We knew he'd grow into it

It was Jamie's "moving on assembly" at Guiseley Infant and Nursery School on Friday morning.  And it was a toughie.  

Our boy has changed a lot over the past three years, as the pictures below prove. 

On Friday, we deliberately squeezed him into the tee shirt he wore on his very first day which, in September 2012, looked like a sweatshirt.  And despite having grown a few inches over that period, be assured that he is actually wearing shorts in photo number two.

But the physical changes are only part of the story.

So many of the positive aspects of his developing character - not to mention everything he learnt in the classroom, obviously - are down to the fine folk of a very fine school.

St Oswald's Primary School has a lot to live up to when he and Charlotte rock up there in September.

Have a bite with Barry

With schools in Leeds having already broken up or preparing to break up in the coming days, the sense of dread amongst local parents is already palpable.

What oh what to do with our dearly beloveds?

But don't despair mums and dads, because I believe I've found a piece to start you off with that two-month jigsaw.  Oh yes.

Because between noon and 1pm  next Wednesday and, indeed, every Wednesday until the end of August, you can have your lunch with Barry.

And not just any Barry, hell no.  I'm talking about Barry the Friendly Dragon.

Thanks to the foresightedness of the good folk at Leeds City Council, the beautiful surrounds of Kirkstall Abbey are being made available for family picnics - with Barry as your host.

However, rightly conscious of health and safety concerns, the Council's open invitation does come with a health warning:

"Just make sure he doesn't eat your sandwiches!"

Consider yourself duly advised.

A great night despite the Big No Show

Prior to yesterday, Jamie's sole big-time sporting experience was having the privilege of sitting in the grandstand at the London Olympics as Coleraine rowing great Alan Campbell grabbed bronze for Team GB (&NI) in the men's single sculls. The memory of it still gives me goosebumps even now.

Three years and I thought it was high time he continued his live sports education.   Actually, the credit isn't mine but belongs to my old pal Paul "Merv" Gaile who came up with some free tickets the day before (a favour beckons)

The result was a visit to Headingley Cricket Ground to witness the Yorkshire Vikings take on Worcestershire Rapids in the NatWest T20 Blast.

And why Yorkshire "Vikings"? 

I dunno.  Maybe the mascot suit was going cheap.

Unlike the mascot miniatures.

Or the pies.

But the outlay was worth it on what was a terrific evening's fun - save for two disappointments.

Number one was was a defeat for the Vikings, their first since the last time they played.

Number two was a golden (first ball) duck for Yorkshire's star overseas player Glenn Maxwell, known as "The Big Show" and renowned as one of the world's greatest one-day batsmen.  I'd talked about him a lot on our bus journey to the ground, and his instant demise was a source of visible disappointment for both Jamie and me.    

And here's the proof as the catch which sent him on his way is taken in front of us.

I'm sure that this time last week Australians were good at cricket. 

The young female of the species is often a cheeky bitch

With Vanessa away on a sun-kissed girlie weekend...

....(I get to go to the North West 200 motorbike races every year to get soaked), for the past four days I was in sole charge of Jamie and Charlotte's personal development.

So, taking my responsibilities most seriously, I invited them to treat me to the Minions movie before returning the favour with a spin on the tea cups.

But I have to say, Mummy was missed - especially by Charlotte.

Miss White isn't really a fan of moving in general and walking in particular. And, because of circumstance - i.e. I still haven't passed my driving test (SHUT....UP!!!) - there was quite a bit of walking involved.

Charlotte was generally frustrated by this.  And, as we waited for our third massively delayed bus of the day on Saturday afternoon, her brewing ire bubbled over.  

"Daddy!" she spat.

"Yes, Charlotte."

"I wish you were away and Mummy was here because then she could drive us around!"

There's nothing worse than kicking a man when he's unlicensed.

But there was more hurt to come.

Other than being bad at steering a car around corners, another of my many weaknesses as a dad is an inability to do anything constructive with my daughter's hair.

Believe me I've tried.  I can brush it, yes.  (I once had a dog).  But putting clips, bobbles and similar restraining implements into Charlotte's hair and making them "stick" is very much beyond my talents.

So much so that, by day three, Charlotte told me not to bother with any accessories and she'd manage without seeing where she was going.

As Mummy's return from hols drew closer yesterday afternoon, I suggested that Charlotte put on a pretty dress. She was happy with that.  But then I pushed my luck.

"And do you want to have your hair done too?"

"Yes," she said.  "But not by you."

It is often said that God loves a trier.  I can only hope that 4-year-old trainee princesses do too.

Fat Hand from Ulster

It's bad day when you no longer know the back of your own hand.  But that's what has become of me.

