Charge of the Council brigade

So then, have you had your fill of my hole or do you want some more? (Please don't answer that).

Quickly, this afternoon we finally had some stirring from the Leader's Office in Leeds Civic Hall. Well, to be fair, it was much more than that.

Cllr Carter - after an admittedly blunt e-mail from me this morning - responded to say he had actually visited the scene of the recurring crime last night, describing it as "a shambles." Top marks to him, I told you he was a fine man.

More importantly, he has ordered all manner of immediate site visits and inspections which, obviously, I'm very grateful for - as are our neighbours who I went to see tonight.

But be very clear about this - I want blood over the events of the last few days and I won't rest until it's spilt (metaphorically, of course).

Moving on, the next big item on the White house agenda is tomorrow teatime when my mum and her partner Derek arrive for a week (that's right - I said a week).

We have plenty planned for them, including lots of opportunities to babysit - they will be pleased.

But before they touch down and their vast programme of entertainment is rolled out, I've got some even more exciting news.

I've just found a Fry's Chocolate Cream in the fridge and, as soon as I know Vanessa's asleep, I'm going to scoff it in bed with a cup of tea and Question Time on the telly. Does life get any better? I would think so, yes.

Bits and passes

I genuinely do hate to go on about this, but the scene above is what greeted me when I headed out the front door this morning. The building on the left is our house.

I had a word with one of the two new cowboys who turned with this particularly unsubtle piece of machinery.

"Do you have the right permissions to be doing this?" asked me.

"I would imagine so," replied he, not entirely convincingly.

"And when do you expect to finish the job?" (Me again).

"Don't know, mate." (Him) "Maybe today, maybe tomorrow."

Well, I mean, what's the point in being precise when you've got the run of the place? Needless to say it wasn't today, so yet another tale of the unexpected will now unfold outside our house from daybreak.

I have passed news on the latest developments together with a demand for action to Cllr Andrew Carter who hasn't yet come back to me. He's either on the case or, well, let's just hope he is.

The big thing I mentioned in my last blog that I was doing today was my driving theory test (you almost got there Malcolm) which I'm pleased to say I passed. For the third time. So, once again, I am able to proudly proclaim that I CAN drive (in theory). Indeed, this pass is particularly ironic given that I've failed my practical test the same number of times.

To explain, the theory certificate is only valid for two years and I kind of lost momentum, heart, call it what you will at various stages after passes one and two, hence the need to do it again. But, with Jamie now amongst us, I have decided to really stick at it now and finish the job.

I'd be an awful dad if I couldn't take him to football, or rugby, or the cinema or whatever in the car and had to depend on either public transport or someone else on each and every occasion. So I'm going to do it - mark my words - and I'm going to do it for my boy! (Eventually. 10th time lucky?)

And finally, talking of his nibs, I'm told he had fun at today's teddy bears' picnic - he was certainly looking forward to it beforehand.

One surprise piece of news was that he didn't finish his teddy bear biscuit. But the chicken roast dinner complete with Yorkshire pudding, sandwiches, Weetabix, tomatoes, cucumber, yogurt and milk might have had something to do with that.

Sadly the bad weather meant that the event had to be held indoors, but hopefully there will be other opportunities at other times in our promised barbecue summer for him to dine alfresco.

As well as completing a teddy bear painting (which is currently being mounted back at the nursery), Jamie also had his first try at baking. I'm not sure what he was tasked with rustling up, but I'm informed the biggest challenge was keeping the wooden spoon out of his mouth. It just doesn't sound like him at all.

Cowboygate: Day 3

Yes folks, the story rumbles on.

The scene above is, believe it or not, the pavement outside our house. In fact, the wall you're looking at IS our house.

I came home last night to find a half-arsed repair job on the road and a hole - albeit small - still in the pavement. A cable was exposed so I presumed the job would be quickly finished this morning.

But when daylight came, some more cowboys rolled up, dug the crater you see before you and buggered off sometime around 11am. They haven't been seen since.

Clearly I'm not impressed and neither are our neighbours, who I've made a point of speaking to.

I've also been in contact with Cllr Andrew Carter, the Leader of Leeds City Council, who represents our ward. Andrew is a fine man - a man of Pudsey - who I know relatively well.

