Mower excitement

Above, ladies and gentlemen, you can see my new Qualcast 1000W Electric Rotary Mower.  And isn't she a beauty? 

Well, not really - but she was on offer for fifty quid at Homebase so in the boot she went. 

Buying a new lawnmower wasn't on my agenda when I rose from my pit yesterday morning.  But then my decrepit old Flymo went up in smoke (note the helpful black circle I've added for you)...

...and was quickly laid to rest.

Undignified, maybe, but there was room and today was bin day.

Jamie and Charlotte were initially excited by my purchase but soon decided that the box was where the real thrills lay.

And then Jamie literally just lay (in it).

All in all, just another Sunday at our house. 

Numbers

I took Jamie for a McDonald's Happy Meal a little earlier and, on the way back, thought I would seize the opportunity to test his powers of mental arithmetic. 

"What's one plus one," I asked. 

"Six," came the response. 

"No," I replied, gently.  "Let's try it another way.  What's one and another one?"

"Two."  Bingo - we were in business. 

"What's two and another one?"

"Three." 

"And what's three and another one?"

"Four."  The boy was clearly on a roll.  So I decided to raise the bar.

"Let's make it a little harder," I said.  "What's four and another two?  That's four and another one and another one.  So, Jamie, what's four plus two?"

"A quarter past three."

He starts school in September.

That was the week that was

Above you can see the moment, captured exactly a week ago almost to the very second, when I just about managed to stop Charlotte spilling her apple juice all over my traditional last-night-of-the-holiday-white-linen-shirt. 

On the left you can see the remnants of my pint and a full one beside it.  Beside them and just out of shot is Vanessa's large gin and tonic. 

 Now have a look at the picture below, taken shortly afterwards.

That's right, she somehow managed to approach the table from the other side and knock all the beer, all the gin and all the tonic all over my fetching outfit. 

It was a great week and I've since spent another week celebrating/reminiscing about it.

Tomorrow we move on.    

In a spin

Now that I've finally worked out how to upload videos, I want to share another short piece of footage from last week's White family holiday. 

We were by the pool when the cry went out for small people who wanted to drive an electric boat to form an orderly queue.  Jamie was soon standing in line.

What happened next will, again, stick with me for some time.

By the way, I do hope you heard me shout "STEER!"  Jamie appeared not to.

At least I was in the right place

I had a bit of a daddy (some might say baby) strop at Jamie and Charlotte's nursery earlier today.

The modern trend before kids leave nurseries these days (which I only recently became aware of) is for them to get dressed up in mortar boards and gowns to receive their "graduation" certificates - AWWWWW!!!/BARF!!! (delete according to preference).  I would be an AWWWWW!!! man. 

And today was to be Jamie's big day.  But the nursery ballsed it up on two fronts. 

First, they advised that the formal pictures had actually been taken some time ago and so the "ceremony" itself would be small scale and barely worth the effort.  Plus, few parents went anyway  - so neither did I.   It subsequently turned out that lots did turn up today.

I then arrived to find that they hadn't taken a pic of Jamie in the garb after all and the photographer wasn't coming back. 

Excellent. 

I didn't swear (there were kids present) and I wasn't rude, but I did stamp my little booties in a manner the nursery staff were no doubt used to seeing (although not from me).  I wasn't happy and I'm still not.

On the upside, at least Jamie did have a certificate to bring home.

The bit at the bottom is the best, reading as follows:

"We will remember you because of your humerous (sic) conversations and love for computers."

Very nice (despite the spelling).

The also gave him a present to show that, in Jamie's words, "they'll miss me and they want me to be happy."

Also very nice.

But where's his ******* picture?!

Lennox goes to the farm

A little spoken fact about my past work history is that I once spent three months as a dog warden coordinator at Belfast City Council - I even had a CB radio "handle" (kids - ask your parents).

I tell you this because the city's dog wardens were in the news yesterday after being obliged to "HD" Lennox the dog following two years on doggy death row.  (In dog warden world, "HD" stands for "humanely destruct" as opposed to "high definition" which is something entirely different). 

Despite a global campaign including the collection of 200,000 signatures appealing for clemency, Lennox met his end on the grounds that he was classed as a pit bull and therefore the canine equivalent of an illegal immigrant under Northern Ireland law.

Poor Lennox's fate reminded me of one particularly eccentric Belfast dog warden during my time, who we'll call "John" (that being his name).

John was one of those classic people you meet who would slot straight into a sitcom without the need to change or exaggerate his character in any way.  And he just loved to drag dogs away for "HD."

Of course, not all owners were as keen to see their pooches terminated as he was, particularly when the owners in question were kids.  But John had a tactic for dealing with this, which he once relayed to me with a bloodcurdling smile.

