A touching (cloth) story



Jamie is going through a stage of taking immense pride in his poos and even comparing them with living things.

Recent exhibits have included a "snake," a "crocodile" and, after one particularly large Sunday dinner, a "Tyrannosaurus Rex."

But last night he outdid himself after producing two stand alone specimens, one significantly bigger than the other.

After the obligatory thorough wipe, Jamie jumped off the toilet and excitedly gazed down at his work.

"Look Mummy!" he shrilled. "It's me and you!"

It takes a brave male to tell a female she looks like sh*t.

Never in doubt

The sight you can see above did not fill me with confidence, if truth be told. 

It was Wee John's bag the night before our Great North Run adventure, and that really is 200 Marlboro Lights taking up most of the space.  

My optimism was even more diminished after I woke up at 5 o'clock the following morning and realised we'd drunk four pints of Guinness and a bottle of wine each as a means of tackling our pre-race nerves. 

And I'm not joking.  

But, you know, it's the result that counts, and we were both very pleased with that.  

I finished the 13.1 mile course in a time of 1 hour 51 minutes and 14 seconds with Wee John not far behind  in 2 hours 2 minutes and 10 seconds (his teeny, tiny legs having had to run many more steps than my longer equivalents). 

Most importantly, our running total (pardon the pun) has now worked its way up to £1,791 with more still promised. 

And if you haven't yet donated, you now have an added reason to do so.  Let me explain. 

Early last week, our total was standing at just over £500 and we were a bit down.  So I had an idea; we would keep the fundraising link open and also run the Bradford Half Marathon on 2 October!

I phoned John to share my Eureka moment, but wasn't able to get all my words out.  

Or to put it another way, John interjected with a short statement ending in "off."  But I entered anyway.

So, one more time, here is our link. 

We'll go on the G of the BANG

After all the kindness of so many people over recent days and weeks, it's almost the moment for Wee John and I to do our bit.  In little shorts.

His Weeness is due here tomorrow morning, just in time to see Ireland kick off against Australia in the Rugby World Cup. 

Then it'll be a (boring) pasta lunch and a bit of faffing before heading to our night time bolt hole in Durham, which just so happens to be a pub.  But we'll be good(ish). 

Then, after a bit of brekkie, it's up to Newcastle where the starting gun is due to be fired by world 5,000m world champion Mo Farah at exactly 10.40am. 

You'd expect me say that it's still not too late to sponsor us, and you'd be right - as it's not. 

So if you haven't already, we'd really appreciate it if you did so now by CLICKING ON THIS LINK. 

And please don't forget why we're doing all of this because, when the wind gets up and the rain starts to fall, I can assure you we won't.

King Bong

The kind and remarkably generous gentleman you can see pictured above is an old mate of Wee John's and mine.  And his name is Bong Liao. 

We all went to school together and Coleraine Inst Old Boys will better remember him as Malcolm Yeow.

Him being a "Y" and me being a "W" (stop it!) we sat together in class for a number of years, right at the back.  (Wee John tended to be standing either in the corridor, or outside the headmaster's study).

Some months ago and thanks to Facebook, Bong  - now living back in his native Malaysia - got back in touch for the first time in more than 20 years.  He subsequently became an avid follower of this rubbish blog and, after I kept going on about it here (you may have noticed), he messaged me to offer a contribution towards our Great North Run fundraising effort.  However, for technical reasons, he asked if he could get the money to me by post.

A combination of my ineptitude and his persistence meant that the arrangement was only sorted out this afternoon.  But, my goodness, it was worth waiting for.

A few minutes before he got in touch, our running total stood at £980 and I put an appeal on Facebook asking for someone to stump up £20 to get us into four figures.  

"How does 500 quid sound to you?" said Bong in a message which suddenly flashed up on my screen.

When I eventually recovered my composure, I explained that it sounded wonderful, and it is now on its way. 

But it was a moment and a gesture I will never forget.

I left voicemails for Mags and Wee John straight away and all three of us remain stunned, and oh so grateful. 

What a top man.

As a result of the incredible selflessness of Bong and many, many others, our grand total now stands at £1,510 and we know there is still a fair bit of money to come in.  For example, a church in Keighley is doing a collection for us this Sunday.  And, seven days later, there will be another whip round at a very special event in Coleraine I will tell you about next week.