My question to him was, do these somewhat unfunny jokers have the necessary permissions to carry out this work? Having spoken to a friendly builder on the office block site across the road, it appears they may not but, hopefully with Andrew's help, we should be able to find out one way or the other.

I want blood now and I want it quick. But if I can't have blood, a nice prosecution will do just fine.

On an equally important note and after months of trying, I finally got Jamie to wave to the Wottingers during tonight's episode of In The Night Garden. This is normally the exclusive privilege of the teeny tiny Pontipines who double up as their stalkers, so I was dead proud.

It's a big day for our boy tomorrow because he's off to celebrate Paddington's birthday. His nursery is having a special teddy bears' picnic especially for the occasion and they're even having a raffle - which reminds me, I must remember to pack his pound as well as one of his many teddies.

And it's a big day for me too - but I'll wait until I hopefully come through it before I tell you why (it's a bit embarrassing, verging on humiliating).

Saturday night fun - and cowboy dung

As I was saying yesterday before those cowboys so spectacularly interrupted my train of thought, our friends Jane and Ed and their cutie children Charlie and Mimi came to stay on Saturday night and much fun seemed to be had - particularly by Jamie.

In fact, he may even have technically cheated on his new girlfriend Sally who he only got together with last week.

But then, is having a bath with another lady really cheating? It surely must be.

In The Night Garden, which all three kids are watching above, kept matters civil for a while.

But then Jamie began to eye up his prey.

And, as I say, 20 minutes later, they had taken the plunge (which I decided against photographing for reasons of taste and decency).

The food and wine then made an appearance and both mummies and both daddies seemed to enjoy the evening.

Sadly, this particular daddy probably enjoyed himself just a little too much and wasn't around to wave everyone off the following morning. (In my defence, I only had about four and a bit hours sleep the previous night...but still).

Before I head off for another day's graft, you'll no doubt be wanting an update on our hole.

Two cowboys arrived not that long ago - one shovel between them - and cowboy #1 rang our doorbell for a word. He was enquiring if our telly was broken (it's not as we have Sky as opposed to cable) but then he revealed that Maria - our neighbour on the other side i.e. not Barrington - also had her line cut yesterday. They really did do a top job.

I asked him how they managed to achieve the seemingly unachievable yesterday and he explained - after saying it wasn't him, it was someone else - that they had been set a very difficult task.

"But isn't that why you get paid?" I enquired, "the idea being that you do it right?" Sadly, that comment appeared to fly over his head and into the atmosphere somewhere where it remains.

Anyway, he and his mate have since been joined by another crack tradesman who seems to have particular responsibility for the team fags.

As I said last night, goodness knows what scene will greet me when I get back from work tonight.

Cowboys ride into Pudsey

After a fun night last night - more on that tomorrow - not such a good day today.

Jamie's not so well again and we had to abort our trip to a long-planned lunch with friends in North Yorkshire, despite getting several miles down the road.

And then there's the "little local difficulty" we've been experiencing, courtesy of some cowboy contractors. The picture below is the overnight result of their efforts today. And it's right outside our house.

An office block has been built directly across the road and it appears to have been the job of these idiots to put the electrics in, including digging a hole in the middle of the road.

We were given no prior notice of this and the first we knew of their presence was early this morning when a man from the gas emergency team knocked on our door to report that the contractors had cut through the gas mains. But that was only the beginning.

Shortly afterwards, they cut through the Virgin Media cable, depriving our nice neighbour Barrington of his subscription telly. However, they left the best until last.

For their party piece, they sliced through the mains water supply, spilling goodness knows how many thousands of gallons down the road before the emergency water people arrived to join their gas colleagues in dealing with what was now a fairly major crisis.

Both the water and gas have since been restored but Jamie didn't get his bath. In short, it's not been a day any of us will want to remember.

Our cowboy friends will be back outside first thing tomorrow to try again. I hope our street is still here when I get back from work.

Here you go...

It's hard to believe that Dagenham Dave's packet produced this gorgeous little boy - or Oliver for that matter. But apparently it's true.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Alexander George Gates who, I can now tell you, weighed in at eight pounds nine ounces when hitting the scales on Thursday afternoon.

As the picture clearly shows, all is well.

And as the one below also illustrates, Mummy is in fine fettle too.

