The Rugby World Cup comes to town

The Rugby World Cup rolled into Leeds this weekend.  And it was magnificent.

The fun began at Aireborough Rugby Club on Friday evening when the entire USA squad called in to say hello.

And nothing was too much trouble for them.

At times they seemed even more excited than the kids, who felt like they were walking on air.

They won a lot of friends and, I suspect, stole a few hearts while they were at it.  Absolute respect.

The first of the weekend's two games was on Saturday, when Italy took on Canada at Elland Road, the home of Leeds United.

The fun began before we left Guiseley when Jamie met some travelling Italian fans.

Joined by my rugby mad Kiwi friend Hayden and in a first for me, we had a pic taken with a man-sized rugby ball.

Before this walked off the train from Edinburgh.

Yes, everyone has a pal named Dave and this one is mine.  

Despite the garb, he's actually from Northern Ireland.  We went to school together and I'm a proud but poor godfather to his son, Huw.  

He wore his kilt for the entire weekend, assisted by Sudocrem.  

Italy were fortunate to triumph in an entertaining game.

Most importantly, Jamie loved it - giving me an excuse to get to more rugby matches in the future.   

Dave and I were back again on Sunday to see Scotland take on our new American friends.  

Thankfully, Dave blended into the crowd much better than the previous day as Scotland won by a distance.

  

Then it was off to the Fan Zone to see Ireland stuff Romania on the big screen.

And, in a final treat, we bumped into Scottish rugby hero turned administrator John Jeffrey. 

He's a bit of a legend, old John.  A farmer by trade, he once expressed his one regret about the location of his land on the Scottish borders: "If I stand on a hill I can see England."

He also famously received a six-month ban from the sport after he and England's Dean Richards damaged the one of the oldest trophies in sport, the Calcutta Cup, after playing football with it in Edinburgh city centre.    

A terrific end to a wonderfully memorable weekend.  

And, sticking with the rugby theme, there's one more thing.  Yesterday my old team mate and captain Mark Buchanan posted a picture on Facebook which made me feel old and nostalgic in equal measure.

It's the 1991 Northumberland Colts County Cup Winners, Newcastle Gosforth RFC.  We had a great night.   

Pet hates

The White family is set to expand in number.

Yes, we're thinking about getting a pet.

In truth, neither Vanessa nor I want to tread this rocky path. After years of nappies and knocked-over potties, it remains a relief that the constant smell of poo has finally gone.

But Jamie has been piling on the pressure.  And as much as we've tried to put him off, he's become rigidly unputoffable.  Plus, as ex-childhood pet owners ourselves, it does seem a bit harsh to tell him that he can never have one himself.

So tonight we had a family meeting to discuss what he/we might get.

A dog was swiftly ruled out.  Too much effort required.  And Charlotte is convinced it will eat her.  Not going to happen.  The end.

I've always had a soft spot for cats, but Vanessa has put her Converse down.  She thinks they're evil. I could point out that this situation would never have happened if we'd had a cat. I got him in the end, followed by another five.  But the lady's not for turning.

A hamster?  "Too boring," declared Jamie.

A gerbil? "It's just like a hamster," noted Charlotte.

A guinea pig?  "No," grumped Jamie.

Charlotte said she'd quite like a pet fish.

"What kind of fish?" I enquired.

"A cod," she replied.  "Or maybe a salmon.  We could call her Sally."

At least there wouldn't be a cat around to eat it.

The meeting concluded with the passing of a unanimous resolution to visit the local pet shop for a browse.  A rabbit is now a slight favourite in the betting stakes.  But I'm not yet convinced.  I don't trust rabbits. They hear everything with their big floppy ears and are notoriously indiscreet.

I'll keep you informed.  

Swinging and in pain

We had ourselves a family day out yesterday.

Well, we let them out eventually.

But it wasn't just us Whites who were involved in our pilgrimage to Flamingo Land theme park in North Yorkshire. Hell no.

Below left you can see Jamie and Charlotte's daredevil cousin Holly, the bravest junior lady I've yet encountered.

She was the most delighted balloon occupant when the basket eventually rose high into the air.

And she was even more thrilled after joining cousin Oliver at the front of this ride, known as Kumali.

I mean, look at the size of it.

Holly's dad, Jonathan, was almost as brave sitting a few rows behind.

And perched as far back as you could go was Uncle Barry, having just been to the gents.

My problems began early after the ride lady viciously slammed the metal harnessy thing right onto my poorly shoulder, before locking me in like a sweary sardine.

