, well, why would he possibly want to get back in contact with me?

To be fair, the final comment on his Christmas card may have given the game away i.e. he has a new book out and clearly wants me to buy it (as I might well do).

But surely he can't have written to that many people to ask them to buy his book. I mean, at what point does the potential increase in profits become outweighed by the cost of cards, stamps and ink?

However, whatever his reasons for sending it, the card made my morning.

Merry Christmas John Kettley (Is A Weatherman)!

Stuart Andrew: Robocouncillor

Ladies and gentlemen, please meet Cllr Stuart Andrew, the next Conservative Member of Parliament for Pudsey (if I have anything to do with it).

If you read my post first thing this morning, you will know that the Whites and our neighbours were about to spend the next four days and three nights without gas and, therefore, proper cooking facilities, central heating and hot water. And neither I nor any of my fellow Bradford Road residents (especially Barrington at No. 33) were very happy about it.

But then we got Stuart involved.

I've known Stuart for three and half years after he came along to personally assist my own ill-fated efforts to become a Pudsey councillor in May 2006.

Stuart's one of life's good chaps. He works hard, he's bright and wants to help people solve their problems - such as those faced by us lot preparing for the production of A Nightmare on Bradford Road.

And as of mid-afternoon today, that was what we were still facing.

But then Stuart called the lovely Laura at United Utilities (Tel: 07778 048008).

Following their conversation, I received a text from him. Laura claimed that she had always said it was going to be Monday before our gas was switched back on (a lie because she originally said Sunday) and that no-one had complained to her about the situation (another lie because both Barrington and Vanessa did so). So I pointed this out to Stuart who got immediately back on the case.

My phone beeped again. It was Stuart to report that the contractors now intended to work on Sunday rather than have it off on holiday and that the site manager would be calling him tomorrow.

But that wasn't enough for our hero who was having a blinder. So much so that, with the wind now blowing in his sails, he decided to lace the gloves back on and return to the ring.

A few minutes later, my phone beeped again. Another text from Stuart:

"Just missed call - message says works not happening this weekend now due to 'site problems.'"

('Site problems' - aye, right).

"Have rung back and left message to call me."

And ten minutes after that, yet another text from Stuart:

"Cutting off Monday am, back on Tuesday pm."

So, instead of an entire long weekend of four days and three nights with no gas, we are now to be inconvenienced for little more than 24 hours - and we'll be at work for much of that time anyway.

I call that a massive result - and a massive result that would simply not have been achieved without the intervention of Robocouncillor (my term, but he's very welcome to use it).

I work in politics but, in the wake of the expenses scandal, I've become just as disillusioned with politicians as everyone else.

But Stuart's actions have graphically underlined that there are people out there - in all parties - who enter politics for the right reason i.e. they want to make a positive difference to people's lives. And, crucially, are prepared to get stuck in when malevolent forces (such as gas firms and cowboy contractors) try to throw their weight around and trample over others (like the residents of Bradford Road).

Stuart has long had my full moral support for his campaign to become the new Pudsey MP at the coming General Election.

But after what he's done for my neighbours, Vanessa, Jamie and I today, I'll have to have a think about what else I can do to help him out between now and Thursday 6 May 2010.

If you do live in Pudsey, I would ask that you put a large cross beside his name when you get that chance. We'd be very lucky to have him.

And if you don't live in Pudsey, just send him cash! http://stuartandrew.com/donate.php

Here we go again

Jamie began today by doing a Morris dance using two (clean) nappies. His 50% English heritage is really beginning to worry me. (Thankfully, his Christmas visit to Northern Ireland is getting closer by the day and, hopefully, we can get him straightened out then).

Talking of days, we were told last night that we are about to be without gas for four of them - beginning tomorrow. So this means no gas cooker, no central heating and no hot water. Excellent.

The picture above is the current view from outside our front door. We were informed some time ago that the latest bunch of cowboys to park their horses on our road would have to turn off our gas supply for a brief period to replace the mains pipe. Not good, but these things happen (to us).

We then received another letter yesterday to say that any time the gas was turned off, it was "always" turned back on again within 24 hours. But then customer services bint Laura got in touch.

She first explained to Vanessa that, because we lived on a main road, the "always" part of the letter didn't apply to us. (I've "always" thought that the word "always" was as categoric as you could get. But it appears I've "always" been wrong - thanks for putting me right Laura).

