Running on Empty: Great North Run 2014

It's exactly one year today since I received the call to tell me that my much-loved friend Mags Maciver - Charlotte's godmother - had died. 

She'd beaten breast cancer once, she'd beaten leukaemia once but beating leukaemia twice was just beyond her.  And I say without hesitation that her passing has changed my entire outlook on life.

Although I hadn't seen Mags for quite a while, we'd kept in touch by phone. And when she told me in May last year that the leukaemia had returned, there wasn't a cell in my body which didn't believe she would see it off once again. As far as I was concerned, it was merely a set-back which she could clearly do without. Sadly it wasn't to be.

Over the past 12 months, I've thought about her a lot. Indeed, she regularly and miraculously pops into my mind when I'm on the verge of becoming more irritated than I should be about something that really doesn't matter.

That's her role now; walloping me over the head with her angel wand when I well and truly need it - which is quite often, I can assure you.

And then we move on to Good Friday this year when I heard the news that another longtime friend, David McClarty, had been taken from us by lymphoma. Again, David had been Ill for some time but, when I last saw him in February, his recovery was gaining pace and the prospects were good.

David was one of a very rare breed - a selfless politician. He loved the Borough of Coleraine and the Borough of Coleraine loved him. I thought of him only on Monday when it was confirmed that Royal Portrush Golf Club would host the 2019 Open Championship. That would have delighted David, and he would have been to the fore to make sure the North Coast looked its best for what will be the biggest week for the area in recent memory.

The day after David lost his battle, I contacted his son Alan to float an idea. Earlier this year I chucked my name into the ballot for the 2014 Great North Run.  It wasn't a challenge I was planning to take on again. Having already done it three times, bits are now either hanging off me or have already left the building. But, on a whim, I decided to complete the form and let fate dictate the outcome. It chose to take £50 out of my bank account and send me an email to tell me I was in. Oh goody.

When I was in touch with Alan, I told him about Mags and suggested that I nominate Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research as the beneficiary of my Great North hobble in memory of her and David. He was very quick to offer his full support, as has Mags' lovely mum Moira. So that's what's going to happen.

The event will take place on Sunday 7 September, my fundraising page has been set up and you can access it by clicking HERE. Any support you choose to offer will be greatly appreciated. 

Now then, has anyone seen my trainers?

Who's that girl?

It was Jamie's school sports day this afternoon and our boy is nothing if not consistent.

Yes, for the second year in a row, the Zebras came fourth - that's last to you and me.  Although, as in 2013, Jamie still hasn't worked that bit out and remains blissfully happy with the result.  Good.

And to be fair, he did give everything he had and made me very proud.  

That said, I was less thrilled about his attire.  As you can see below, Jamie (tee shirt pulled up) was dressed in a particularly tight pair of shorts.  I think they're what's known in the sporting trade as "girl's shorts." And that's exactly what they were after a wardrobe mix-up with a female classmate.  

 
This led to inevitable undercarriage issues which subsequently attracted the attentions of most of Yellow Class.

However, this was as nothing when compared to headteacher Mrs Bell's efforts to hold the attention of the large crowd.

And this year the Big Bong made sure she was properly equipped for the task at hand.

Separated at birth I'd say.

The Sky Ride's the limit

This was the scene outside Guiseley railway station this morning as a gaggle of us prepared to board the train to take part in Sky Ride Leeds. (No, Charlotte's not floating in mid-air but is instead perched on a chair on the back of my bike.  Just lazy).

Sky Ride is a clever new venture aimed at encouraging people of all ages to get on their bikes, by allowing them to ride around city centres on closed public roads.  The UK cycling bug is particularly strong in Yorkshire given the imminent arrival of this year's Tour de France, which spends its first two days here at the beginning of July.      

To quote the Sky Ride Leeds pre-event bumpf: "We’ll be going Tour de France crazy on the day in anticipation of the Grand Départ. There will be loads of free things to do and try out, including the brand new ‘Tricks & Tunes’ area, the chance to check out the bikes used by Team Sky and the Great Britain Cycling Team, plus our friendly Bike Cafe, and the opportunity to find out about loads of other free cycling activities in Leeds, we’re rolling out a real festival atmosphere."

Excellent.  Lots of goodwill, good people and good ideas.

Enter "good" old Northern Rail.

Unfortunately none of those pictured above actually made it to Sky Ride Leeds.  No, this was because we weren't allowed on the train.  For reasons of health and safety, it turns out the nice folk at Northern Rail allow a maximum of two bicycles on their big, long trains, Sky Ride or no Sky Ride.  And by the time any of them finally reached Guiseley - the last stop before Leeds - that quota had obviously been used up.  So it was off to the park for the lot of us.        