Then it was time to begin the slow ascent to the top of the ride, the bit I hate most.  It probably took about 30 seconds, but felt like most of my adult life.

And then this.

Honestly, it was brutal.

Jamie and Charlotte thought I was very brave.  They'll find out eventually.

Flash Dad

One of those golden moments this morning when both Jamie and Charlotte were packed off to school together for the first time; Jamie into year three, Charlotte to reception.

Well, I say together. Charlotte doesn't actually start officially until later this afternoon as she and her fellow mini-inmates begin the process of "settling in."  But she was determined to go along with Jamie in all her new garb before returning home.  In fact, last night she insisted on sleeping au naturel so she could slip into her uniform as soon as she woke up.

St Oswald's C of E Primary School will be their new home for the next few years after a bit of a rejig of education places in Guiseley.  And the look and feel of everything there so far has been more than positive.

Of course, when you're new somewhere, it's always good to seek to create a positive impression - and that includes the parents.

After coiffuring Jamie for what seemed like hours this morning - Vanessa "did" Charlotte - I climbed into a pair of sensible trousers and put on a shirt, just so I didn't let the siblings down.

And when we arrived at the playground, I spend the next 15-20 minutes smiling manically at all and sundry with teachers at the head of my mental queue.

It was only as I walked back out the school gates that I realised my zip had been open all along.

Tomorrow, whatever the weather, I think it's best not to turn up in a long plastic coat.

A final flog of the Turkish horse

Almost 48 hours after arriving home from Turkey, I finally feel strong enough to talk about it.

Honestly, coming back from holiday is always a big ordeal for.

And the hardest part of all?  Passing beaming, pasty-faced new arrivals - either in the hotel lobby or at the airport - who are about to steal our fun.  I. Hate. You. All.

More positively, we did conclude our week-long trip on a series of highs.

Above you can see the audience selfie taken after Sunday's final show.  We're in there somewhere.

I dad danced all night and my calf muscles continue to grumble as a result.

Afterwards Charlotte got to meet her new stage heroine, Jess, the female lead.  

Ms White insisted on it after male lead "Smithy" (below centre) posed for a pic for me.

We also had a photo with the charming Pickthalls, our new friends from Milton Keynes, who we look forward to seeing again soon.

And then we stopped off for a final nightcap before bed.

Jamie was wise enough to stay on soft drinks as he was booked in for a climbing session the following morning.

The low point of the week?

Undoubtedly Vanessa's failure to win the star prize - a Russell the Brussel tee shirt - in Saturday evening's quiz.

And the highlight?

No question, my karaoke performance of "Forever in Blue Jeans" on the first night.

Sadly it was only a highlight for me.

48 hours till summer's end

It's the start of a long weekend and our last two nights at Holiday Village Turkey.  And that's probably about right.

Honestly, this all-inclusive lark is very bad for your health.

This morning we had a late cooked breakfast followed by a visit to the Pancake Lady.

After Jamie and Charlotte are released from their kids clubs (it's Archery and Mini Monsters respectively), it'll be time for lunch and first thoughts of a drink.

That said, with Ireland due to beat England at rugby on TV this afternoon, I don't want to peak too early.

Yesterday was our boat trip in the company of Captain Popcorn.

Yo-ho-ho and I'll have another beer if you're asking.

We had four swim stops in all, although Charlotte only jumped in once because her life jacket wasn't pink.

How undignified.

Jamie found the courage to enter from the top deck.

(So did I but you're not seeing my half-cooked body).

Sadly, I wasn't given the chance to dress up like a pirate, which hurt my feelings a bit.

But thankfully it wasn't as painful as when I cut my heel on a rock and turned the sea red.  For a second I was sure Jaws was going to rise from beneath the foam and bite me on the arse.

It's Chinese night in the restaurant tonight.

Before the Widgets take to the stage .

And, if the evening ends like the last two, it'll be off to the Chill Out Bar for a bedside drawer full of night caps. 

For now though, it's back to my book.

See you in the wind and the rain any time from Tuesday.

Village People: Episode IV

Greetings from Turkey where, as we approach the halfway point of our week-long holiday, I've finally got my backside onto a sun lounger.

After three years of taking the kids to a Holiday Village, this summer we chose to have a good think about where we might go. Then we booked into a Holiday Village.

But we like Holiday Villages so that's OK.

That said, we are having some trouble persuading Jamie and Charlotte to go to their kids clubs/borstals.