She then said that our gas would be turned off after lunch tomorrow and would not come back on until some point on Sunday. Again, we weren't happy but, over recent months, we've got kind of used to being treated like animals.

But, on the way home last night, I called in to see my large-forearmed and top man neighbour Barrington to see what he made of the whole affair. And Barrington had a very interesting new piece of information. Laura had spoken to him to say that our mains supply would not now be turned back on until Monday afternoon, rather than Sunday. And why, pray tell?

Because the contractors had decided to take Sunday off.

Vanessa's due to speak to Laura again around about now to ask why she lied to her yesterday. Meanwhile, I have placed the matter in the hands of local councillor and Conservative Parliamentary Candidate for Pudsey Stuart Andrew who, I know, will do what he can for us. But it promises to be a really "fun" weekend. (I've decided to employ Laura's rules on the use of the English language - i.e. if "always" doesn't always mean "always," then "fun" doesn't "always" mean "fun." If you're confused by that, then feel free to give Laura a call on 07778 048008 and I'm sure she'll be very happy to offer an explanation).

By the way, I've just seen the weather forecast and it's due to freeze in Yorkshire on Saturday night/Sunday morning. But at least the contractors (and Laura) will be nice and warm.

Elation and deflation

Unsurprisingly, Madness were terrific last night.

Lead singer Suggs, resplendent in a pink suit, belted his way through all the classics in front of an aging but crazed 2,000-strong Leeds audience. Indeed, so vocal were the crowd that he ended the evening by apologising for the fact that the band hadn't played in the city for 30 years.

To be fair, he and his fellow Nutty Boys had been left scarred by what had happened after the last gig at Tiffany's nightclub in 1979 - the good folk of Leeds had smashed all the windows of the Madness minibus. Still, everyone has now hopefully moved on.

My feelings of elation were tempered ever so slightly by the sight of a deflation when I went to collect Jamie from nursery. For yes, folks, with 16 days still to go before Christmas Day, our son managed to bring Yuletide shame upon our family. He burst Santa.

Apparently he had been kissing the blow-up Father Christmas, got a little bit carried away and, when I walked into get him shortly before 6pm, the two nice nursery ladies were creased up on the floor as Santa slowly sunk to the floor - I had only missed the incident by a few seconds.

I've just dropped Jamie off again and one of the girls said she'd brought a puncture repair kit in to attempt a repair job. But you can easily guess what I'll be trying to find when I hit the shops at lunchtime today.

All set for a Nutty night

We've just had our green bin emptied for the first time since August. Who needs Sting when we've got those hard-working Leeds refuse collectors to ensure we're doing our bit to save the planet?

On other matters, tonight marks the start of the Whites' Christmas Concert Triple-Header. (I made that up whilst brushing my teeth a few minutes ago. I hope you like it).

Next Monday, I'm off to see The Pogues with my friend John McIlroy (Vanessa's been excused this year and is very pleased about it). And the following Sunday, she and me are heading to Manchester for a shifty at the Pet Shop Boys - I've always wanted to see them.

But tonight its Madness at the O2 Academy in Leeds.

We've been fortunate enough to see Suggs and his fellow nutsters a couple of times before. The first occasion was six or seven years ago in the very grandiose setting of the Royal Albert Hall. But, sadly, it wasn't very good. It was a one-off gig for the Teenage Cancer Trust, the band clearly hadn't played together for ages, and it showed.

However, the second concert was a much more jolly affair. It was about three years ago and they played Dalby Forest in North Yorkshire one grey, rainy, August Friday night. And it was magnificent. It was one of those gigs where the band comes out, they're clearly in the mood and you just know it's going to be great - and it proved to be just that. Indeed, it was so good that I even did a bit of a pogo dancing. As a dyed-in-the-wool Ulsterman, I never, ever dance. But, for as brief few seconds, I lost my composure and gave it a go - before stopping for health and safety reasons. (With all those trees around, I could have easily started a fire).

Hopefully tonight will be just as dramatic.

A win is a win

I had the chance to exorcise a ghost from birthdays past yesterday, albeit through my son.

We were at Jamie's beautiful little cousin Holly's sixth birthday party (that's her ladyship above), and had a very nice time.