48 hours on, and memories of Jane's party continue to raise a smile.  However, at some point along the way, something bit me.  I don't think it was a fellow guest but it was dark so I can't be sure.

Whatever the truth, my left wrist was itchy on the journey back from Manchester and, as yesterday went on, it got itchier.  When darkness fell, it was starting to ache. And by the time I climbed out of my pit this morning to face another week, I was swollen up from the tip of my fingers to halfway up my forearm. 

Bizarre.

The nice lady in the local chemist kindly gave me some tablets and a tube of cream in return for eight British pounds.  They've made little difference thus far although time is apparently a great healer.

For now, I'm left with the back of a hand that I cannot recognise.  It's bloated and also appears to have shortened in length.  From my angle, I've become a chubby little fat man.  And it's messing with my brain.

All day I've had images of fellow chubby little fat men wobbling through my mind. 

Late darting legend Jocky Wilson has been in there.  John Prescott too.  The Baldy Man from the spoof Hamlet adverts (below).    

Ricky Gervais.  Norm from Cheers.  Winston Churchill.  Reg Holdsworth from Coronation Street.  Wayne Slobb.  Phil "The Power" Taylor.  Peter Kay.  And Johnny bloody Vegas. 

If my real left hand hasn't returned to action by tomorrow, I'm going to wear a glove.  I wasn't a huge Michael Jackson but being him for the day has got to be better than this.

Jane is 40 - fancy that

A quite magnificent night last night when Mrs W and I headed over the Pennines to attend her old school friend Jane's 40th birthday bash.  Jane introduced me to Vanessa in a House of Commons bar 18 years ago, almost to the second. So all her fault then.

The instruction was to arrive in fancy dress with Dallas and Dynasty the theme.

Most imaginative costume?  I'd say below.

"DAL" on his back.  And his ass is very much on show.  Magnificent.

The birthday girl herself (below, right) came as Dynasty super-bitch Alexis Carrington, famously played by Joan Collins.

   
And that's Vanessa on the left as Kristin Shepard, JR Ewing's crap shot almost killer.

There was even a bucking bronco.  Here's Vanessa beating my time.

"Devastated" is the cleanest word I can use to describe how much that continues to hurt.

Later we had cake.

That's Ed - Jane's husband - in the towel, aka Bobby Ewing (Dallas aficionados will immediately "get" the ingenuity behind the look).

And then the party started.

Jane and Vanessa started it off.

And others willingly joined in.

I'd taken my costume off by that point.

Well, I mean, Jock Ewing was never really known as a dancer.    

Bright White

I'm a sucker for a good new-fashioned online discount voucher.    

So, when I got a magazine through from a well-known online sports shop containing my very own discount code, I got excited.

I needed to buy a new pair of running shoes, you see.  And because I run in a "particular way" (all down to the war wounds), I always get the same ones - although I do try to buy a different colour each time for the sheer thrill of it.

Which brings me to my point.

I wanted a navy pair this time, but they only had size 13.5 and I'm an 11.  I was therefore stuck with the other colour available.  And they were, well, a little "different."  But still, they were in the sale and I had my discount voucher so what the heck.

I added them to my cart and went to pay.  Bugger, I was £8 short of the limit for free delivery - which cost £5.99.  So I added three pairs of running socks - which were the same colour as my new "different" trainers - and went to pay.  Clever me.

Before putting in my payment details, I added my discount code.  Double bugger.  My 15% off took me back under the free delivery line - a bit tight that, I'd say - so I had to buy something else.  I quickly chose a running tee shirt, again in the same "different" colour.  And I paid.

My "free" delivery arrived on Tuesday and I'm looking forward to trying everything out.  But tonight I let Charlotte have first go.

  
I think I'll look great and not in the least like a 6'2" luminous streak of, er, banana.

7 UP

At this time on this day seven years ago, I was getting bored.

Vanessa and I were in a delivery suite in Leeds General Infirmary and, quite frankly, Vanessa wasn't delivering.

Having seen the scans and felt the occasional tummy kick over previous months, I knew there was a theory that I was about to become a father.  But I didn't really believe it.

I mean, "did you see the shape of me?" (as they say in Coleraine).  I wasn't ready to be a dad and I'd certainly never met a child who I could imagine would wish to be my son or daughter.

In fact, it was only when a smiley nurse handed me a little fat man at around 8.50pm that night that I finally realised the whole episode hadn't been an elaborate hoax.

By day four, Baby James Richard had become a bit more bonny.

Thank, er, heavens for that.

Since then, I can barely remember having had a full night's (non-alcohol induced) sleep.  Don't get me wrong, it's not always been his (or Charlotte's) fault.  Mostly, but not always.  It's just what parenting does to you - or certainly has done to me.