The only downside is, once again, her husband who was something like an hour late in picking her and Baby Alexander up from hospital in Harrogate this afternoon. At the risk of repeating myself - what an idiot.

But the new addition will no doubt fit in very well - he's terrific and, again, congratulations to them all (even Dave, grudgingly).

As a footnote, seeing the little mite alongside Jamie this afternoon reminded us just how humongous Master W has become. I reckon we'll have to keep him in the cellar soon, tied to a post.

Breakfast TV

Like most non-posh people I know, I like watching telly - and lots of it.

Equally, I am fully aware that allowing your kids to fall into the same trap is not perhaps the best thing for their personal development. But there again, to quote the words of several parents I've spoken to over the last few months, "if it shuts them up." Indeed.

As I've mentioned previously, Jamie's latest phase involves him waking up at 5am pretty much on the dot. This is clearly not ideal but it's better than it was so we're not complaining.

However, it's still 5am, Vanessa and I are working and we need to get some rest somewhere along the way. So we have a small number of ways of dealing with the situation.

Normally, one of us will take Jamie into the spare room to let the other sleep, give Jamie a cuddle and a bottle and sometimes he'll go back down. And sometimes he won't.

We tend to keep trying until about 6 but, if he's not sleeping again by then, we can forget it until mid-morning.

So what to do next? If it's a weekend morning - particularly a Sunday - I generally get up and take him out for a push, get the papers and visit the swings. But if it's a school morning, both Mummy and Daddy need just a little more of a lie down - which is where the telly comes in.

I now know the CBeebies weekday schedule like the back of my hand: Tikkabilla at 6, Teletubbies at 6.30, Tweenies at 6.55 - and so on. All good stuff, other than MR F***ING TUMBLE who I HATE!!! (Sorry, he just annoys me. A LOT!)

We started off by sticking Jamie in a travel cot beside our bed from where he could gaze over to the TV and we could try to rest. But, over the last few days, sir has demanded a vast improvement in the quality of service he receives.

The picture above is the result - right in the middle of our bed, plumped up pillows, plenty of quilt and a clear view of the telly.

All he's missing is the remote control and tea and toast on a lap tray. Perhaps that instruction will come next week.

We have become an uncle

I have great pleasure in formally announcing the birth, at 2.20pm today, of Alexander George Gates - son of Vanessa's sister Hannah and Dagenham Dave (allegedly), brother of Oliver and cousin of Jamie, Jack and Holly.

No news yet on weight, but he came out through the sun roof with lots of dark hair (unlike his "dad"). Mum is apparently "pain free" (who said drugs are bad?) and "very happy."

The picture above, taken at Friday's Take That concert, is perhaps a bit dated now given the events of a few hours ago but I hope to bring you one or two sharper and more recent images in the coming days.

Congratulations to all involved (although, clearly, I'm not convinced Dave was involved) from the Whites.

I don't know about anyone else, but Uncle Barry will certainly be having a celebratory snifter tonight.

Love is in the hair

I've just watched the British Lions rugby team stuff the Natal Sharks in South Africa, the Irish cricket team be stuffed by India in the Twenty20 cricket World Cup, the England football team go three up against Andorra at half-time and, after a short break to knock out this rubbish, will shortly be going back downstairs to watch the second half. Yes folks, Vanessa isn't in tonight.

She's joined a book club and this is her first meeting (no idea why, probably should've asked, might do later). Obviously I miss her very deeply. But hopefully it's on again next Wednesday - the Lions definitely have another game and I'm sure there's more cricket on too.

The big news of the day is that Jamie has fallen in love. Maybe. Almost certainly. Well, he might've done.

I went to pick him up after work from nursery and met him coming out through the baby room door to join the toddlers. He was being carried and the reason he was going across the corridor was because Sally had just been picked up by her Grandma and he was pining a bit.

Sally is actually the little "boy" with the "snowball perched on his head" I talked about last week (clearly I didn't look properly first time around and for that I apologise - I saw her again the next day and she's very pretty).

Sally and Jamie were the only two babies in the baby room today and, according to the nice lady looking after them, they spent the whole day together eating Weetabix, playing, eating raisins, playing, eating apples, playing, eating cottage pie, playing, eating bananas, playing, eating cheesy mash and then a bit more playing before Jamie came home for supper and milk. (He also had some toast before he left this morning - fat b******).