Methinks Northern Rail's "can't do" attitude will face further challenge when the cycling world descends en masse at the beginning of July. I do hope so.

Charlotte Green (and White)

The World Cup Finals begin later today - you may have heard - as the excitement at the ongoing supermarket lager wars reaches almost fever pitch levels, at least in our house.

After she crawled into our bed this morning complaining that her knees were cold, I tried to explain to Charlotte what it was all about.  She didn't really get it.

So I enquired as to the identity of the team she would be supporting.  She didn't really know.

"What about England?" I suggested.

"Er, no," she replied.  "I want the green ones to win."

Ladies and gents, it may be 28 years since Northern Ireland last qualified for the World Cup Finals.

But it's great to know that the younger generation's passion for them to do so again remains undiminished.

 

Making my mark

I had hoped to spend a bit of time this afternoon watching some sporting pursuits on the telly.  Unfortunately Jamie beat me to it and is now enjoying The Empire Strikes Back from the comfort of his wigwam.   I never win a round these days.

Meanwhile, we have a slight issue with Charlotte who this morning made two unexpected announcements:

1. She is getting a tattoo of a (as yet unidentified) fairy; and
2. She is getting a tattoo of Princess Rapunzel.

I have to say, this is very disappointing not to mention inconvenient news.

The thing is, to my knowledge Guiseley doesn't have a tattoo parlour.  We had one almost next door when we lived in Pudsey, and I could just have taken her straight there - especially as the big telly is engaged.

Also, there is the cost issue.  I have checked and she does have a few coins rattling around in her money bank, but I suspect there won't be quite enough.  So, inevitably, I'll have to pay.

And, of course, what happens if Charlotte goes off fairies and, perish the thought, Rapunzel between now and her very old age?  I mean, it could just be a fairy fad.  And some nasty fate might befall Rapunzel in part three of the Tangled trilogy.  All of a sudden, the current Disney darling could be yesterday's princess, leaving Miss White stuck with an unwanted 18 inch four-colour portrait on her back with the potential to become a source of mild embarrassment at swimming club.

Right, I've made my mind up.

It's no tattoos for Charley Farley until she's at least four, and possibly even five.

You might think I'm being harsh - and, deep down, I know myself that I am - but the decision is made.

It's time to wipe the smile off her face.        

John Major and me

Last night I dreamt that John Major had invited me to 10 Downing Street to interview him for a book I'm writing.

This was a surprising turn of events for a number of reasons.

These include:

1. John Major hasn't been Prime Minister for 17 years so no longer lives at 10 Downing Street
2. How did John Major know I'm writing a book?
3. I'm not writing a book

I can't wait for tonight's instalment.

I may not be from this planet

I have an occasional tendency to get a teeny weeny bit carried away. It is, I hope, normally with the best of intentions. But the outcomes of my character flaw tend not always to be for the better.

By way of illustration, let me share with you a brief example which appears to have come back to kick me in the dangly bits.

Above you can see our shed - ably guarded by Gary, Robbie, Mark, Howard and Jason who have recently relocated from front to back garden to stop dogs peeing on them.

In a deep mid-winter moment of madness, I was looking out of the back window in the company of Jamie, a committed Doctor Who fan. (When I say "committed" I mean he watches it with me from behind the living room sofa, where I moved to after Billie Piper left).  And I had an idea.

That's right, I would paint our garden shed to look exactly like the TARDIS!

I mean, it couldn't be that hard. Could it?

Surely all I required was a big pot of navy paint, some white paint and two brushes. Job done.

However, as the days passed, I began to consider potential complications. For instance, I would probably have to use waterproof paint. Can you get navy waterproof paint? What would happen if Jamie suddenly went off the last of the Timelords and we were stuck with a life-size TARDIS in our garden?  And what if he didn't and we were still stuck with a life-size TARDIS in our garden?

So I went quiet on the plan, batted off Jamie's questions on timing when the issue was raised and hoped the problem would go away.  And as the weeks ticked by, the questions became less frequent and I seemed to be almost in the clear.

That was until last Monday afternoon when we were walking through Scarborough.  And guess what we came across?

Yes, this.

Does anyone know where I can get a big pot of navy blue waterproof paint?

Jamie does an athlon

A new experience for the White family this afternoon as Jamie took part in his first ever mini-duathlon.

Above you can see the crack field of competitors receiving their last minute instructions from a bloke in shorts.