I didn't even have any grey hair in 2008.  Now, when she sits on my shoulders, Charlotte says she can see my "real head."

But it's been an adventure.

And over that time, Jamie has grown up a touch and now even has a baby of his own.

Yup, Granny Elizabeth in Portstewart bought him a Furby for his birthday.

She's always been a particularly cruel woman.    

Tonight we'll have a party tea for him including cake, and something else is planned for Saturday.

Seven years.  Bloody hell.

Good fun though.

Who's the daddy?

Above you can see one of the two home made cards I received from Charlotte this morning, Jamie handed over two more.  Most kind although, in Charlotte's case, I fear her admiration for me will inevitably decrease as she becomes less short.

Jamie designed one of his cards at his Beavers' "Lads and Dads Night" on Wednesday.

As part of the packed programme, we also had a mixed teams tug of war battle.

Followed by the dads being forced to run the wet sponge gauntlet.
 

Then, back in the hut, we took part in a quiz with our respective sprogs.

I did swimmingly well in answering my "Know Your Lad?" posers, only getting Jamie's favourite colour wrong.  (It had been blue until Wednesday morning, on Wednesday afternoon it became green. He didn't say).

Then it was his turn to answer questions about me in "Know Your Dad?"

Here's how it went:

Q1 What is his full name?
A. Barry Richard White (Correct)

Q2 What date is his birthday?
A. ??? (Gutted)  

Q3 What colour are his eyes?
A. Blue (I wish)

Q4 What's his job?
A. Paper man (Because he said I shuffled paper a lot.  In protest, I chose not to give him a point)

Q5 Who are his favourite football team?
A. Ireland (Northern - he could have that one)

Q6 Where was he born?
A. Ireland (As above)

Q7 What size shoes does he take?
A. Size 4 (Maybe he's seen me in the shower.  No point)

Q8 What is his favourite food?
A. Meat (That's my boy)

Q9 Does he like dogs or cats?
A. Cats (On a roll)

Q10 What sport does he play?
A. Rugby (Forced to retired because of injury in 1996, but close enough)  

Q11 What is his best friend's name?
A. John (Wee)

Q12 Is he romantic?
A. Sort of (For explanation see answers 5 and 6)

Eight points then. Expect to see us on Family Fortunes sometime soon.  

Meanwhile, the cafe's now open.  It's time for my special Fathers' Day lunch.

Moving pictures

Last week I promised to put up the link to the Spirit of Northern Ireland Awards, which was broadcast last night on Ulster Television.

And HERE it is.

If you don't have time to watch it all - and try if you can - go to 23 minutes and 40 seconds and there's a wee face I expect you'll recognise.

Enjoy.

Blood relatives unknown

Minus Mummy, last night I made the kids a homemade chicken and ham pie (first attempt, nobody died) and sought to indulge in proper cross-table conversation.

Predictably given Friday evening's never-to-be-forgotten goings on, Oliver Dickey came up.

"He won his prize," I announced, still feeling a tad emotional about the whole thing.

"Great!" shouted Jamie.

"Great!" shouted Charlotte.

Correct X2.

I then showed them some pictures from the awards ceremony.

And, as dedicated Britain's Got Talent fans, this one proved to be particularly impressive.

Yes, Oliver with "The Sword Girl" as Charlotte likes to call Jesse Jane McParland. (HI-YAH!)

Indeed, so impressed was Ms White that she insisted we interrupt our tea to take a picture to send on to Oliver and his little brother Max.

Back at the table, both were curious as to why Oliver had had to endure his ordeal in the first place.  Why was he not able to be born, get bigger and learn to walk "like everyone else"?

I explained that not all of us were so fortunate and, quite often, babies were born with little problems.

They couldn't really get their heads around this so I decided to offer an illustration.

"I had a problem with my blood when I was a little baby," I explained, "and had to have it changed a few times."

"What do you mean?" Jamie asked.

"A very kind person gave me some of their good blood to replace my bad blood," I battered on.

"Oh," said Jamie.  "Who was it?"

"I don't know."

"Andy Warhol?" ventured Jamie.  (No idea where that came from).

"Or a dog," said Charlotte.

"Shut up and eat your dinner."

Once a winner, forever a winner

Three months ago, I issued a little call to arms: Help Wee Oliver WIN.

If you don't know the remarkable story about Oliver Dickey by now, you must've been been living under something hard and stoney.  In short, the once wheelchair-bound little man is now positively scooting around the place (Meep! Meep!)