But the fact that apparently Jamie let Sally have some of his banana and cheesy mash (confirmed by the lady) showed - to quote Suggs - it must be love.

Sally also has blond hair (hence the snowball reference) and blue eyes, so children with either dark or ginger hair and dark eyes are therefore guaranteed.

I'm obviously delighted that our son has found lifelong happiness at such an early stage of his life - it just saves so much hassle (and cash).

Wrestlemania

My nephew and Jamie's Godfather Sebastian is, as the picture above confirms, a huge fan of American WWE wrestling.

He watches it on television at every spare moment and talks about it in incredible detail to anyone who wants to listen. Back in the glory days of World of Sport, I was almost as big a fan of British wrestling. I even went along to see Giant Haystacks beat the face off The Fighting Ulsterman (thankfully, we don't have so many of them any more) at Coleraine Leisure Centre one Saturday night in the mid-1980s.

I tell you all this because it seems Jamie is going to be a wrestling fan himself, and not simply as a spectator. Oh no. He wants to play a full part.

Changing his nappy, drying him after his bath, getting him ready for bed and dressing him in the morning are now full on battle royals with no holds barred.

Tonight he was really up for the fight although, thankfully, his performance eventually wore him out and he's now sleeping soundly.

And this morning, whilst Vanessa put his clothes on, I had the task of putting on his shoes, socks and coat and strapping him into his pram. He was vicious. In fact, the only move he didn't try was jumping off the sink for a Big Daddy splash. Just wait until he can get up there, because I know it's coming.

And when he was successfully (from my point of view) tied to his pram, he still couldn't resist issuing a challenge for a violent rematch - just like on the telly.

If he continues along this path, I might have to admit defeat and buy him a wrestling mask for his birthday.

The bell is expected to ring again at around 5am tomorrow - if not before.

Tree cheers

Here's an exciting one for you - we've had some trees chopped back in our garden (before and after pictures above). Yup, we know how to spoil ourselves.

To cut a long story short (although not as short as the trees in question), we didn't have a sunny weekend like everyone else the weekend before last because two of our trees blocked the sun out. So action had to be taken. And not being particularly gifted in the chopping trees back department (although I did lop a few twigs off the side of our hedge yesterday afternoon), we got a (very reasonable) man in.

It's all very exciting. Needless to say we're not expecting to see the sun again this side of September (when we go on holiday).

Two other quick matters. First, today I was delighted to see the Omagh families achieve successful civil prosecutions against four of the bastards who blew up their town and many of their relatives in August 1998. I met many of these very brave people when I worked at Westminster and had the privilege of attending the press conference which launched the public appeal to fund this action several years ago. Others present that day included Bob Geldof, Barry McGuigan, Peter Mandelson and David Trimble. Also there was Mariella Frostrup whose husband was one of the lead lawyers involved in the case and remains a friend of mine. I was delighted to pass on my huge congratulations to him this afternoon. It's just a shame it's taken so long for the families to achieve some small comfort.

And ending on a lighter note, earlier today, for the first time, Jamie pooed a whole sweetcorn. Congratulations to him too.

Sleep, baby, sleep

Did you know there were such things - well, people - as sleep counsellors for babies? If you didn't then now you do and Jamie's came to see him on Friday.

If you're a regular reader, you'll know that R Jamie hasn't been the best snoozer over the last 11 and a bit months. And neither, consequently, have his mummy and daddy.

Vanessa made the appointment with the sleep counsellor just over a fortnight ago and, ironically, he has been much better since - principally, we think, because his routine has changed. We were in Northern Ireland for a week and, in recent days, he started nursery. All of this has made him more tired than usual, helped him to get his head down and helped him to keep it down. He's also become more active generally - it's very clear that he's not going to be one of life's sit-arounders (new word there - hope you like it).

Before his recent conversion to something like normal sleep, we've sought advice from various sources including other parents and books. And we kept being told we were being too soft on him by not letting him cry and cry and cry. But, according to his wonderfully understanding sleep counsellor, letting him "cry it out" is not normally the best way to go about these things. Indeed, according to her, it's likely to just upset him even more - which is what I've been arguing all along (yea me).