Thankfully they did break their duck yesterday. Charlotte led off with a visit to Cowgirl School. 

Note the face paint (which I thought only Red Indians wore). She's also holding a self-made "dream weaver."  What that's got to do with being a cowgirl, only Calamity Jane knows. But it kept her occupied for an hour and a half which was very welcome. 

Then, last night, both she and Jamie visited Space Camp where they made rockets and stuff whilst Mummy and Daddy played out. 

We were very grateful. 

Earlier, we went on a shopping trip into the nearby village. 

Goods on offer included a pregnant Barbie.

And some genuine fake Ferraris. 

Charlotte also bought a hair clip which, as the evening went on, I think even she had some nagging style doubts about. 

Jamie was never convinced. 

With an all-day boat trip planned for tomorrow, we're aiming for an early, sensible night tonight.

Aye right. 

Leaving Belfast with a bang

We're off on holiday tomorrow - Jamie and Charlotte don't have to rock up at their new school building until Thursday 10 September, mainly because it hasn't yet got a roof.

And we've reached the "final packing" stage.

People who've known me for a long time will be shocked to learn that I'm struggling to narrow down my summer wardrobe.  This is because people who've known me a long time say I always looks the same.

However, the biggest challenge we face is finding another bag for Jamie to carry on board.

Below you can see the bag he's taken on as cabin luggage for the past few years.

It's his Busy Bees trolley dolly and it was given to him when he was attending the local Busy Bees nursery.  Yes, he's been a walking brand ambassador.  But that's a matter for them.

He had it with him on Tuesday when we were passing through security at Belfast City Airport.  We'd had a great few days, the airport wasn't busy and all was fine with the world.

Jamie's bag went through the scanner with all the others and I was about to pick it up.  But I was beaten to it by the security lady who advised that it was being taken off for a special scan.  Okey dokey, Jamie's eyes are fairly close together and you can't be too careful.

A couple more minutes passed before I was asked to go and see a grim-faced security man standing in a dark corner behind a desk. Over I went.

"Hello sir," he said.

"Hello," I replied.  It seemed the obvious response.

"Sir, I don't know how to tell you this.  But your son's bag has shown traces of TNT."

I shit you not.

My new best friend - as he instantly became (my choice) - then spent the next 10 minutes asking me questions about what I'd been up to over the previous few days, where I'd been (he wasn't familiar with the Big Marquee Weekend), what I did for a living, who I'd met, and so on.

But we weren't really getting anywhere.  And neither might I be if I couldn't find a way to sort this out.

Then the conversation took an unexpected turn.

"What's in your toiletries bag," asked yer man.

"Urmmm....deodorant, contact lens stuff, toothbrush, shaving stuff.......oh, and moisturiser," I whimpered.

"A-HA!"  boomed my mate.

"Man moisturiser, all men are at it these days - even men from Norn Iron," I protested.

"What make?" he asked.

"Nivea - for MEN.  Like in that TV advert with the Liverpool players in.  They're all men," I battered on.

"GOOD ANSWER!" he announced, with what seemed like genuine pleasure.

"Thank you.  Do you moisturise yourself?"

"No.  But that's where the TNT reading came from!"

He then proceeded to explain that apparently 90% of explosive materials are organic.  (I almost interrupted to remind him he was in Belfast and he might be better to keep his voice down).  And Nivea (for Men) moisturiser had many of the same natural substances in it.  You learn something every day.

Anyway, given that around about this time tomorrow we're due to pass through Turkish customs - where many wannabe ISIL suicide bombers have recently chosen to go for their last piss-up before heading into Syria - we've decided that Jamie's Busy Bees bag will not be coming with us.

Should we be fortunate enough to gain entry, my next update will be from that part of the world.  And if we're not, I wish each and every one of you well.                  

The weather was fair when I called to see Clare

I almost choked on my Sunday lunch last weekend when a friend sent me a picture of the Sunday Life article you can see above (that's my head on the left above the ad).

Nominations for the the Northern Ireland Pub of the Year Awards have just opened and, as regular readers of this increasingly irregular blog may know, my girl Clare Johnston deservedly walked away with last year's Bar Person of the Year Award.

Clare is the landlady of The Railway Arms in Coleraine, also known as Johnstons as it's been in the family for years.  It's my local bar when I'm home and, without question, is my favourite hostelry on the planet.

The reasons for my adoration centre on what Clare has done for and to the place, and how she treats the people who care to visit.

The most recent Johnstons upgrade came as recently as this month when the beer garden was given a splash of splendour.  