"I tell them I'm taking their beloved little darling off to the farm," he explained.

"Aw, that's nice," I replied. 

"And it's the truth, because they do end up on a farm," John enthused.

"Oh," I said, "and how come?"

"Because after I've killed them, they're made into fertiliser!"

RIP Lennox.

Jamie wins a prize

Being useless with technology, it's taken me several days to work out how to get this video online.  But I've finally managed it and now humbly invite you to share my favourite moment of last week's White family holiday in Menorca.

The brief background is this.  With a little help from his mother, Jamie has just called out the correct answer to a competition entitled "What's In Wotsit's Box." And it's time to collect his prize.

I hope you enjoy his reaction even a little bit as much as I have over the last 10 days.

By the way, the male presenter/holiday rep is called Liam and he's going to be a star.

A picture can paint a single word

This was the sight that "greeted" me when I opened the back door this morning to collect our milk.

And yes I did cry (a very, VERY bad word).

It wasn't me

The tragic and, for me, shocking news is that I didn't win the National Lottery jackpot last night - I didn't even get my tenner back - so it's work tomorrow rather than a private jet to Menorca.

Needless to say I'm not thrilled at this outcome.  In fact, I haven't experienced post-holiday blues like this since being dragged out of Butlin's in Ayr circa 1978.

We did have a terrific time, particularly the kids who really got into the spirit of things.

Jamie swam with a (blow-up) dolphin...

...and Charlotte had fun near a (blow-up) boat...

...as did Jamie (although he actually got into his).



He also won a swimming certificate...

....Charlotte was cool about his success...



...but Daddy lost his quiz...

...despite the family support on hand.

And Wee John even put in an unexpected appearance... 

...which made both Mummy and Charlotte smile.



And that, I'm afraid, was that (other than the 20 short videos I also took which I'll not inflict on you at this stage).

Is it EuroMillions on Tuesday?

I´m a man with a plan

It´s the last full day of our holiday - we leave tomorrow morning - and am I downhearted?  Yes, absolutely.

The problem with seven day trips is that, just as you´re getting into the swings of things, it´s time to go home.  And I don´t think that´s fair.

However, I always have a plan and, as soon as we get back to Guiseley, I´m off to buy a fistful of National Lottery tickets.  We will then return by private jet on Monday, giving us a whole day to put a couple of washes through and repack.

Before we leave (and then come back), we still have a lot to do.  Jamie and Charlotte are having their final sessions at "Little Stars" and "Twinkle Stars" respectively, and then we´re off to the water park to get soaked.  Getting soaked is something I got very accustomed to yesterday after making the serious strategic error of buying Jamie a pump-action water pistol.  At the very least I should have got two, giving me a fighting chance of squirting back.

On our return from the water park, we hope to have time for a last dip in the pool here before heading out for the stage show (pics and clips to follow). 

My major problem today is dealing with a ridiculous number of insect bites on my face and neck - which no-one else seems to have.  I´ve even got one on each temple, making me look more like Shrek than I did when I arrived.  Still, they´ll heal.

I´ll "talk" to you again after my Lottery win.

I´m pink, I´m round - and getting closer to the ground

"The more you eat and the more you drink, the cheaper it gets!" was the sharp-eyed view of a Scottish fellow holidaymaker at the bar last night as I collected yet another beer (or it may have been a wine).

Yes, when people said "all inclusive is the way to go," I didn´t realise they meant "to an early grave."

With four nights gone and another three ahead, I genuinely believe I will be ready to leave come Saturday morning. Let´s hope I do so under my own steam. 

Back to the present, and Jamie is spending this morning learning all about his host country in his "Viva España!" class.  And Charlotte continues to test the foundations of the creche with her high-pitched wails. (To be fair, she does now calm down after a few minutes.  Yesterday, she and her fellow "Twinkle Stars" went for a trip to the bar to get a water - proving she doesn´t always take after her mother).

The poor little mare had a bit of a rough half hour yesterday, first by falling near the pool and leaving herself with a huge bump on her forehead.  And just as she was coming around from that, Jamie stood on her toe. Still, as Jamie pointed out, she has nine others so she should just cheer up.

Later today, the pair of them will attend Shrek´s Swamp Party on the main stage. Should be a good one. And then Jamie has his daily sinking, sorry, swimming lesson.

Tonight - after I continue my quest to devour each and every inhabitant of Old McDonald´s Farm - it´s 80s Night, and the pressure is on following the resounding success of Westlive last night and the promise of Fake That tomorrow.

Onwards.

Hola!

Good morning from that Spain (I can´t add a photo so you´ll just have to believe me).

Yes, the sun is blazing down outside, cracking the foreign name for kerbstones.  But, like any true Ulsterman, I´m safely under cover trying not to crisp up.