In addition to the moral support, she also gave us several very useful hints and tips which should hopefully keep us on the path to success. One very interesting fact she came out with was that babies of Jamie's age should sleep for around 11 hours each night. So, given he goes to his scratcher at 7pm, we should expect to see him stay down until 6am. At the moment he's routinely an hour short of this - he generally stirs around 5am - but we're getting closer and will keep at it.

I'm off shortly for some lunch, Sunday papers, sport on telly and Jamie-baiting. But the highlight of the day (sorry, I'm about to be a nerd again) will hopefully be later when the European election results are announced - I've even got a box of chicken wings in for the occasion.

It's now very clear that our esteemed Prime Minister has as much intention of standing down as that wee, fat, speccy bloke in North Korea who's also unelected. I don't know about you, but I'm absolutely sick, sore and tired of listening to Brown and his bovver boys process on to our TV screens to tell us "what the British people really want." As a proud British person - and one no longer stuck in the Westminster bubble - I think I have a fair idea myself.

The vast majority want that embarrassment of a man (did you see him try to be cool next to Obama in Normandy yesterday?) out of Number 10 without delay. But unless those around him summon the guts to do something about it, we're going to be stuck with him for another year yet. No matter what your politics are, this is not a good situation for our country to be in.

Craving Take That

I've never been what you might call a huge fan of Take That. But, as that old Harry Enfield character might say, "I respect the contribution that Barlow, Owen, Donald and Orange have made to the British popular music industry over many years."

Or, at least, that's what I would have said prior to last night. Alongside Vanessa, her sister Hannah and friend Vicky, I went along to the first date of Take That's British tour at the Stadium of Light in Sunderland - and they were absolutely magnificent.

I've been fortunate enough to see quite a few big open air gigs and some have proven to be a bit of a disappointment. In my experience, they generally fall into two categories - bands who are determined to give the audience full value for money by investing in the show financially and in terms of effort on stage, and bands who seem almost content to do the minimum.

I would put REM into the latter category. But thankfully, Take That were very much in the former camp last night. According to this morning's newspapers, the band have pumped £10 million into the production of "The Circus Live," 238 people are on the road with them and it takes 52 lorries and a fleet of buses to cart their kit around.

As well as all sorts of performers including trapeze artists, high-wire walkers, dancers and clowns, they even had a 30 feet high mechanical elephant which the famous foursome apparently appeared out of whilst I was at the bar - you win some, you lose some.

And they're now much more than just a boy band. They played their own instruments for several songs and three of them even rode down the stage unaided on unicycles. The exception was head man Gary Barlow who, in what was a genuinely laugh out loud moment (honestly), made the journey astride a kid's bike complete with stabilisers.

As I mentioned yesterday, Hannah (below right) is due to give birth to her and Dagenham Dave's second child next week (you read that right) but was determined to be there once Wee John had pulled out. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I considered packing flasks of hot water and a bag of towels, "just in case."

But, believe it or not, the lady on the other side of me was also heavily pregnant. And so were several other female fans I spotted over the course of the night amongst the 50,000 crowd.

I know it is natural for women to have cravings when they're up the duff. But I thought they were limited to, for example, chocolate, liver and jam on things that aren't normally coated in jam.

You can now add Take That to the list

Brown stuff and Barlow

I'm writing this stupidly early this morning and it's not all Jamie's fault. Indeed, I've barely slept all night.

The reason? Work and Pensions Secretary James Purnell's resignation from Government late yesterday in protest at Gordon Brown's continuing Prime Ministership. How sad am I?! (Please don't answer).

And I have form. I remember the day Margaret Thatcher resigned 19 years ago, when I was a first year student in Newcastle. After experiencing a personal power cut in my room, I spent about 12 hours carrying my portable TV around the halls of residence trying to find free power points to plug into as the drama unfolded. I lost count of the number of times I was moved on from corridors and kitchens and called less than supportive names by "friends." Boo to them all.

Regular readers will know I don't care much for Gordon Brown and won't be surprised to learn that I desperately hope he suffers the same fate as Thatcher over the next few days. I might even make my own protest against him by resigning my Boot's Advantage card or my membership of Pudsey Leisure Centre in an attempt to force his hand. Or I might not - I've got 187 Advantage Points at the moment, which aren't to be sniffed at.