Given the "unpredictable" weather on the Causeway Coast of Northern Ireland, it is more likely to be frequented by smokers than sun worshippers.  But I don't like to miss out.  So last week, before my arrival, I told Clare I would be in with a packet of sweetie cigarettes to join in the fun.

And she very kindly mentioned this in her Sunday Life interview, the text of which you can read HERE.

On Monday I was delighted to keep my word.

A Big Weekend in the Wee Village

I rabbited on about Macosquin's Big Marquee Weekend, here and on social media, for weeks on end.  And my enthusiasm proved to be well-placed.

Really, what an incredible few days.

I spent the first 10 years of my life living in Macosquin - a small village on the outskirts of Coleraine - and the people there are second to none.  Add to this a group of local organisers who were prepared to take a risk, and a list of artists spread across three days who were amongst the best that Northern Ireland has to offer and success was guaranteed.  

After a clubland night on Friday (I'm much too old for that caper), Saturday came to life with madly energetic Coleraine band Cellar Door, followed by this lot.

Remind you of anyone?

Well I do hope so, because they are an Oasis tribute band.  Roll With It is their name, they hail from Belfast and they were eerily magnificent.

Ending the evening was Armagh outfit Con Jovi (work it out).

In the background you can see Jon Con Jovi on the MIC; in the foreground you can see Vanessa on the beer.

That was Saturday.  Then Sunday swiftly followed (ouch), with country music the theme of the day.

Joint top of the bill was Claudy man Ritchie Remo, who went down an absolute storm. Here he is having a fiddle on the floor.

 

Then he fiddled on the stage, joined by his little boy (AWWW!!).

  
Whilst Vanessa and I fiddled in the audience with his father-in-law Kenny, an avid Leeds United fan.

I hope you're digging my cowboy shirt.  

As night fell, Mrs White dined al fresco (I spoil that woman)...

...whilst her father-in-law (left) held court under the roof of Mary Pat's Bar.

Finally, bringing the curtain down, was Ireland's top Garth Brooks tribute act Jason Hughes.

Yes he does have friends in low places etc etc.  He can also sing a bit.

I felt very privileged to be asked to help promote the event.  But spotting so many faces I hadn't seen for far too long and exchanging tales was an even greater pleasure.

Thanks to everyone involved for the welcome and the fun.  Top of the list was my oldest friend Drew Hutchinson, aka DJ Steady. Wearing the purple tee shirt, Drew was the big brain behind a triumphantly professional operation.

Roll on Big Marquee Weekend II next year. 

Primal Scream

I'm all sore - and it's made me hate the gym even more.

I've never been a fan, you see.  But at the age of 43 and with memories of the London Marathon and four Great North Runs increasingly distant, I've had to find other ways of remaining alive.

So last year I joined our local gym.

After a few sessions of gently raising some very small pieces of iron, I found myself very bored and in need of greater motivation/a kick up the arse.

I discovered a remedy in the form of spin classes, during which I was often told to get off my bike and do press-ups because I wasn't trying hard enough.  Fair enough, and I was comfortable in the knowledge that I was still putting in more effort than on the pigeon chest press machine.

And I remain spinning once a week, although trainer Jason now makes me do punishment burpees for a little change.

But I've been getting a bored again.

Cue "The Primal Series." (GRRRRRR!!!!)

Yes, dear readers, I've decided to bring out my inner animal by "working [my] body like nature intended," according to the gym bumpf. (Another GRRRRRR!!!! anyone?)

In layman and laylady's terms, what we're talking about is a range of five 30-minute sessions that do different things presumably to different parts of your body.  (I'm not yet an expert).

Earlier this week, I did "Core" which basically hurt all my middle bits.  Then today I did "Conditioning" which hurt all my middle bits again, together with some other bits that escaped damage on Tuesday.

And I've loathed every second of it.

Core was harder, principally because Jason was the trainer and wanted to make me cry.  He came very close.

Today was a little less physically tough, but more taxing mentally because our adolescent apprentice trainer kept telling my three co-participants (all 50-year-old plus women in leotards and lots of make-up) and I that she was "proud" of us.  She then ended the session by trying to flog us those gloopy protein drinks that men with big arms allegedly inject into their eyeballs

But I'll stick at it.  I might leave "Strength" for a while.  Perhaps until I gain an element of strength.  And "Perform" suggests dancing, so that'll never happen.  But maybe me and my girls might move onto "Renew" at some point.

I'll keep you posted.