And here is our man just before the off watched, in order of seniority, by an anxious grandfather, mother and sister.

For the uninitiated, a mini-duathlon is basically a mini-triathlon without the need to get wet (although, ironically, Jamie has since gone off for his swimming lesson).

You could smell the tension at the start (trust me, you really could).

And then it was go.

 Before the running bit.

And the medal bit, following a very respectable top-half finish.

 
Indeed, Charlotte enjoyed the whole thing so much that we then had to organise a special presentation in her honour for being the best supporter.

 
Which meant they both got a nice pudding.

So a successful outcome for everyone involved.  Although, between you and me, I suspect the Brownlee brothers will have little to worry about for some time yet.

The Money Pit II

We've been having house disasters in recent weeks.

We had a new bathroom put in, which is great, but for two reasons.

The first is that I'm a particularly unskilled/impatient decorator and am being forced to return to the scene yet again later today to do some touching up.

To illustrate why, here's how the wall currently joins the ceiling.

With the greatest respect to The Greatest, I suspect Muhammad Ali could probably have done a neater job.

The second bathroom difficulty is that, two days in, Vanessa managed to break the shower curtain door thingy, meaning the man has to come back tomorrow.

More positively, our toilet now has individual pee and poo buttons, which pleases Jamie greatly.

But back to the bad news.  We've been experiencing problems with our kitchen lights over the past couple of months; "lightmares," if you will.

Now, what do you think this is?

Nope?  Would it surprise you if I said it was actually our kitchen ceiling?  It would?  Well, tragically, it is.

To cut a long saga involving six electrician visits and two sets of men short, the fault was eventually traced to a cable which could only be reached by sawing a big hole in said kitchen ceiling.  Obviously. We are the Whites after all.  And in gaining a nice new hole, we lost £215 in charges.  And that's before I work out how I'm going to make our ceiling look beautiful again.  My current thinking involves a box of Elastoplast and some Tippex.

So, that's what's been going on in our house.  I trust your present home life is significantly less dramatic or costly.

It's time to play the jokers

I've been really poor at updating this rubbish in recent times, principally because I've been doing lots of stuff which would probably be of little interest to you. (Not that it's stopped me before, I appreciate).

However, an exception to this has been the work I've been doing on the Oliver Turkington Memorial Dinner. 

If you missed my original post, the event is being organised to mark 25 years since my old school - Coleraine "Inst" - became the first from Ireland to play rugby in Japan, and to celebrate the life of Oliver Turkington, our much-missed teammate who sadly died in 2007. 

British and Irish Lions legend Willie John McBride will be principal speaker at the gathering which will take place on Saturday 13 September at the school itself.  Proceeds will be divided equally between Cancer Research UK and rugby development at Coleraine Inst. 

Now, I'm about to issue a press release to tell the media what I'm about to tell you but, in a White Stuff exclusive (!) - get this.

I can announce first here that the event will be co-hosted by none other than Ireland's leading comedy duo, Grimes and McKee (pictured above).  And I am VERY excited about it!

Alan McKee is an Old Boy of the school and played for the 1st XV in the 1988 Ulster Schools' Cup Final. Which makes him kind of perfect for the gig in my book. And having seen Conor Grimes do his stuff with Alan both on stage and TV, he is the equally perfect foil for yer man on the night.

As you'll hopefully read online and in newspapers in the coming days, Alan was very gracious in accepting my invitation.

“Running out at Ravenhill on St Patrick’s Day to represent my school was one of the proudest moments of my life,” he said. 

“I was therefore honoured to be asked to play a part in this very special event and had no hesitation in saying yes.  Conor wasn’t allowed to have an opinion but, if he had one, he would have said yes too.

“Several members of the Japan tour squad were team mates of mine in 1988 and it will be terrific to see them again.  I know that a number of others from my year will also be making the effort to come along to support two great causes and remember Oliver, who will forever be held in very high regard by all who knew him.  I can guarantee a night to remember for everyone, including Conor if he doesn’t get lost on the way. Sadly, he’s not from Coleraine but secretly wishes he was. Probably.”

So, yes, I'm thrilled as another very important piece is added to what looks like being an incredibly fun jigsaw of an evening. 

Less fun, of course, is the fact that we will have to charge people. And in case you're wondering, I shall indeed be paying for my own ticket.

Which brings me to the all-important details which I promised to announce by the end of this month - and, amazingly, have hit the deadline.

Here goes. Tickets will go on sale at 9am tomorrow morning priced £45 and are available in person from the school office, by calling Diane Armstrong on Tel: 028 7034 4331 or emailing richardbeggs@btinternet.com  

So no excuses, get booking before they all go. Because, trust me, they will. 

