Methinks someone's milking it

I noticed these milk bottles almost literally piled up outside our back door earlier tonight.

So I mentioned it to Vanessa (it's occasionally good to talk when you're married).

"Oh, " she said,  "we've got a relief milkman on this week. The normal milkman is away on holiday."

Ignoring why it was that she knew this particular fact, one other question did spring to mind.

Does our relief milkman not know what an empty f***ing milk bottle looks like?

Steaming

The good news is that I've now finished the wallpaper stripping. 

The bad news is that I haven't.  In fact, I'm only half way through.

To explain, the plan was to strip only the wallpaper above the dado rail, and then pause for a couple weeks (until my next "holiday") whilst a collective decision was reached on whether to wallpaper or paint the section below. The revised plan -  as of an hour ago - is to strip it all.  Apparently it will "save [me] time in the long run."  Lucky me.  I couldn't be happier.

Just four more solid days of decorating left then until I go back to work. 

At least someone is getting some benefit from my extended efforts with the wallpaper steamer. 

Yes, Charlotte has a cold.

I'm having a riot

My DIY week isn't going as well as I'd hoped.

Or, to put it another way, it's going just as badly as I'd feared.

To summarise, I had a little too much whiskey on Friday evening, effectively wiping Saturday from the calendar. 

Then, on Sunday, after fixing one of the two leaky taps, my cack-handed efforts made the other considerably worse.  Decorating was yet to get underway.

On Monday, I managed to find a reasonably priced plumber and booked him in to fix the terminally ill tap.  However, whilst waiting for him, I managed to break the toilet handle  - and he ended up with two jobs (and me two bills) instead of one. Excellent.

Also yesterday, during which no decorating was done, Vanessa blew a fuse in our old-style fuse box (which I didn't previously realise we'd been lumbered with) leaving us with no lights in two rooms until teatime tonight after I'd worked out how to fix it and got my unskilled hands on a replacement fuse. 

Also tonight, the "repaired" tap broke again and I've had to ask the plumber to come back again tomorrow.

But on the upside, decorating did get underway shortly before lunchtime today.  Kind of.  Although you may note that "some" wallpaper stripping remains to be completed. And then I need to buy some paint. And then I need to slap it on the ceiling and on the walls. And then I need to slap it on the ceiling and on the walls again.

I love being on holiday.

NOT gone on holiday

I'll be on a week's leave in a few hours from now but, sadly, I won't be on holiday.  

We Whites aren't having a summer sojourn this year, principally because Charlotte is too wee to make it particularly feasible. 

But also because we have pink walls in our living room and, despite giving them more than a month, it appears they have no intention of repainting themselves. 

In addition to this gargantuan task, I also have four bathroom taps to de-leak (no idea how to do that), two hedges to shear with my new toy (no idea how to do that straight), two wall sockets to make safe (no idea how to do that without killing myself)  and two bikes to make roadworthy (can't be arsed to do that). 

And that's only my list for tomorrow. 

There again, Ireland are playing rugby tomorrow (BBC2, kick-off 2.15pm).

And Sunday is obviously a traditional day of rest for anyone from Northern Ireland.

So, Monday perhaps?

It'll have to be because the cricket starts on Wednesday.

"Blind" man's guff

It was an appalling moment, almost up there with the sand-throwing incident of early last year.

I was gathering Jamie and his bag up to take him to nursery yesterday morning when he decided he would close his eyes.  What a great trick.

So, ignoring it, I hoisted him and said bag on to my shoulders for the journey to Busy Bees.

A minute or two along the footpath, he called down from his lofty perch to advise that he was playing a new game of closing one eye at the same time as he opened the other.

"That's clever!" he announced.  And there was little doubt that it was.  Perhaps even the work of a genius. 

Eventually, we made it to nursery, where I plonked him down, hung his coat on his peg and led him to the Sunflower Room.

However, as we were about to go through the door, I noticed he had both eyes closed once again. 

"Come on Jamie," I muttered, "time for breakfast."

