I look horny

Yes, that is me (629) with my antlers during yesterday's Reindeer Stampede in a park near Bradford.

A brilliantly organised event (and I'm not just saying that because my pal Simon organised it) raised what I hope was a large pile of cash for Action Epilepsy. 

Funnily enough, I had no qualms whatsoever in handing my adornments to Jamie immediately afterwards. But I would expect Charlotte to make a more powerful claim for them next year should I be persuaded to enter the 2012 event.

A round of applause for a song about Claus

Jamie's public performance career got off to something of a rocky start this time last year after he threw away his crook and stormed down the aisle during the local church's nativity play.

Matters improved a little a few days later when, dressed as George Pig, he sang a few bars of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" at his nursery's festive revue.

Moving forward 12 months, his biggest artistic challenge of 2011 will come next week - much more on that then. 

But first, this morning, and his music class's guest appearance with a very odd group of individuals who describe themselves as "an orchestra." (I would more accurately describe them as "bored").

However, with the stage set, our tiny heroes did their thing - and you can watch a bit of it by clicking on the play button below.  Jamie's the one with the wooden block.

Needless to say, Vanessa, Charlotte and I were immensely proud. 

OK, Charlotte thought everyone should really be looking at her instead, but still. 

Surprisingly, he doesn't drive a Mini

I spent my two nights in London this week staying with Wee John.

Above you can see his flatmate Shane (left) and brother Charlton (top right) enjoying our low key, sober dinner on Tuesday.

Wee John and Shane moved properties just a few days ago and, with the new flat, came a new, personal parking space.

It took me several minutes to work out why Wee John's space had the initials "AD" daubed on it.  And then it came to me.

"A Dwarf."

A false start to the party season

I was working in London for the past couple of days, hence no updates here.  And last night I was due to attend the annual Irish Embassy Press Party.

I've been to the Irish Embassy several times before but, before setting off there yesterday, thought it best to re-check its location on Streetmap.  I found that it was pretty much right beside Marble Arch Tube station.  Easy.  So I arranged to hook up with an old friend before going on to the main event. 

I spent longer with my friend than I had intended, meaning I got to Marble Arch with only 45 minutes of the two hour party remaining. 

But there was no sign of the Irish Embassy.  So I did what I do when I'm lost; I walked around in circles - and got more lost.

25 minutes later and with a mere 20 minutes of the party left to go, I asked a doorman outside a posh hotel if he knew where it was. 

He had no idea, but helpfully pulled out a handheld thingy to look it up on Streetmap.  And there it was, right beside the Tube station.

Hyde Park Corner Tube station, not Marble Arch Tube station.

Oh.

"It will only take you 20 minutes to walk there sir," he said. 

I decided against it.

Meet Traffic Bike Lady

Her and me had a night off from him and her on Sunday when we went to Manchester to see Coldplay in concert. A fine evening it was too.
But it started off more than a little bizarrely.

I've had a police escort a couple of times in my life. However, like you I would imagine, I've never had a traffic enforcement officer escort. And I've certainly never had my path cleared by an outrider mounted on a bicycle.

Until last night.

In short, we couldn't find the city centre car park we had a voucher for and ended up totally lost. So I got out to ask a nice lady in a cycling helmet.

I didn't realise at that moment that she carried all the powers of a fully-fledged traffic buster. And she quickly made clear that we would get to our destination. Cars were her thing, after all (even as a professional cyclist).

"Hold on," she said, "I'll take you there. Just give me a minute."

I climbed back into our car to tell Vanessa the good news, before realising that I didn't fully understand what our hero meant by saying "I'll take you there."

"I'd better get in the back," I said, expecting the nice lady to jump in beside Mrs W. 

But I was mistaken.

The next thing we knew, the nice lady had climbed on to her metal steed, rung her bell and was gesturing us to follow her as she began turn the pedals.

And off we went...

...until, five minutes later...

....our car park came into view.

It was one of the most surreal moments of my life, and it was absolutely hilarious.

What a thoroughly nice Traffic Bike Lady she was. 

Boys in tights, anyone?

As if having my brother-in-law Dagenham Dave as your father isn't bad enough, His Dopiness has now taken to dressing his boys - Alexander (left) and Oliver - in girls' tights "to keep them warm." 

This startling sight was enough to prompt Jamie to pretend to be a ballet dancer (a proud moment for me).

And by the time we left last night's little family gathering, Charlotte simply couldn't bring herself to look any more.

(IMPORTANT NOTE: These pictures were reproduced with the kind permission of Hannah, aka Mrs Dave.  Poor mare)

Merry Christmas

It's Christmas.  It must be, because our Chistmas tree is up.

Jamie was pleased to shove it up the fairy's bum, which was nice.

Meanwhile, Charlotte can't really remember last Christmas so was excited to be part of this one.  Methinks she might enjoy it.

