Two sides of the same ballbag

This blog has been in receipt of a formal complaint - from no lesser figure than Wee John.  (And figures don't come much lesser than that).  

He phoned me up this evening to whine that "it's just not fair that you only ever put bad photos of me on there."   Aw, diddums.

So, above, you can see a "nice" pic of His Weeness. 

And below, just to balance things up, you can see what might be described as "a less glowing image." 

I've no idea who that is on his left.

There's (not) room on her horse for two

A touching scene, as Charlotte shuffles up and makes room on her rocking horse for her big bro.

Little did she know that, seconds later, she'd be thrown off after Jamie giddied up. 

He is now in his room hoping not to hear from Claims Direct.

She'll soon be on the run

The life of a baby girl is filled with landmarks, not least the arrival of her first two teeth.  And above you can see Charlotte's new gnashers resplendent in her gob.

But the excitement does not end there - hell no.

Because only days after winning her badge for advanced crawling, I can offer you a short piece of footage which shows that it won't be long before she's told to get out of our shopping trolley and push it herself.  

Turkey run

It is not uncommon for me to do silly things after a little bit too much wine. 

But one thing I try never to do in such situations is get my credit card out.  Sadly my determination to refrain is not always powerful enough. 

Previous moments of weakness have resulted in the purchase of flights and, in one particular moment of madness, tickets to an A-ha concert at Wembley Arena.  (It wasn't very good - no, really).

However, when I woke up on Monday morning, my sore head and dry mouth were suddenly the least of my worries. 

Thanks to the vocal encouragement of my good friend and fellow Coleraine man Paul Gaile (above left, bald as a coot), I entered the 2011 Chevin Chase - at a cost of £17.  

Let me tell you about this "fun" little event, and I quote:

"The Chevin Chase has enjoyed over 30 years of competitive and fun running.

"Entrants have included world champions alongside Xmas Trees and Santas!

"The run is approximately seven miles and is a winter race run in winter conditions.

"It is a hilly multi-terrain event which incorporates quiet country lanes, bridleways, rough tracks, paths, fields and stiles (and usually mud).

"However there are beautiful views at the top of Otley Chevin, for those who complete the gruelling climbs."

Oh, and it takes place on Boxing Morning.  

Remind me never to take drink.  (At least until the weekend).

Old and older

Those of you with nothing better to do than read this pointless blog will be aware that Wee John's 40th birthday came and went the week before last. 

But we do like to drag these things out, particularly given the fact that my dad is due to celebrate his own very special landmark on 19 November when he turns 75.

So, on Sunday, we threw a joint party.

The kids ate first...

...then the adults...

....before we combined assembled forces...

...to gorge down...

....two cakes between us.

Next up were some fireworks and Chinese lantern lighting...

sparklers...

...paper burning...

...and beer for children. 

See, Sundays can be fun.

Old Game Face

Another heavy weekend has come and gone - just like my dad, Wee John and Other John who were at the heart of it all.

Yesterday was a particular highlight, and I'll tell you about that tomorrow. 

But first, Saturday and our trip to Ewood Park for Blackburn Rovers v Chelsea.

Despite supporting his beloved Blues for exactly 103 years and seeing them play many times before, my dad had never, ever seen Chelsea win a game.

Until Saturday, that was.

Not that you would have known it.

Sometimes you just have to get on with it

Now the dust of last weekend has finally settled - unlike my stomach and connected storage areas - my dad has arrived to knock some sense into me.

But he hasn't got long. 

Because Wee John arrives tomorrow night. 

Jamie and Charlotte can't believe their luck. 

And I can't believe I'm going to have to drink again. 

In fact, I'm writing this with a full glass of wine sitting beside me.

I trust I have your sympathy.

Night/morning after 3 - The Final Act

Saturday evening arrived and it was time to put the icing on the cake (OK, not true - the cake was already at the restaurant) by getting the ferry across to Lusty Beg Island in County Fermanagh for Wee John's 40th birthday banquet and dance-off.

It resembled a wartime experience as we landed like an invading force, which we kind of were.

John's sister Mary (number 51 of the 67) joined us for the finale along with husband Colin The Bear and son Stephen.  And they didn't take long to get into the action.

Dinner was first (steak all round)...

  

...followed by said cake which was the closest thing to a spongy fire hazard that I've seen.

After some brief "respite" in the bar...

 ...it was time to dance....

...to a band featuring a rather familiar guest lead singer.

 

Big Tony asked a local to get groovy...

...but the stranger turned him down in favour of Shane who was more his type.

Initially, comforted by Mary and The Bear, Big Tony took his rejection badly...

...but a few more drinks later...

...he was back in the game...



...just as Wee John got himself a bit of plastic action.

All that remained was for the birthday boy to sail us home..

...in preparation for the inevitable hangover which, four days on, he is yet to recover from.

Thanks for the memories wee man, it was great to be a part of it.

Night/morning after 2

Following our Ulster Fries and a final toilet visit - can you guess which of the above Wee John used? - it was time to head north for a bit of sightseeing.

Wee John was actually driving, but he's so small I kept thinking we were on autopilot.  (A prize for the first person to spot him).

I'm deliberately not going to show you the many wondrous attractions that lie on the Causeway Coast because, if you're not from Northern Ireland, I demand that you go there to see them for yourself.

So instead we fast forward to our night in Portrush (Major Golf Capital of the World) where, yes, we ate and we drank. As you do.

By this stage, Big Sean had left us as his wife Melanie wouldn't let him out.  But not to worry, because it was time for Big Tony (second from right) and his incredibly patient wife Fun Paula (one of John's 67 sisters) to join the fray.

I was then genuinely expecting a nice early night in preparation for Saturday.  But I had foolishly forgotten what Big Tony was like and, with teetotal Pav in the driving seat, I was effectively kidnapped and taken to Tony and Paula's house for some more oral lubrication.

John was pleased at the prospect...

...whilst I decided to put a brave face on it.

Really.  I wasn't enjoying myself at all.

And, when we got there, neither was anyone else.

As you can clearly see.

What followed were several hours of "high brow" chat accompanied by champagne (thanks Tony), brandy and Baileys (thanks again Tony) and, finally, brandy and milk after all the mixers ran out (f*** off Tony).

I am glad to report that I had actually left before the latter.  But Terence hadn't.  

And come Saturday morning, it was a matter of great regret to him.  Particularly after his third vomit. 

After all, it was a two-and-a-half hour drive from Coleraine to Fermanagh - and the main event.   

Night/morning after 1

Belfast is no stranger to gangs of disreputable men, although thankfully less so in recent years.

But the dodgyometer in Northern Ireland's capital city shot up once again last Thursday night with the arrival of some seriously shifty individuals.

Pictured above (from left to right), in front of Belfast City Hall, are Wee Pav, Wee Charlie, Big Sean, Wee John, Medium Shane and (front) Reasonably Large Terence. 

And, joined by Wee John's sister Madonna and hubby Graham, here is everyone filling their faces (with Guinness) in a local restaurant.

Although, as Shane demonstrates, some wine did come into play a little later in proceedings.

Over the course of what became a very long night, we had the rare spectacle of Pav and Sean taking part in a Baldy Battle.  Always worth a watch.

And, briefly moving forward to Friday morning, note how the smiles have disappeared as the gathering seeks to collectively recover with first aid Northern Ireland style.  Or, as the locals call it, an Ulster Fry.  

More tomorrow, when it all begins to get just a little bit messy.