He won't be happy

We're having a new toilet installed tomorrow morning.

In fact, here he is; all shiny white and clearly very happy. 

I've decided to call him Pharrell.

Meanwhile, at around lunchtime, Vanessa will reach the end of what I can only describe as an "iron woman" detox. It involves forcing specially made-up juice mixtures down you (well, down her) six times a day for three days. 

Nothing else can enter her body (shut up). And the end result will be a clear-out on Armageddon levels.

It seems that poor, smiley Pharrell is in for a one hell of a baptism.

Simon Andrews

I came home tonight with the intention of showing you pictures and telling you about my fun weekend, in the company of terrific people, at the North West 200.  But, within the last half hour, I've learnt that Saturday's racing has claimed the life of one of my favourite riders, Simon Andrews.

Only 31 years old and from Evesham in Worcestershire, he was involved in a horrific crash near Metropole corner in Portrush.  Racing was held up for some time whilst he was airlifted to hospital.  But, after initially being put on a life support machine, he was able to breathe on his own and the signs were good.  Sadly he lost his battle earlier today.

I've written about him here before. He had several dices with death in the past, but always came back.  More importantly, he was widely known as a very nice guy with time for everyone.  Above you can see him signing autographs in Coleraine town centre in Friday afternoon, just 24 hours before his accident.

He is a huge loss to his sport and to the many people who enjoyed seeing him race.

North West remains best

It's that time of year when tens of thousands of us head to the Causeway Coast to get the heads beaten off us in the wind, rain and North Atlantic foam whilst waiting desperately in hope of seeing an occasional mad bloke whizz past on a two-wheeled rocket ship.

Yes friends, it's time for The Vauxhall International North West 200 2014.

To be fair, the forecast this year is better than last year. Yes, we will almost certainly get pneumonia on Saturday. That's almost a given these days. But the weather for final practice tomorrow morning and the first three races tomorrow evening is much more positive. Someone told me it could be as warm as 8 degrees before the sun goes down but I suspect that statement was merely drink-fuelled wishful thinking.

As in previous years, my motorcycle mad stepdad Mike will be there. In fact, I'm meeting him and my dad for our very own preview show (starring only us) in my spiritual home, the Railway Arms, at precisely 1942 this evening. (Clare, could you stick one on for me? Thanks). 

And joining us tomorrow for the first time is Sandy from Edinburgh (latterly of London).

Here he is with another great man, Keith Lemon.

Sandy is a mechanic by trade and, when we met in tragic circumstances last summer, he pledged that we should get together for a cheerier time at the North West. He's proven to be as good as his word, which does not surprise me in the least.

As ever, you can follow all the live action over the coming days on the BBC Sport website. That is unless we are in a local hostelry, in which case you can't. And neither would I want you to.

However, before I go, I ask you to do me - and yourself - a favour.

As I say, the weather has been the Achilles heel of the North West 200 in recent years, not that it will thankfully ever stop people from coming. But it still can be frustrating.

At yesterday's opening practice session, eccentric Austrian racer Horst Saiger decided to lay his frustrations bare in a live BBC TV interview.

The excerpt I have for you isn't very long. Please watch it. And don't be drinking hot tea when you do.

Here's the link: http://youtu.be/_Ia8yld02q4

Dicks and Druetts

No, what you see above is not a scene from the set of Anchorman 3.  It's Yorkshire TV's Calendar on-screen team from the programme's 1980s golden era.

Amongst those in picture are current BBC News Special Correspondent Robert Hall (back row, left), legendary Countdown presenter Richard 'Twice Nightly' Whiteley (front centre - naturally) and the Big Dick himself, Richard Madeley (directly behind).

However, from our family's viewpoint, the main man is sitting on the left. It's Vanessa's dad Geoff Druett whose 70th birthday we gathered to celebrate yesterday afternoon.

The photo was one of many pulled together to form a decade by decade photographic record of his life in booklet form. Voila.

  
The entertainment was mighty fine, compliments of Otley Ukulele Orchestra (who were superb).

Prompting interpretive dancing from young...

...and a little older.

Grandson Jack delivered the speech of the day.

Before the cake was cut by the man of the moment.

It was a great privilege to be part of it.

Party preparations

We're off to Vanessa's dad's 70th birthday party shortly, which should be something to behold.  More on this later although, given that there's a free bar, it may be tomorrow.

However, Geoff's grandkids will be the only children present which risks causing some minor inconvenience issues for Vanessa and myself.