Can we make it to our original target of £2,000 after all?

Maybe, maybe not. But nothing would surprise me any more.

If you haven't yet donated and would like to do so, this link will guide you on your way.

I know I'm biased, but I think you should.

Almost there

This Great North Run caper has proven to be a lot more stressful and difficult than I envisaged. 

I have written many times about the reason why Wee John and I are doing it. 

In short, this time last year our friend Mags was diagnosed with leukaemia and the outlook was far from positive.

We weren't doctors and, despite offering to do so, strict rules stopped us from being tested as potential bone marrow donors. 

So we entered the ballot for the Great North Run, and got in.  

We informed Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research that we wanted to raise some money on behalf of Mags.  And we run on Sunday.  Along with 53,998 others. 

We're clearly not special but - thanks to our wonderful sponsors - we're doing just a tiny little bit for those who are. 

And, I have to say, sponsors have been hard to find.  Last week I told you that Tony Blair's ex-spinner Alastair Campbell had kindly agreed to Tweet our fundraising link to his more than 103,000 followers.

Do you know how many actually clicked on it and gave us cash?

None. Nada. Bugger all.  Not one. 

But despite this, as I write, we're only £60 short of our admittedly revised target of £1,000.  And, by Sunday if not long before, we will get there. 

For those who have given, we salute you.  You're great.

For those who haven't yet had the chance, now is your moment.  Please click here. 

Three foot two, eyes are blue

Jamie has recently become very aware of his own appearance.

For example, we were at Harry Ramsden's not that long ago when he spotted a cartoon of "Deep Sea Harry" on his place mat.  Now, I've never heard of Deep Sea Harry before either, but I quickly noted that he had blonde hair and blue eyes - just like our son, in fact.

And, when I pointed this out, Jamie promptly demanded that I take a pic of them "together."

Then, last night, I was watching the teatime news which led with Bernard Hogan-Howe's appointment as Met Commissioner.  Flanking the new police chief outside Scotland Yard was Home Secretary Theresa May and London Mayor Boris Johnson.    

On entering the living room, Jamie ran to the TV, pointed at Boris and yelled: "Look Daddy!  It's a big me!"

Let's hope not, eh?

By the way, he's asked me to warn you that if you haven't yet sponsored his Uncle Wee John and me to crawl over the finish line in Sunday's Great North Run, he may come round and scare you.  

If I were you, I'd click on this link and do exactly what he says. 

We're a bunch

My running shirt for Sunday's Great North Run has arrived and, if I wasn't already aware of what a proper 'nana I'm going to look, I'm am now.

Wee John and I are running for Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research or "The Banana Army" as its supporters are officially known.

Let's hope we don't slip up (ho ho).

PS Needless to say we'd be grateful for a small donation to our effort - please click here if that appeals to you.

No pressure, but my son WILL be supporting Ireland

Jamie dragged me out of bed shortly before 5am today but, for once, I wasn't that annoyed.

That's what early morning World Cup rugby does for my positive outlook.

The highlight of the three games ahead of us was due to be the USA versus Ireland. 

But sadly Ireland, although they won, were pretty awful and Jamie made his feelings pretty clear. (At one point, I swear I could hear him humming Swing Low, Sweet Chariot from beneath his blanket.  Scandalous).

Hopefully I can persuade him to re-emerge in time for next Saturday morning when Ireland are due to get stuffed by the Aussies. 

Sponsor us - or we'll send him round

The well-intentioned efforts of Wee John and me to raise a few quid to tackle the evil that is blood cancer are finally beginning to reap some rewards. 

Thanks to a growing number of especially kind individuals, we're now past the £500 mark and we know that there are several others preparing to go online and give us what they can.  We're obviously extremely grateful to everyone who does.

And we received a significant boost today when Tony Blair's former communications chief Alastair Campbell agreed to my request for him to share our fundraising link with his more than 103,000 followers on Twitter.

I've had dealings with him in various guises in the past, and found him very straightforward. 

I've also been long aware of his wholehearted commitment to our chosen charity, Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research.

Alastair’s best friend and colleague John Merritt died of leukaemia in 1992 and, six years later, John’s daughter Ellie also died of the disease, aged nine.

In 2003, while still working in Downing Street, Alastair took on the London Marathon. The story hit the headlines and he raised more than £370,000 for Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research. He has since completed several marathons and triathlons, raising over £1million for the charity.