We Whites are in Menorca until Saturday and thus far it´s been fun and certainly eventful.

Both Jamie and I have already had turns on the open-air "performance stage;" Jamie to receive a certificate for winning a competition (more on that when I get back including video footage) and me to lose a quiz to a couple of fat birds.

That was on Saturday.  Last night it chucked it down and we came inside to watch Shrek dance (to be fair, he does move well for a big...er...ogre).

As I churn out this guff, Vanessa is tanning herself, Jamie is on a beastie hunt and Charlotte is trying to set a new record for the loudest scream in a Spanish creche.  (We´ve paid, so she´s going).

Later, Jamie has a swimming lesson and Vanessa has some shopping planned.  I don´t.

The most noteworthy aspect of the holiday thus far is the ever present ability to kill yourself.  That´s right, we´ve gone all-inclusive.   Seriously, I´ve never seen anything like it.  From 8am until midnight, you can eat as much unhealthy food and drink as much unhealthy alcohol as you like.  And all the señors and señoritas say to you is "more, sir?" You even get to pour the wine and beer yourself.  Last night I had a Malibu and pineapple juice. And why? Because I could. (I won´t do so again, mind).

If I don´t die in the next couple of days, I´ll come back and give you an update.  And if I do, at least you´ll know I´ve gone out on a high.

Adios (possibly).

He's a w.........

The gentleman you can see in the foreground above is none other than Sir Garfield Sobers, generally regarded as the finest cricketer ever to play the game.

I had the great privilege of seeing him speak earlier today as guest of honour (him not me) at a special lunch at Headingley Stadium. 

I was there in the company of three friends I meet every June for the annual "364 Club" event; you can see them below.  

And yes, on left, that is John Kettley (Is A Weatherman).

John was saying that he's been having trouble with a neighbour.

"It came to a head in December," he reported, "when he leant across the fence and called me a wanker."

As if.  

Funny farm

Today Jamie went on a special nursery coach trip to a local farm.

Arriving home tonight, I asked him what he'd seen.

"A fox's hole."

"That's...er...nice," I replied.  "Anything else."

"A bull that did a wee."

Two sights that, together, were surely worth £12 of any parent's money.

The Ulster Burger

My uncharacteristically sharp-minded purchase of a gazebo enabled us to have a Jamie birthday barbecue last Saturday, despite the awful weather.

Have a closer look.

I can tell you're impressed.

But now prepare to be even more blown away.  

Below you can see the first batch of burgers I subjected to the flames.  

But can you spot the one that looks like Northern Ireland?

Yes?  No?

OK, I'll zoom in again.



It's uncanny.     

That mouse is smokin'

It's the evening after the long weekend before, and both my dad and Wee John will be sleeping under their own rooves again tonight. 

The point of the weekend just gone was three-fold:

1. Go to see England play cricket (Friday)
2. Celebrate Jamie's fourth birthday (Saturday)
3. Go to see the Olympic Flame in nearby Ilkley (Sunday)

The result was:

1. It rained so much not a ball was bowled (Friday)
2. A great day (Saturday)
3. We couldn't get on the train (Sunday)

So, mixed then. 

But Mr Mouse certainly made a lot of little people smile at the main event...

....including the birthday boy himself.

And whilst his audience sampled a bit of junior fine dining....

...Mr Mouse saw an opportunity to have a sneaky fag - and grabbed it with both paws.

A Wee star is born

I was supposed to be at Headingley cricket ground today for England versus the West Indies but, given the weather, that's unlikely to happen.  

So the focus will instead be on preparing for tomorrow when Jamie becomes a four-year-old.

All manner of activities are planned, many of which will be under the direction of Mr Mouse*.

Let's wish him luck.

(* Actual size).

Oh no, it's him again

Wee John is on his way back to Yorkshire tomorrow for a long, wet weekend. 

Others are coming too, including my dad, with the three highlights supposed to be the cricket one-day international on Friday, Jamie's birthday barbecue on Saturday and the arrival of the Olympic Torch on Sunday.  

The more eagle-eyed amongst you may have spotted that all of these are outdoor events.  Given the horrific weather forecast, we'll just have to make the best. 

Vanessa was telling Jamie about Wee John's impending trip last Sunday whilst driving us Whites back from my Fathers' Day lunch in Leeds.  And, whilst at it, she built in a mini-geography quiz. 

Here's how the conversation went:

"Where have we just been?"

"Leeds."

"Where are we now?"

"Yeadon."

"Where do we live?"

"Guiseley."

"Where does Grandma live?"

"Horsforth."

 "Where do Granny and Katie live?"

"Northern Ireland."

"Where does Uncle John live?"

"Our house." 

I can't think what gave Jamie that idea.