Towards the end of the afternoon, the moment came to play pass the parcel. Cue my painful memory.

I was a similar age to Holly and, like her, it was my own party I was attending. We were also playing pass the parcel, in my case, under the guidance of my sisters. And, to cut a long story short, I was fortunate enough (or so I thought) to get to take the last piece of wrapping paper off the prize which, I remember very clearly, was a Mars bar. However, one of my sisters swiftly ruled that, as the birthday boy, I was ineligible to win - and made me hand my booty to wee Sammy Connor sitting beside me. I ran off downstairs in tears and, in truth, part of me has been crying ever since.

So back to yesterday. I've never seen Jamie play pass the parcel before. And, if he has played it before, he'd clearly forgotten the rules as he began by looking a bit on the destitute side.

Eventually, the parcel came his way - thereby raising his interest levels - before being quickly nipped back off him and passed to his right by his mum. He was cool with that.

Truncating this story too (I'll bet you wish I did this more often), it went round five or six times, all kiddies present had the chance to take off one sheet of paper and win some chocolate, before it came to the final round featuring some very exciting blue wrapping paper.

And, yes, you've guessed the rest. The prize - a Thomas The Tank Engine - was Jamie's.

Given that the other two male participants were already proud owners of a Thomas the Tank Engine and Holly didn't want one, you might think that the outcome of this particular game of pass the parcel had been fixed.

But no more so than that fateful afternoon more than 30 years ago when wee Sammy Connor nicked my Mars bar.

So, on behalf of my son, I'm both relaxed and very, very happy with the result.

A fast route to sporting stardom?

I've said several times before that I'd like Jamie to try as many different sports as he can when he's older before, hopefully, finding one he particularly enjoys and sticks at.

And we found a new possibility this morning, although I'm not sure how practical it is for him to excel at it here in Yorkshire.

Bobsleighing.

It was my turn to get up early, give him his breakfast and let him watch a bit of telly. But there only are so many episodes of Peppa Pig, Numberjacks and Chuggington a 37-year-old man can take in one sitting before going mad. So I had a flick around to see if I could find something else which might hold his attention - and make me less bored. And the first round of the World Cup bobsleighing on Eurosport 2 provided the key to the lock.

We did the "GO! GO! GO(es)!" together as each team began their run down the hill, and then the "YEA(s)!" as they crossed the line.

Whilst the Germans and the Swiss and Russians drove their sleds like slick Ferraris, the two British crews - somewhat predictably - drove theirs like clapped-out Morris Minors and came nowhere.

However, I did notice that one of the GB "pushers" (I'm sure there's a more technical term than that) came from down the road in Sheffield, so maybe Jamie could take his place in the years ahead. Or maybe not.

PS One of the good German drivers appeared to called Chris Shit, which was quite fun - and a touch ironic.

Why I (still) hate ticket touts

My diatribe against ticket touts last month led someone to accuse me of only being annoyed because I'd missed out on the chance to see to Peter Kay. And, clearly, that did have something to do with it.

However, yesterday, after securing tickets to one of Peter Kay's Sheffield shows, I was approached and offered tickets to the very same gig - at inflated prices.

The individual concerned wasn't a fan of Peter Kay, had no intention of going themselves and had purchased tickets with the sole intention of stealing my or someone else's money.

Because that is what it is - thieving.

Ironically, I read a newspaper article this morning in which the boss of one of these so-called "secondary ticket" websites tried to defend his dirty, low down practices.

To quote him: "Are there people who still say we are a medium for touts? Of course there are."

Yes, I'm one of them and that's because it's true.

He continues: "It's about what consumers want or don't want."

No it's not - it's about you and people who sell tickets on your site stealing other people's money. You ****.

To illustrate, tickets for the Ashes cricket this summer, with a face value of between £60 and £90, were sold on this cowboy's site for between £129.99 and £324.99. Why should they be allowed to do that?

The England and Wales Cricket Board has long argued that such practices should be outlawed, and quite right too.

But the tout site I'm speaking of regularly advertises its "services" at Premier League football grounds around the country and even works in partnership with some of the clubs. So why do these clubs allow these parasites to steal money from their own loyal fans? I just don't get it.

According to the article (and don't worry, I'm almost finished), Labour Ministers are about to conclude a consultation on ways to combat ticket touts. But the piece adds: "The Government's conclusions are expected in the coming weeks but are unlikely to include proposals for any changes to the law."