Wee John and I are indebted to him for endorsing our own efforts.

But, more importantly, so is our friend Mags, who I spoke to today and for whom we are putting ourselves through all of this. 

You can make your own donation to our fund by following this link.

Ah....CHOO!

Always keen to find a new way to get into ladies'...er...hearts, my tiny pal Wee John has today outdone himself.

Because this morning he took up the post of European Financial Controller at Jimmy Choo Shoes.

I kid you not.  

Some dwarves have all the luck.

My family and other animals II

The White family visit to Chester Zoo was very successful, thanks for asking. 

Whilst there, Charlotte made friends with a meerkat.

Jamie made very clear that he had no wish to befriend the visiting Tyrannosaurus Rex.

And we saw another dinosaur with a smile any elderly person would surely be proud of.

Then we came home.

A date with the extended family

Vanessa and I were watching Who Do You Think You Are? on BBC1 the other evening and decided it might be a nice idea to trace Jamie and Charlotte's ancestors.

So we're about to leave for Chester Zoo.

Before we go, I thought I might remind you that Wee John and my bigger self are due to take part in the Great North Run in just over two weeks and would really appreciate your support for what we believe is a very special cause. 

Clearly, we would say that even if it was a crap cause - but it's not. And the charity has not paid for our places or anything else, we have.

You can find out more and hopefully unload a few pennies by clicking on to this link.

Be warned that I will mention this again (and again) before Sunday 18th September.   

My goodness, my Guinness

Jamie was introduced to Guinness in only his second week on Earth and, as you can see above, he seemed taken by its possibilities.

Being a lady, I didn't think Charlotte would be in such a rush to be made aware of its sheer wonderfulness.

But, with her christening on the Emerald Isle now just a few weeks away, I decided that the time had arrived.

She also appeared to be impressed, and I happily drunk to that.

Sad Dad

 

With me still on leave, Vanessa having a facial and Jamie in baby prison - "nursery" to the proprietors - I took Charlotte shopping today.

I had all sorts of wonderful ideas of things to buy but, after catching a glimpse of myself in a shop window and being reminded that I'm now a sad, middle-aged man, I settled on two new pillows. 

But Charlotte wasn't impressed.  In fact, I'm fairly sure she was a touch embarrassed.  Possibly worse.

So I bought her off, and she's promised to gurgle no more about it.

That's my boy

This was Jamie last night.

He may have been upside down, but at least he was in his pyjamas and in his own bed. 

This was in total contrast to the previous evening, when he fell asleep on the sofa and wet himself before being carried upstairs.

He woke up the following morning, not knowing where he was, and wearing the same clothes as the night before.

My son may not look anything like me, but at least we have some similar habits.  

Fish on a Friday

Like everyone else, I've had a few bizarre experiences in my life. (In truth, I have one every morning when I look in the mirror).

Having my feet pecked by a tankful of fish is now right up there.

Last Friday, I thought it might be nice for my mother and I to have a bonding exercise.  But rather than take her to Harry Ramsden's to eat fish, I allowed the fish to turn the tables by eating us at Wonder Feet in Guiseley.

The verdict?

Highly recommended - 10 out of 10.

I now have feet like Jesus and intend to wear sandals and perform miracles for the rest of the week.  As luck would have it, I'm off work so will certainly have the time.  

Can babies go in the hold?

My mum and hubby Derek left ours earlier today after a week in Yorkshire.

She loves Jamie as much as ever.

But, on this trip, I kind of got the impression that she also bonded with Charlotte.

Dirty...clean

My day didn't get off to the best of starts today after Jamie vomited on my bag.

Thanks for that son. 

But, whilst it is now in need of a good wash, at least I know he and Charlotte are pristine after a  "Double Granny Bath." 

Young people truly are spoilt these days.

Who loves you, hair?

Here's a shocker.

My mum and new hubby Derek are over this week and, hopefully, having a good time.  

But tonight she floored me.

After a nice meal, also attended by Vanessa's mum Judy and stepdad Mike, she said:

"Why don't you try 'Regaine' on your bald patch?  You might rescue your hair."

WHAT?!

"I DON'T HAVE ANY HAIR PROBLEMS AND DON'T EXPECT TO HAVE ANY HAIR PROBLEMS! ALRIGHT? MOTHER?!" I replied (calmly).