"I can't see!" he announced.

"Don't be silly," I said, as other people started to appear and self-consciousness began to set in.  "Come and get some breakfast."

"I CAN'T SEE!" he boomed, much louder this time, prompting one of the nice nursery ladies to come over to assist.

"Let me help you to your chair, Jamie," she said.

"OK," said White Jnr, eyes still firmly shut.  "I can't see."

"He can see," I whimpered pathetically, "don't be silly Jamie."

"I can't see," he repeated calmly, now with a hint of smirk beginning to appear.

"Don't worry Mr White," said nice nursery lady. "Say goodbye to Daddy, Jamie."

And, eyes fully scrunched up, he offered a kind of half wave, half salute, as his bottom was guided into his seat.

I shuffled off, mortified.

Sometimes I actually hate my son.

Toy Story 3 (lampshades)

Jamie has developed a Toy Story fetish, resulting in his new bedroom being turned into something resembling a shrine to the trilogy. 

However, one thing he lacked was a Toy Story 3 lampshade.  So I ordered him one online. 

And when "it" arrived on Monday, I was in for a shock.

Because "it" had become "them."

All three of them.

I'm glad I didn't order him a dwarf.

Heaven knows she's miserable now

Last night, I watched in fascination as Charlotte went over to the CD rack and carefully selected two discs before rolling off.

And here is what she chose, genuinely.

That's right, they're both by Morrissey.

She wasn't smiling once I'd put them on.   

The hole story

The weekend just gone brought yet more evidence - not that it was needed - of why my DIY should be done by anyone other than myself.

I got off to a reasonable (if drawn out) start on Saturday when I spent almost six hours staining a bench, three chairs and a table for use in our garden.  And even I was pleased with the results (once I'd gone back to paint the table leg I'd missed first time around).

Then, yesterday, it was time to get the drill out - an act that fills those who know me with almost as much trepidation as it does me.

Amazingly enough, the first and supposedly more challenging task of mounting a flat screen TV on our kitchen wall went well.  I still can't believe it even now, and Jamie remains convinced it will fall down at any moment. 

But my run of good fortune inevitably ran out.  

My final mission was "simply" to drill two holes in the wall, insert plugs and two screws.  And, hey presto, we'll have our own coat rack thingy.

Sadly I made one of the holes too big.  It was therefore off to Morrison's for some Polyfilla, which I promptly shoved in the wall, waited for four hours, got the drill back out - and made the problem worse.    

Maybe it will be a case of third time lucky when I get home tonight, but I doubt it.

The Cookie Monster

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Naz.

Naz and I work together.

And Naz is one of life's good guys.

He also likes biscuits. Lots and lots of biscuits.

So yesterday, when the local bakery offered me the chance to buy a tonne of "reject" (i.e. they'd been sprayed with dark as opposed to milk chocolate) biscuits for £2.99, I didn't need a second invitation.

Neither did Naz.

There are none left.

Hasta la vista, birdie(s)

To the flying dump truck or dump trucks that did this to our car, be warned.

You will NOT be going to birdie heaven.

And, for your sake, I hope you don't meet me before you go to birdie hell.

Guiseley: Playground of the famous

I went for a run last night, during which I thought I spotted a famous face sitting outside The Wool Pack pub in Esholt (yes, the actual one that used to be in Emmerdale). 

So I stopped dead in my tracks - not a difficult feat given the slow pace I was travelling at - to stare manically at my subject. He looked back blankly.

The mystery man I refer to may or may not have been Ian "Hutchy" Hutchinson, the Isle of Man TT motorbike legend who won all five races at last year's event. (You have heard of him. Come on, think).

He was wearing Yamaha leathers and, given I know for certain that he does live in Guiseley, it might well have been him.  Or it might not.  Next time I may go up and ask.

Anyway, my possible (or not) brush with stardom sent me off wondering if Hutchy is in fact Guiseley's most famous resident.  So I checked on Wikipedia.

And it appears there are three - yes THREE - others vying for that title. 