Why the **** not?!!

I do hope the Tories, if they get in, take their responsibilities to protect British citizens from common theft a little more seriously.

Is this the way to...er...Sheffield?

Despite my bitter ramblings on the subject a couple of weeks ago after not getting tickets for one of his Manchester shows, my enthusiasm for Peter Kay has been fully restored:

I'VE JUST BOUGHT TICKETS TO SEE HIM IN SHEFFIELD!!!!

Sometimes I can be so fickle.

Vanessa cancels Christmas

I'm something of a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas. And, for me, having a decent Christmas tree in your house is an absolute must.

I don't think I'm particularly outlandish in holding this view. Indeed, I would imagine that you too, dear reader, might be planning to stick something green and sparkly up in your front room between now and the arrival of the big guy with the beard on Christmas Eve.

However, this year, we have a problem in our house. Because Vanessa thinks the "tree" (above) is sufficient to see us through the coming festive season. But, I mean, look at it.

Actually, look at it from a slightly more distant angle.

Seriously - that's not a Christmas tree. It's, well, shit.

To be fair, there is some method in Mrs W's ever-growing madness. Her fear is that, if we put up our big tree as normal, Jamie will simply pull it down each and every time he gets the chance. And, I have to concede, this is a legitimate point to make. But, if we do have to have a smaller tree this year, surely we can get one that doesn't require a search party to find it.

So I've dug my heels in. And I've committed to finding us a sensibly-sized, practical but visible tree. A tree that, when we walk into our living room, will quickly remind us that it is, in fact, Christmas - and we're supposed to be having fun.

I'll keep you informed.

Jamie "Air" White

Since the retirement of Michael Jordan (left) in April 2003, basketball has been waiting for the arrival of a new global superstar.

But I think I may have found him - and he lives in Pudsey.

In recent days, Jamie has taken to practising his hook shots, alley-oops and slam dunks from the comfort of his bathroom. Well, bath.

Still a bit too small to make a full-size basketball go any real distance in the rarefied Yorkshire atmosphere, he's been using bath toys.

And rather than have a hoop as his target, he's been using something other people place their hoops on: the toilet.

I am delighted to report that, on Monday evening, he scored his first three-point shot with a rubber duck (circled in red).

And, like any sporting icon in waiting, he already knows how to celebrate. (I hope you like my fig leaf).

Sadly, he is still going to be just a little too young to make the British basketball team for the 2012 London Olympics (I think you have to be at least five). But after that, who knows?

The future certainly looks bright for Jamie "Air" White.

Senior moment

Earlier today, I was forwarded the text of what is apparently a genuine letter sent to the principal of Lions Bay School in Vancouver after the school had sponsored a lunch for senior citizens.

A lady at the event was given a new radio as a prize and, afterwards, decided to write to say thank you.

I hope you laugh as much as I did when I read it.

**********

Dear Lions Bay School

God bless you for the beautiful radio I won at your recent Senior Citizens luncheon.

I am 84 years old and live at the West Vancouver Home for the Aged. All of my family has passed away. I am all alone and I want to thank you for the kindness shown to a forgotten old lady.

My roommate is 95 and has always had her own radio; but before I received one, she would never let me listen to hers, even when she was napping.

The other day her radio fell off the nightstand and broke into a lot of pieces. It was awful and she was in tears.

She asked if she could listen to mine, and I told her to fuck off.

Thank you for that opportunity.

Sincerely,

Edna

The Advent of December

Still recovering from his latest little joust with illness, Jamie didn't eat much breakfast this morning. But - surprise, surprise - he did manage to scoff the first chocolate from his Advent calendar.

I first showed him the calendar a couple of weeks ago and he was clearly excited by the sight of Peppa Pig and George on the front. So much so that he through it all around the room.

But that level of hysteria was nothing when compared to this morning's feelings of simple satisfaction once he realised that chocolate was also involved.

I had to help him find the right door and get through the foil.

But then the inbuilt chocoholic instinct, which comes with being a White, simply took over.

And, to be fair to him, he didn't complain too much when he realised he wasn't getting to open any more doors today - even giving me the baby equivalent of a thumbs up.

Only 23 more barriers to break through between now and Christmas Eve.