A sore point

Unless you're living under a truck, you'll no doubt be aware that the England football team need a point tonight against Ukraine to progress to the quarter-finals of Euro 2012.

This scenario prompted BBC Radio 5 Live presenter Nicky Campbell  to reminisce a little earlier about his visit to the 1990 World Cup Finals in Italy.

It was the last round of group games and his native Scotland, a little stronger then than they are now, required a draw against the mighty Brazil to secure a place in the knock-out stages. 

With 83 minutes gone, the score was 0-0 and the Tartan Army were preparing to celebrate. 

Then Brazil scored.

Cue despair from Nicky Campbell, who was watching from the stands. 

And his mood was not helped by his mate, who turned to him and uttered the killer line:

"Just what the game needed."

Scotland lost 1-0 and flew home the following day.

Let's hope England have better fortune this evening.   

We're (not) in the money

How said bankers weren't generous?  OK, I just did - but with very good reason.

Vanessa and I received a joint letter today pointing out that the bank had made a mistake.  Yes, really.  There was even an apology in there "for any confusion or inconvenience caused."  

And why, pray tell, was the bank on such bended knee?  I'll let Rob Thackray, Head of Mortgage Operations at Northern Rock Asset Management (NRAM), explain for himself: 

 "NRAM is committed is to providing our current and previous customers with a great level of service.  To ensure we maintain these levels, we have reviewed our previous Mortgage Application process and have identified that whilst your account is now redeemed, it appears that we made an administrative error when your account was set up." 

All good, Mr T.  Now let's talk compensation.  So he did:

"Therefore a cheque for £3.54 is attached to this letter to rectify this error." 

So, that's a half pint each then. 

Actually, maybe not.  Because Rob wasn't quite finished:

"Included in this amount is £0.28 representing 8% simple interest on the amount charged in error.  Interest has been paid gross and is potentially taxable, so you may need to inform Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs of this payment."  

What a banker.

A father with a daughter with a mother of a hunger

Fathers' Day today which, despite having only two children, meant three cards pour moi - thanks to Jamie and Charlotte's nursery for their assistance with two of them.

And, of course, you have to have a Fathers' Day lunch.

I chose Nando's which, for some reason, I'd never previously been too.  And whilst I was very impressed, I was arguably out-impressed by Charlotte. 

To illustrate, chicken and chips finished, it was time for corn on the cob. 

Then ice cream - and more chips. 

This followed on from last night's tea, which she also demolished...

...and seemed to enjoy.

At this rate, that 60-stone teenager might soon have some competition for her massive throne.

Lady problem

Despite not turning four years old for another week, Jamie is already becoming a dab hand on his mother's new gizmo. 

The only problem is, he insists on calling it a "Ladypad."

Do you want to tell him or should I?  

School notes

Rewinding back to earlier in the week and our visit to Jamie's soon-to-be new school, I have a few additional matters to report.

First, the death penalty does still exist in this country and will be visited upon any parent who dares take their child out of Guiseley Infant School during term-time to go on holiday.

Second, black cycle shorts are the preferred wear for boys during PE.  This is to guard against stray willies.

Third, the school's Parents' Group is particularly active and likes nothing better than to transform the assembly hall into a pub under the guise of a "quiz night."   

And finally, I am unlikely to win the Dads' Race at Sports Day 2013 as some of my competitors appear to be around half my age.  But that won't stop me trying.

You're up to date.

Ask Daddy

Being asked questions I don't know the answer to is something I've had to get used to over the years. 

But, since Jamie has been able to talk,  I've discovered I know even less about "things" than I feared.     

Take this morning's gem, as I walked him and pushed Charlotte to nursery.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Jamie?"

"What are smells made of?"

I do genuinely remember this subject being raised at school, in either biology or chemistry, and according to my recollection, the teacher didn't know either. 

"Opinions differ," was something like the answer he gave.  Since then, no-one has bothered to update me. 

However, be assured that I am now on the case and will obviously report back to you  - and Jamie - with my conclusions in due course.

Bike banter

Like so many other sad men (and some women) across Europe and beyond, tonight I will be tuning in to watch Germany play Holland in Euro 2012.  

The prospect reminds me of a story a good friend once told me about night he was in a bar with a Dutch pal. 

As time went past and the drink began to flow, the Dutchman became more and more tetchy.  The reason was that a group of Germans had joined proceedings and the Dutchman wasn't a big fan of Germans.

My friend asked him why, to which he replied that, during the Second World War, the Nazis had apparently seized bicycles across Holland and melted them down to make armaments. 

After providing this clarification, the Dutchman suddenly put down his drink, stormed across the bar towards the Germans and shouted: "Give us our bicycles back, you b******s!"

Let's hope it's a good game.