But there's something else going on in my world today which, on top of what I've just told you, could lead observers to conclude that I'm the saddest person they know.

For, guess where Wee John, Vicky, Vanessa and me are heading off to later today? Answer - Sunderland.

And why are we going there? The first night of Take That's world tour. Oh yes. Full review tomorrow.

1035 UPDATE: Wee John has just pulled out for reasons one can only speculate on. His place is being taken by Vanessa's incredibly excited sister Hannah who is due to give birth next week. But it could now be tonight...

Settling in nicely

Jamie and I went on our Jeremy Kyle stalking expedition yesterday straight from what had been a very successful second day at nursery for our little man.

Unlike his first day on Tuesday when he gazed up looking rather drained and confused when I walked through the door, yesterday, he crawled calmly and happily along the floor, up my legs and into my arms - before offering a big smile.

His nursery really is an incredibly warm and uplifting place to be. The staff are terrific, the kids are smiley and the mothers (I've only seen one other "modern dad" there so far - what?!) all look much more in control of the situation than I do.

For example, yesterday morning after dropping Jamie off, I suddenly realised that I'd never collapsed his lightweight pram before (the one we normally keep in the boot of the car - in the manner of Batman's Batcycle which Batman keeps in his Batmobile. Or Batwing. Or it could be his Batboat. Anyway, you've got the idea). So I had a go in the corridor, in the process knocking books and leaflets flying off a nearby table. Seeing me in distress and close to tears, Mum#3 walking past felt pangs of sympathy and did the job for me. God bless equality.

Jamie was sent home with three items yesterday which all made me smile. First was a little chocolate Smartie cake because it was another kiddie's birthday (AWWWW!)

Second was a copy of the June 2009 "Baby Room Newsletter" which Vanessa and I found particularly informative. Last month, it revealed, the rhyme of the month for Baby Room inhabitants was "The Wheels On The Bus," new words including Mummy and Daddy were learnt, everyone got wet with lots of water play and paintings of summer ice creams were completed. Excellent stuff.

But look what's on the agenda for June: the song of the month will be "I Know A Teddy Bear," fun will be had in the garden, physical skills will be developed thanks to the tunnel, play shape and tumble mats and everyone will be getting messy by painting and sticking. Quite a bit to cram in there then.

And, there's even some special events lined up. Babies will be making Father's Day cards on the 9th and mummies are even allowed to come and help from 4.30-5pm. BRILLIANT! And, on the 17th, the class will be celebrating Paddington's Birthday by having a teddy bears picnic with everyone invited to bring along a teddy bear friend, donate £1 to sick and vulnerable babies and take part in a raffle to win Paddington himself. I'm very jealous about all of that.

There's more yet. The 23rd will be June's "Colour Day" with the special colour being yellow and there will be a "Music and Movement" session between 5.15 and 5.45pm on the 24th.

But the newsletter leaves the best till last:

"We would like to to a big hello to James [Jamie's his stage name, don't forget] who has joined our baby room. We hope you have a happy stay with us." I've never been more certain of anything.

AND:

"We would like to wish a Happy 1st Birthday to James [still R Jamie] on the 23rd June."

Could June get any better?!

Well - surprise, surprise - it already has. For the third item Jamie brought home yesterday was his first ever painting (a photo of which you can see above). If truth be told, I don't think it's all his own work. But his mummy and daddy are obviously incredibly proud of his efforts.

And his daddy is already looking forward to going back to nursery again next Tuesday. Hopefully he'll remember to bring James...sorry...Jamie with him.

Jamie meets Jeremy

Today, Jamie met his first big celebrity (after Grandad Geoff and Scoobie Doo) when he got together with confrontational ITV morning talk show host Jeremy Kyle.

Yer man was promoting his new book at Asda in Pudsey and, on Saturday, Jamie and I saw a notice in the store pre-advertising his presence.

My mum is a huge fan of The Jeremy Kyle Show and, last week when babysitting her grandson, let Jamie watch the programme to gauge his reaction. Apparently it was positive and even animated in places.

So, the two White men headed down to Asda late this afternoon to get a nice treat for Granny - a personally signed copy of Jeremy's tome.

There were a few people ahead of us (not another male and possibly not even a job amongst them) but we persevered.