First is former Yorkshire and England cricket captain and all-round hardman Brian Close.  (Trust me, he's dead famous.  Even in India).

Second is ex-Great Britain rugby league coach Brian Noble.  (He's incredibly well-known. Really).  

And third but by no means least is...get this...it's only TASMIN ARCHER! Pretty bloody impressive, eh? Her sole hit, "Sleeping Satellite," remains a classic and can still be accessed in literally tens of jukeboxes across the globe.  

Honestly, we might as well be living in Monaco.       

A date with destiny

Unless you live somewhere other than Planet Earth (or maybe Lisburn),  you'll probably be aware that the London Olympic Games get underway exactly a year from today.  And I can't wait. 

I mentioned here a few weeks ago that I had managed to secure tickets for a big event, but I wasn't sure what it was.

I have since been informed it is for a session of the rowing finals.  But here's the thing. 

The highlight of the morning in question will be Coleraine's Alan Campbell (hopefully) going for gold in the men's single sculls final. 

Here's what the BBC website said about him and it yesterday:

Campbell is hoping it will be a case of third time lucky.

He previously competed at the Olympics in Sydney in 2004 in the quadruple sculls, finishing twelfth.

He then went solo for gold at the 2008 Beijing Games.

He competed in the mens' 2,000m individual scull in China and was leading the field in the final for the first half of the race, only to be overhauled by the field and finish in fifth place.

It was a remarkable performance because he had picked up a virus the summer prior to the games and, after knee surgery, had been on crutches just a matter of weeks before competing.

He is determined to get it right in London next year. "It's looming on the horizon very quickly and when I think back to Beijing, it wasn't that long ago," he said.

"Everything we are doing now is in preparation and I'd give up any number of World Cup wins and this year's world championships just to make sure I could get on the start-line at London 2012.

"It is the absolute pinnacle - there is nothing close to it at all. I'll make every effort to make sure I go the quickest I can on 3 August next year - and that is pretty much my last thought when I go to sleep and the first when I wake up."

And you wonder why I'm excited?!

The clue is in the glass

Stepdad-in-law-cum-ace-tent-putter-upper Mike might think he's being clever by sending me a pic from last weekend as evidence that I did in fact "enjoy" the camping experience.

But I would simply set him this challenge.

Trying finding a photo of me not smiling when I've got a pint in my hand.

Because I think he'll struggle.   

Pointing out the not very obvious

Jamie and Charlotte had their first bath together last night.

And whilst he thought she would be fascinated by his Paddy Quacker, she decided there was something else in the water to which attention should be drawn.

That soon knocked the smile off his face.

A sign of the times

Just when you thought you'd seen it all, Vanessa's mum Judy spotted this notice at a Lake District camp site.

Words fail me, so I'll use no more.

There's no place like home

Another annual camping weekend been and gone, and only 51 weeks and 6 days are left until the next one.  Seems a bit close for me.

To be fair, the kids loved it.  And even slept the night.

And, with sleeping done, Jamie couldn't wait to get back out there to do...something.

Sadly, it involved going to a North Yorkshire beach...

...which isn't quite in the same league as a Causeway Coast beach.

His displeasure made me proud. 

Very soon afterwards, it was time for home. 

He was wrecked...

...but Charlotte wasn't.

A fun couple of days, all said and done.

Most memorable moment?  For all the wrong reasons.  When Dagenham Dave got his big pole out.

Tired and predictable?  Absolutely.

But that's why we (pretend not to) love him.

It's that ******* time again

A week is a long time in politics, as the last seven days have obviously proven.

But in camping terms, a year is a very short time indeed.

Yes friends, it's time for the annual "get pi**ed on in North Yorkshire weekend."  My enthusiasm is well documented.

Still, as they say, it's for the kids.

I'll be back on Sunday.

Whether Jamie, Charlotte and Vanessa are with me is a matter for them.

How will I ever get fit?

I was touched tonight (although thankfully not illegally). 

Regular readers (i.e. my mum, so just one then) will know that I took a tumble a week and a half ago whilst out training for the Great North Run. 