We could try to keep ours entertained.  But that seems like a lot of effort when there's serious drinking to be done.  This leaves physical restraint as the much more attractive and, yes, lazier option for us.

I have checked and it appears the village hall we're going to does not have it's own dungeon.  This is as shocking as it is personally disappointing, particularly as our children have found this to be a pleasing form of captivity in the past.  

So once again, we'll have to pack Jamie's personal stocks.

Charlotte, meanwhile, will simply be chained to the nearest wall and fed buns.

The taxi's booked for noon.

And for the next trick

Now that the guest list has been settled, I can now exclusively announce the headline (OK, only) act at Jamie's sixth birthday party next month.

Yes folks, it's the wizards' wizard himself.

It's Cosmo the Cosmic Magician.

Hailing from "a family of top children's entertainers in Leeds," Cosmo has been making things disappear - before then making them reappear so he can reuse them - since 1995.  (According to his website, he also has an up-to-date police check and public liability insurance, so it's all good).

Vanessa spoke to "Janey the Magical Assistant" earlier today, and the deal has been done.  She says she now knows what Glastonbury organiser Michael Eavis must feel like when he hooks a big one.

As for any parents reading this, I can also reveal that the bar at Aireborough Rugby Club - where the party is taking place - will be open during the show.  And I for one intend to find out how much Foster's I can make vanish into thin air until it closes.

Choc doc

"I was kicked in the cosy corner!"

These were not the words I expected to greet me as I walked through the door this evening.

They came from Charlotte, from whom I sought urgent clarification.

"XXXXXX XXXXX kicked me in the cosy corner at nursery!" (The name has been omitted to protect the almost certainly innocent.)

Not being a  lady, I have no idea what it's like to be kicked in the cosy corner. But I do know that ladies like chocolate. So I gave Charlotte some.

And surprise, surprise - the smile was soon back on her face.

I suspect any male doctor would have prescribed the same medicine.

Calamity Charlotte

Watched by Gary, Robbie, Howard, Jason and Mark, I cut the grass earlier today. 

Actually, Jamie was watching too. It wouldn't be like him to put himself out too much unless absolutely necessary.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was more than willing to lend a hand.

But look closely at her and, in particular, the blue object poking out of her dress. 

Yes, it's a toy gun.

Charlotte never plays with toy guns and certainly has never been seen with one stashed away on her person.

The only conceivable explanation is that she's seen a lot of Gerry Adams on the TV news in recent days and he's got through to her subliminally. 

So it's Sky News off, CBeebies back on until her mind returns to normal. 

Needless to say her weapon has now been decommissioned. 

If your name's not down, go away

The selection panel has just met to finalise the guest list for Jamie's birthday party next month.

Invitations will go out shortly.

If your name has been omitted, it's entirely deliberate. 

Not three bad

They say bad things come in threes, and the evidence is that "they" are right.  Bros, Bananarama and Five Star after two of them left in a huff (see above) are but 80s musical examples of this sad reality.

As it happens, three irritating developments in the breakdown category have plagued me this week. First, our boiler has gone wonky leaving with us with temperamental hot water. Second, I detonated our fuse box and Vanessa had to get a real man in. And third, our not-very-old kitchen telly appears to be on the way out, leaving me with few remaining options but to hit it with a big hammer - before chucking it in the bin.  

However, my expletive-laden frustrations have been tempered greatly by the fact that interest in and enthusiasm for the Oliver Turkington Memorial Dinner is now beginning to motor.

If you haven't read my original post, Oliver was a teammate of mine and 19 other lucky souls when we made up the Coleraine Inst 1st XV rugby tour squad to Japan precisely a quarter of a century ago this year.  Very sadly, Oliver lost his long-running disagreement with cancer in 2007. So, we're all getting back together on Saturday 13 September at the school itself for dinner, some reminiscing, an occasional tear and a lengthening list of entertaining features including an address from Lions colossus Willie John McBride. And crucially, you're all very welcome - for the price of a ticket, obviously. Details of how to get your mitts on one (or ideally more than one) of these will be announced later this month.

I've set up an event page on Facebook which is open to all to view and contribute to.  So please do.  The local papers back in Coleraine have been very helpful in helping us to promote what we're doing.  The numbers of people from outside Northern Ireland who have already booked their flights is growing.  And I have some exciting news about hosting arrangements for the event, but I can't tell you about these yet (yes, I know you'll not sleep but life can be cruel).

Anyway, I hope you're OK and the good is outweighing the bad in your world.  Onwards to the Bank Holiday weekend.