In the year and a half since the Help Wee Oliver Walk campaign got under way, Master Dickey's tale has moved many, many people far beyond the streets of Coleraine.  It has also served as a source of inspiration for countless more, not least other children in need of SDR surgery and their parents.

"Nothing is impossible," somebody we probably all heard of once said.  They might even have said it more than once.  But whoever it was, Oliver Dickey has proven that they were spot on.

Given the impact he has had, it seemed obvious that Oliver should be nominated for a Spirit of Northern Ireland Award.

And, as a result of so many of you answering the plea, he was short-listed in the Overcoming Adversity category.

The ceremony took place last night and, if you don't already know, you can probably guess the rest: OF COURSE he won!

The event was recorded by Ulster Television and an edited version goes out in Northern Ireland next Friday (I think).  I'll put a link up when available for those of us living elsewhere.

But I understand his little video was very good.

I mean, look.

No doubt you, like me, are thrilled for Oliver, his mum Charlene, dad Neil and brother Max - all of whom I know had a night they'll never forget (apart from the bits shandy-drinking Neil probably can't remember).

Rewinding back to January 2014, the Help Wee Oliver Walk appeal began with a drive to recruit some household names to give it a bit of profile.  And for their help, everyone involved will be forever grateful to a long list of public figures including Barry McGuigan, Joan Collins, Lord Sugar, Tanni Grey-Thompson, Zoe Ball and Peter Andre (to name a mere few).

In the intervening period, Oliver has become famous in his own right with fellow celebs falling over themselves to get their photo taken with him.    

Last night, for example, deposed X Factor judge Louis Walsh was first in the queue for a career-boosting shot.

He was closely followed by Britain's Got Talent ninja Jesse Jane McParland, who also demanded a date - a "request" best not refused.

Sadly Oliver's Granny Florrie has to make do with Snow Patrol frontman Gary Lightbody.

And Coronation Street bad boy Jim McDonald.

So she did.

That was all last night.  But this morning, the sun rose again and it was time for breakfast.

So why wouldn't Wee Oliver have his cornflakes with the Northern Ireland football team?

No reason whatsoever.

Good luck to the boys tonight in their crunch Euro 2016 qualifier against Romania.   

And well played Oliver

Terry triumphs in the thrill of The Chase

Last night I posed a question: would Terry from Portstewart be the man with all the answers?

And on tonight's episode of The Chase, he proved his credentials when the pressure was truly on.

Ignoring distractions such as host Bradley Walsh's famously innuendo-obsessed mind, plus team-mate Dave who loved to think he knew it all, Terry answered the crucial final "push-back" question to beat the Chaser and carry his team over the line to glory.

And his reward?  A third share of £45,000.

Not a bad night's work, and a fine hour of televisual entertainment into the bargain.

Top man, top job, thrilled for the boy.

Terry Knox: The man with all the answers?

I'm not a huge teatime quiz show watcher, but tomorrow I intend to break my non-habit.

This is because my mate Terry Knox is due to be on that ITV one that Bradley Walsh is also on - commonly known as The Chase - and it will certainly be worth a watch.

Here's Terry, flanked (from left to right) by Her Majesty the Queen and His Holiness the Pope.

I've seen The Chase a few times and, in truth, never fully understood what is going on.  In fact, my only consistent recollection is that the fat bloke who sits high up tends to do better than the confused member of the public perched several feet below.

But tomorrow I suspect Fat Bloke may meet his match.

I say this for two reasons.

First, having gone to school with Terry - who lives in Portstewart - I know how clever he is.

And second, I had a few drinks with him before Christmas and, towards the end of the night, the indications were that he'd done rather well. (The show was recorded months ago. Plus, Terry's a modest fellow).

So, dear friends, 5pm tomorrow, ITV, The Chase.

Tune in or set whatever recording device you have available.  Otherwise you'll not know how Terry got on, which would be a loss - especially if he did well and you meet him in a pub.  

Total victory for the Wee Country

Despite the best efforts of presidents and prime ministers all over the world, as of Sunday morning, Sepp Blatter was steadfastly refusing to go as FIFA boss.

And then these guys got on his case on Sunday afternoon.

Oh, and these guys too.

In Crewe for the Northern Ireland football team's friendly with Qatar, the fearless band of boys and girls chose to make a stand.

"BOO!" they shouted.

"HISS!" they, er, hissed.

"SEPP BLATTER, **** *** YOU *** ****!" they murmured  (some of their number being lawyers but not yet rich enough lawyers to be able to fork out substantial damages for defamation of character).

And then today, the *** **** did indeed **** ***.

Quite remarkable, and proving once again that wee countries are countries too.

For the record, Sunday's game finished Northern Ireland 1 Qatar 1 in front of a crowd of 3,022.