And, when I got back, cut to shreds and with at least one rib broken, I told Jamie all about it.

All was, I thought, forgotten until I laced my trainers up this evening in preparation for my comeback trot.

"Daddy, are you going to run very fast?" asked White Jnr.

"I'll be trying my best," I replied, "but I never run very fast - so no."

"Daddy, you should walk and not run very fast,"  said Jamie.  "Because then you'll not fall over and hurt yourself."

My first reaction was to feel touched and proud of my little boy.

My second was to think that he'd been telling his nursery pals his dad's a wimp. 

I'm not sure which instinct was correct, but I've decided to stick solely with conclusion one.   

NB: Should you wish to sponsor me (and Wee John) for the Great North Run, I'd heartily encourage you to do so. You can find out why we're doing it and how you can cough up by clicking here.    

Taking curtains to a new dimension



Jamie adored his new Toy Story curtains, lovingly made for him by his granny back in Portstewart (for all you golf fans out there, it's just a three wood and a seven iron from Portrush). 

So much so that he then demanded to see them in 3D.

Such a modern child.

Lies, lies and more lies

Jamie did his little person bit for charity today by taking part in his play group's end-of-term sponsored "Run and Sing."

And he and his teeny pals did exactly what it said on the, er, sponsor sheet. 

First they were tasked with running around the bandstand ten times.  Which - dressed in his navy windcheater - Jamie did eventually manage. 

At least his first lap went well.

And then everyone sang in celebration at their individual achievements.  

Our boy raised a total of £10 for the two designated charities - a pound for every lap completed.

As I say, eventually. 

Just when you thought you'd seen it all

We do live in incredibly bizarre times. 

Everyone in our once great country appears to have had their phone hacked.

We may have no police officers and no newspapers by the end of the week.

Northern Ireland is the new global capital of golf.

And then, tonight, I looked out my front window - and saw two horses moseying past our front garden.

Tomorrow, I predict the arrival of aliens, probably in Wales.

Do It Yourself? I think not

You join me as I sit in front of the telly cheering on Darren Clarke in his quest to continue Northern Ireland's global domination of golf.  I've nothing left to cross.

But don't be fooled by my sittingdownness.  

The good thing about moving house is that you get a new house. 

The bad thing is that you have to do things when you get there.

Yesterday, stepdad-in-law Mike and I installed a loft ladder. 

OK, not quite true. 

Stepdad-in-law Mike installed a loft ladder.

I held his big hammer. 

But I was on my feet throughout.

I just never stop these days.   

She must have waxed

"It looks as if it was put in by an Indian," were the characteristically non-PC words of the Duke of Edinburgh in 1999 after inspecting a fuse box he wasn't hugely impressed by.

And the train sink and soap tray in our shower room were either put in by a woman or commissioned by one. 

I mean, how the hell are you supposed to wash or shave in that?

Wearing wellies, that's how.

You can take the girl(s) out of Yorkshire...

I wouldn't say that Charlotte is feeling bitter towards her mummy as a result of harsh treatment received in recent nights.

But the signs are there.

They look so normal

Night two of ferberization (look it up), and let's just say it didn't go as well as night one.

After taking an eternity to go to sleep in the first place, Charlotte woke up at 1.30am.  And, save for a couple of mini-lulls, that was about it. 

As a result, I think the foundations of our house have moved at least three feet.

We (including Charlotte) all did get to sleep for a few minutes at around 4.30 - before a neighbour's fire alarm woke us all again. You really couldn't make it up.

At least Jamie did provide a bit of light relief.  It was goodness knows what time and Vanessa, for the umpteenth time, was going in to gently suggest to our daughter to shut the **** up.

But, as she walked through our door, she found Jamie standing blank-faced on the landing.  So Vanessa stared back blank/knackered-faced.

Jamie looked her up and down and, in hushed tones, uttered: "Rabbits," before hopping back to his pit. 

I can't remember my life being so bizarre than at the present time.