And we didn't intend to leave it at just a signed copy of his book, hell no. For Daddy had bigger ideas for his son. A photograph would be good, two even better - particularly if Jeremy could muster a rare off-stage smile.

But what else could we get?

The answer was a personally inscribed picture of Jeremy - Jamie's first autograph.

It turned out to be a good afternoon's work.

And, much more importantly, it was a laugh. Full marks to Jeremy Kyle too - a top man and a good sport.

Old and new beginnings

And so it came to pass: today, Vanessa started back at work and Jamie started nursery.

Mum probably had the less taxing day of the two. Her e-mail account hadn't been properly reactivated since she went off on maternity leave twelve months ago, meaning she didn't do anything particularly meaningful until around 4.30pm. So, nothing new there then.

As for Jamie, well, we're not really sure if truth be told. The picture below was taken just before we pushed him up the road after eight this morning and, as you can see, he was in the best of form.

But when I went back to collect him more than nine hours later, his demeanour was rather less animated. I think he was tired, more than anything else. The two girls looking after him reported that he had only slept for only around 40 minutes all day, less than a third of his normal downtime in recent weeks.

Perhaps he was scared to miss something, perhaps he was a bit on the disconcerted side with lots of strange faces and no familiar ones around him. It was almost certainly a bit of both.

He apparently ate well (please don't faint) although, at lunchtime, insisted on having his choc ice before his chicken korma and rice (in common with some of his "classmates," the nice ladies assured me). He also had a large cheese sandwich for tea. And Weetabix for breakfast. Oh, and lots of fruit. And other snacks throughout he day. And plenty of full fat milk. So, well, no, he's...errm...not off his food - which is good.

However, he steadfastly refused to climb into the paddling pool for a cooling mid-afternoon dip with the rest of the baby class (which, from what I could see, consisted of a sweet and smiley little girl with magnificent eyebrows, an enigmatic but incredibly cute mini-chap who looked like ex-Beautiful South lead singer Paul Heaton and another equally endearing little boy who appeared to have a snowball perched on his head).

But I was certainly very impressed by everyone and everything I saw today and hopefully tomorrow Jamie will throw himself in at the deep end. I'd be surprised if he doesn't.

Best job in the world?

You will probably have read or heard a few weeks ago about the British man who won the so-called "best job in the world" as caretaker of a tropical island on Australia's Great Barrier Reef.

Ben Southall will earn £70,000 for spending six months swimming, snorkeling and sailing around Hamilton Island and blogging about his experiences.

However, I think he has some competition. For last week I stumbled across a man in Bundoran, Co Donegal could claim to have the best job in Ireland and possibly, yes, the world.

He's a Guinness Quality Control Bloke (or some similar title) and he apparently does exactly what it says on his van (pictured by me above).

As is well known, we Ulster/Irish folk take our Guinness seriously and no-one takes it more seriously than the Dublin-based brewer itself. And if your standards wane as a publican, your supply dries up - and quite right too in my book. Thankfully our little group did not report a single bad pint over the course of the week and, believe me, there were a lot of pints sunk.

A final thought: if the man in the van is actually the Guinness Quality Control Bloke's chauffeur rather than the Guinness Quality Control Bloke himself (if you know what I'm saying), then the Guinness Quality Control Bloke really must have the best job in the world.

Moving on, tomorrow is a big day in the White house.

The party's over for Vanessa as she trundles back to work (ho ho) for the first time in a year.

And, after a couple of short trial visits, Jamie has his first proper day at nursery - I was proud to present him with his school bag earlier this evening.

News on both tomorrow.

Making a meal of it

Aside from all the sightseeing in the second half of the week just gone, there were regular opportunities to grab some light refreshment.

Our biggest night was Thursday when Vicky, Wee John, Vanessa and I headed out for dinner on Lusty Beg, a little island just a couple of hundred yards away from Boa Island where we were staying.

Driving there was not advisable, as a nearby sign clearly pointed out.

But thankfully there was a ferry on hand...

...which Vicky was only too happy to call.

Some of the locals found our presence of interest whilst we waited for our lift...

...which duly arrived.

The ferryman was a jolly fellow although we took Chris De Burgh's advice by not offering payment.

And after our short but memorable journey...

...a fine night was had...

...by all.