There's a hole in that bucket, and that one and that one

I had the great pleasure earlier today of lunch at The Dalesway Hotel in Ilkley.

But whilst the freshly cooked chicken and chips in a basket won top marks from me, the meal was not what will remain longest in my mind.

No, it was these.

That's right, three buckets; one for coal, one for kindling wood and one for ash. 

Or so it might appear.

But let's have a look inside the coal bucket.



And I'm not taking the p*ss (although, for the record, I did have one in its kindling wood companion).

Superbluffer

Vanessa and I attended our first ever parents' evening last night when we visited Jamie's nursery to find "how he's getting on."

In between mouthfuls of fish pie - they invited us to choose sample dishes from his weekly menu, which was novel  - we were informed that he was regarded as something of a superhero inside them there walls.

This was something of a surprise given the time he spends behaving like an arch villain at home.   

His sister's reaction suggested she didn't believe a word of it either.

Battered

World-renowned fish and chip seller Harry Ramsden opened his first ever shop, here in Guiseley, in 1928.

And for the last 83 years it has done Guiseley and the Harry Ramden's chain - now 35 branches strong - incredibly proud. 

But then the Whites moved in.

And today it was announced that the Guiseley restaurant (and only the Guiseley restaurant), which we have been to several times over the last six months and always enjoyed, is to close. 

I would like to believe the two events are entirely unconnected.

Someone else needs help

I wasn't planning to write anything tonight.

But that was before our next door neighbour fell out of his loft and I was scrambled to help carry his stretcher into the emergency ambulance. 

Vanessa's first question as I returned home more than a little unnerved by what I'd seen?

"What colour was their kitchen?"  

I'm appalled.

Early release for good behaviour? Dunno yet

Day one of Operation Don't Kill The Kids (Vanessa's away for the weekend) must be judged a success on the simple basis that both are still with me.

But some drastic action was nonetheless required to achieve this end.

That's right, I put them in baby jail.

Harsh?  Maybe.

Did it make life easier for me?  Absolutely.  But surely that's what their mother would've wanted.

I might get trollied

I have potentially the most testing weekend of my life coming up.

Because early tomorrow Vanessa leaves for two full days shopping in that London, arriving back at around 8.30 on Sunday evening. 

This will leave me in sole charge of our sprogs.  And there's only so long I can keep them imprisoned in a shopping trolley. 

Am I terrified of what may lie ahead over the next almost 50 hours?

Is Jamie licking his lips at the look of terror which is already obvious in my eyes?

Is he going to try and take me for a ride?

Might Charlotte lose all of the little bit of love and respect for her daddy that I've tried so hard to build up over the last 11 months?

The answer to all of the above, I fear, is yes. 

Prayers said and candles lit would be very welcome indeed.

He's a joker

The last two Thursdays (tonight being number two) haven't exactly worked out as planned. 

Casting our minds back to last week and the Children In Need Rocks Manchester concert, regular readers might remember that I didn't make it because Charlotte was taken ill.

No regrets there - she's me little girl and I was happy to be with her.  No, really.

So we fast forward to tonight and Stephen Merchant (he of The Office, Extras and Life's Too Short) doing stand-up in Bradford. 

Vanessa and I were dreaming of a long leisurely evening.  A bit of food, some drinks and a good old laugh at a gawky looking tall bloke. 

But, as it turned out, Charlotte wouldn't go down so Mrs W missed the warm-up act and it was a sandwich and no drink for her, BUT a KFC and five pints for me!

Swings and roundabouts, dera friends, swings and roundabouts.

And we both had a right chortle at yer man.

Four times a (sleepless) lady

Vanessa and I have seen a lot of Charlotte over the last 10 days, principally because she hasn't slept - so neither have we - for 10 days.

So you can imagine how "thrilled" I was to come home tonight to see her passport pictures staring up at me from the kitchen table.

The question now is, where shall we send her? 

All four of her.

"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree..."

We've lived in Guiseley for almost exactly five months now and, until tonight, I've found nothing not to like.

But then I noticed our "Christmas tree" whilst walking home from work.

It's not often I'm short on words but on this occasion I am.

So I'll keep it simple.

It's shit.  

Martin Johnson's big chopper

Above, guys and gals, you can see former England rugby manager Martin Johnson last Saturday afternoon.

And below you can see his helipad.

Well, I say helipad. It's actually Ilkley Rugby Club's first fifteen pitch.

On which landed Martin Johnson's helicopter.

It didn't have to come far, mind.

In fact, it travelled a total of 200 yards from Ilkley Cricket Club, literally just over the road, where it was parked.

"Johnno," as he's known to his chums, was in Ilkley to open the rugby club's impressive new £1.3 million clubhouse, for which - to his immense credit - he didn't take a fee. But he was more than happy to accept the offer of a lift.