She might be, but I'm not sure I am.

Honk if you've got no teeth

Charlotte - seen here sucking on a chip - is teething at the moment and, personally, I can't wait for her new gnashers to appear. 

Not just because I obviously want her suffering to end, and not just because I want to see what her new smile looks like.

But because I can then smother them in toothpaste and, hopefully, get rid of her dog breath.  

On the twelfth day, it came to pass

It took God six days to build the world but, in 12 days, I believe I've proven you can do twice as much.

Yes, our living room is complete (and a whopping £16 under budget after I used only three instead of the predicted four rolls of wallpaper.  Vanessa has since been back Laura Ashley to swap it for a swimsuit).

Against all odds, the Wallpaper Bubble Fairy popped in on Friday afternoon to cast her spell, leaving me to return to relatively flat walls.

And against even greater odds, I managed to finish wallpapering the remainder of the room - relatively free from incident - just in time for last night's X Factor.

Jamie or Charlotte are bound to spill something by teatime.

I'm forever cursing bubbles

It's now day 10 of my living room decorating adventure, and the novelty has long since worn off. Not that I think you're surprised.

Here is where we've reached.

Wallpaper stripped? Check!

Ceiling painted? Check!

Ceiling painted again? Check!

Ceiling painted yet again? Err..check!

Dado rail varnished twice? Check!

Dado rail varnished for a third time after Barry left the masking tape on too long and took all the varnish off? Check!

Walls painted twice? Check!

Stupid wooden box things that cover the pipes painted twice? Check!

Skirting boards painted twice? Check!

Door frames painted twice? Check!

Window sill painted twice? Check!

Window sill painted again after Barry put his hand on it by accident before it was dry and then made matters worse by rubbing it with a wet wipe? Check!

Window sill painted for a fourth time after Barry put a TV on it when it was still wet after its third coat? Check!

First of four walls wallpapered? Balls-up!

Yes, the wallpapering. Eight sheets have gone up thus far, and I went to bed shortly after midnight thinking it looked good.

When I went down this morning for another inspection, it still looked good. Enough. To Eat.

Because it looked like an Aero - such were the number of air bubbles present.

I was crestfallen, if truth be old, but I've since taken lot of advice and I think I now know the error of my ways i.e. I haven't been leaving each sheet long enough for the paste to soak in (not that I realised wallpaper paste was so clever).

So we'll adopt a new soak-it-and-see approach tonight.

My first instinct was to redo what I've already done but the man in the decorating shop warned that this would be misguided.

"Give it a week lad," he said. "And if it's still as bad then, you'll know for sure that you've f***ed it."

Reassuring words, I'm sure you'll agree.

Come what may, all my walls will be covered by the time the clock beeps 12 tomorrow night.

Let's hope it's not with my tears.

Hair, hair

Not that my ongoing decorating saga is affecting my sanity or anything but, last night, I thought it might be fun to fluff up Charlotte's hair and let her see in the mirror that she'll soon be in need of a clip. 

Methinks she quite likes that idea..

Have you ever wished you'd never started something?

You may or may not be old enough to remember Petrocelli.

If you weren't, I should explain that Petrocelli was an American TV drama series about a lawyer who lived in a caravan whilst attempting to single-handedly build his dream home in his spare time. However, the house never seemed to make any tangible progress.

Each week our hero would lay a few bricks. But his house would never get any bigger.

There were two full series of Petrocelli but, by the end of the second season, the house was no further on that it was in series one, episode one.

Which brings me to our living room which, you may have noticed from the picture taken this morning, is not quite finished.

Do you know, I spent seven hours up a ladder with a paint brush yesterday?

And I spent six hours up that ladder on Saturday, and something fairly similar the day before that. 

I actually began my journey of self-discovery last Tuesday morning, although it could have been several months ago, such is the damaging impact it has had on my grasp of time.

Do you want to know the fun part?

When the painting is finished - I'm now thinking Thursday - I've got to start wallpapering (we're doing half and half, see). 

Do you want to know the really fun part?

I've never properly wallpapered before.

Do you want to know the really, really, really fun part?

I've got to get the whole thing completed by Saturday evening in time for some special guests arriving the following day.   

The problem is, by the time the room is finally finished, I'm going to hate it so much that I'm not going to want to go in there to join them. 

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.