And after having lunch, conducting the formalities and watching Ilkley defeat Scarborough in the Yorkshire league, it was time to bid farewell...

....climb back on-board...

....take to the air...

...and begin the journey home.

In contrast, my train was late and the bog was blocked.

Enough for Ewen him

We Whites went for Sunday lunch today with some good friends, including Ewen who you can see above.

It was a pub which had a very generous "two-for-one" deal on main courses.

But someone forgot to tell Ewen that the offer was not necessarily designed to encourage the eating of two meals by one person.

Still, his burger and chips and Italian chicken and chips did appear to go down well.

That's just sick

I would imagine Charlotte was not the only Leeds lady to crawl out of bed this morning looking like what the average bear enjoys scratching on a tree.

Unfortunately her recuperation from bronchiolitis has been set back by the onset of a particularly horrific cold. 

But at least she doesn't have work to dread come Monday morning.

Yes, other than Calpol, there are definite positives about being 11 months old today.

Dog and cat terrorise Guiseley commuters shocker

This was the sight which greeted commuters at Guiseley railway station first thing this morning, and which led to me having to revisit the cash point before getting to work. 

Silly f*****s.

Still, all in a good cause. 

Happy Children In Need Day.

Cosy nights in rock too

The most bored amongst you might vaguely remember I was supposed to be in Manchester last night for the Children In Need Rocks concert.

But no. 

Sadly, Charlotte contracted bronchiolitis, was sent to hospital by her GP and I gave my ticket to Vanessa's sister Hannah so the two of them could go together whilst I literally held the baby.

And, yes, I was disappointed not to see Coldplay and Elbow and Snow Patrol and even Lady Gaga. 

But, hey, I did my daddy bit and feel warm for having done so.

Plus I didn't really miss the concert.

Because I was watching it with my girl.

Ready to rock. Kind of

This time tomorrow (it's approaching 9pm), I'll not be sitting here watching I'm A Celebrity (shame) writing this poo (let me remind you it's rude to cheer).

Instead, Mrs W and I will be sitting at the MEN Arena in Manchester watching Children In Need Rocks. 

If, unlike me, you don't read crappy papers, you'll not know what I'm talking about.  So, as my friend I'll tell you.

In short, it's a concert organised by Take That frontman/X Factor judge/ex-dullard fatboy Gary Barrow with all proceeds going to Children In Need (you probably worked the last bit out for yourself).

Those due to appear (other than ex-dullard fatboy) include Coldplay, Lady Gaga, Snow Patrol, Elbow, Michael Buble and others that are much younger than me so I'll not refer to them.  (Hugh Laurie, who's not much younger than me, is also due to warble but I regard him as that bloke from Blackadder/Fry and Laurie rather than a singer so he doesn't count).

Anyway, it should be good.

The good news is that it's being broadcast live on BBC1 from 8pm.

The bad news is that Vanessa and me are sitting so far back we're going to be lucky to see or hear anything of note.

So if anyone out there can text me during the performance to tell me how it's going, I'd be very grateful.

UPDATE: The BBC have confirmed that Cheryl Cole, who was booked to perform a duet with Gary Barlow, can't sing.  But why waste licence fee payers' money telling us something we already know?

Going Gaga

Last night I dreamt that my teeny tiny pal Wee John was going out with Lady Gaga. 

But then I woke up to discover he's not.

This is a real shame as I reckon she'd be just his type. 

More on Lady Gaga tomorrow.   

It's all about him

Whilst I will always selflessly try to support the personal dreams and aspirations of my children, I would still prefer Jamie to play rugby for Ireland than football for England.   As you would. (If you were a rugby fan. And from Ireland.  Just like me, now that I think about it).

So, last Saturday, I took my boy to watch his first ever game of rugby union when local team Aireborough took on Northallerton.  

And whilst he initially tried to put a brave face on it...

...and appear slightly interested....

...the pretence didn't last.

Maybe this weekend's game will be better 

She near knocked her pan in

Last month I told you that Big Sean's sister Fiona was set to go to war with some other vacant mare in the name of charity.

The "White Collar Boxing" event (apparently "bitch fighting" isn't politically correct) took place last night and the excellent news is that "Smokin' Fi" was indeed victorious. 

My sister Gwen was kind enough to keep me informed from her ringside pew.

The best text simply advised that Fiona was "giving her death."

However, I'm very relieved to confirm that the "Portstewart Destroy Her" stopped short of actually killing her opponent . 

This is positive in lots of ways, including the fact that Big Sean - a policeman - did not have to lead his little sister away in handcuffs afterwards. 

So far Fiona's heroic efforts have raised almost £500 for Mencap.  But there's still time to give by clicking here.

And remind me not to spill her drink the next time I see her out.