Take a Wookie at this

Back in my day, we used to turn up to school in bad jumpers and good trousers on Children In Need day in return for a small donation to an excellent cause.

But the stakes have been greatly upped since then.  "No uniform day" it seems is so 1987.  In 2015 our own kids are instead challenged to "Be A Hero" for the day, dressed in appropriate attire.

Now, I don't have a problem with this.  Yes, us parents are all busy ya-de-ya-de-yadda.  But it offers the sprogs a fun experience so, for me, we've got to do our bit.

That's the theory.  Or at least it was until Wednesday evening when Jamie declared that he wanted to be transformed into the Eleventh Doctor (Who) - think Matt Smith - and we quickly realised we didn't have any of the right garb.

A trip to six shops yesterday afternoon brought zero returns.  So I was left with no option but to wing it, picking up the best costume I could find in the challenging circumstances in which I was by then mired.

Charlotte had already decided that she was going as Merida who, I am advised, shoots witches with her bow and arrows.  Definitely a hero(ine) then.  And we already had the costume.

Job done.

So, back to Jamie.  There were two key questions:

1. Could the character I had chosen for him be legitimately classed as a hero? 
2. Did Jamie like the character enough to want to dress up as him?

A quick straw poll on Facebook and a bit of added Googling told me that, yes, our mystery character had most certainly earned his hero spurs - even once turning down a medal for good deeds.

And was Jamie a fan?  Taking, her life in her hands, Vanessa put the question to him last night and, lo and behold, he was very much an admirer.

So all that remained was for Jamie to get into the costume and "the zone."

Ladies and gentlemen, Chewbacca and Merida White.

Enjoy Children in Need night.

And May the Force be with you.

She hasn't even mentioned the skirting boards

It's been a stressful couple of days in our house as we prepared for the carpet men to arrive.

It's taken me more than four years to decorate our house from top to bottom; not that it's a particularly big house, but because I'm lazy.

However, in that time, we'd not bought a new carpet.  So today we had four delivered and laid.

Getting the rooms cleared and the old carpets lifted was always going to be a test (for a man of my patience).  But then on Monday, I lifted the landing carpet to have a gander underneath - and noticed how naff the skirting boards looked.

And the thing is, it's never easier to paint skirting boards then when the carpets are up - a chance that doesn't come along too often.

I had a five-minute think before concluding that I couldn't be arsed.

Then I felt guilty.

And 24 hours later, several miles of skirting boards (OK, maybe just one mile or perhaps a bit less), five door frames, four doors, one banister and several wooden railings had received two grumpy coats each.

Then the furniture moving began, finishing just a few minutes before our men arrived this morning.  What a hero. (Vanessa did move some stuff too, but she's much better at cleaning up afterwards).

And was it all worth it?  Well, Charlotte certainly thinks so.

Little Missy has been stuck with some pretty awful carpet since we moved in here and, when we went to the warehouse, was determined to make up for lost time.

Cue an order in sparkly pink.

Prior to our visit, I wasn't aware that you could get sparkly carpet.  But I learnt something and, crucially, it wasn't even expensive.

And, well, she's rather pleased with the result.

So much so that Mummy thought her dollies might like to share the treat, by way of an off-cut.

    
Methinks there will be sweet dreams in two houses tonight.

Big-hearted Lions stand proud to remember

Remembrance Sunday is a day few people might naturally "look forward to." It's very sad, after all.

But, since being a bit part junior coach at Aireborough Rugby Club, I've been touched by the absolute respect afforded to the two minutes silence by our wonderful group of boys and girls.

This was our Under 8s standing together today alongside their mini-opponents from nearby Yarnbury RFC.

A proud moment.

And they didn't do so bad on the field either.

It was a horrible day here with the pitches wet and hard to run on.

But the Aireborough Lions fronted up, Jamie included, and gave as good as they got.

Afterwards, weekly awards were given out.

And today they included a brand new trinket adjudicated upon by the players themselves.

It was for Coach of the Week.  And I didn't win.

This was hardly a surprise as I'm a crap coach and, on the few occasions when I try to impart my limited "wisdom", very few baby Yorkies have the first clue what I'm talking about.

This only makes me admire them even more.    

Not A Beautiful Noise

Happy Friday one and all, and not before time.  I hope you've had a good week.

For us, it's been an expensive one.  Yesterday I booked tickets for us to return to CarFest North in July.  It wasn't the plan right up until the exact moment when tickets went on sale.  And then I cracked.  Still, bugger it - all for a good cause etc etc.  More on that another time.   

But we also booked our summer holiday.

For the past four years we've gone to a Holiday Village; Menorca twice, then Tenerife, then Turkey just a couple of months ago.  And each trip has been terrific.

But next year we're set for a change.

As before, it'll be kiddie-orientated with kids clubs, junior discos and all the rest.  Plus, we're going all-inclusive once again which means we'll not be hungry (or thirsty...MEH!!!!)

However, there is just the one minor problem.   Our destination is Albufeira in Portugal. And the last time Vanessa and I were there, we left one particular establishment in the back of a police car.

There were no kids around at that stage - we weren't even married - and were having a night on the tiles.   Which was ironic, because I ended up flat on my back on some very cold tiles, surrounded by glass.

We'd stopped off at a Neil Diamond tribute show and, as a self-confessed Neil Diamond fan, I was having a rather good time.  And yes, I'd had a few drinks but nothing too mad.  But my bladder was bursting.  So, during a bit of an instrumental break, I shot off to the gents to empty it.

Unfortunately, as I set foot on the wet floor destined for the urinal, I flew across the room straight into a huge wall mirror which shattered into a million pieces.

You could've heard the crash in Belfast.

The next thing I knew and ignoring my bleeding arm, two burly bouncers arrived to apprehend me.  The police were called and, shortly afterwards, an unamused Vanessa and I were led through a crowd of cheering Brits - who'd gathered outside - put into the back seat of a police car, and driven away.

To cut a long story short, our passport details were taken and we were eventually released back into the wild, pending further enquiries.  We were also warned to stay away from the scene of the "crime" for the remaining eight days of our trip whilst the bar owner decided if he would press charges.

We never saw him or the police officers again.  Thank ****.

Still, the opportunity to pop back in next summer to introduce the kids might prove too difficult to resist.  Actually, bugger it, we're doing it.

My seven years of bad luck must surely be behind me.                    

I'm a disco diva, get me out of here

There's been thick fog in various parts of the country today, leading to the delay or cancellation of lots of flights and the frustration of many passengers.

Such annoyance can often bring out the worst in people, including delusions of personal grandeur.

I mention this because, listening to Radio 5 Live this morning, I heard a very nice lady call in from departures at Amsterdam airport to tell listeners what was going on there.

The long and short was that chaos ensued but, hey ho, worse things happen so let's not get too upset.

Presenter Nicky Campbell asked if any fellow passengers were displaying a less-kindly attitude than herself.

"Oh yes," she said.  "One man marched up to the desk and announced, "I'M A VERY IMPORTANT PERSON!'"

Amused by this, Nicky Campbell relayed a similarly-themed airport story involving US pop queen Diana Ross.

Her flight had also been delayed and she wasn't pleased.

So she flounced up to the check-in desk with a cringeworthy announcement/question of her own: "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"

But the object of her outburst was unbowed.

And, turning to the person staffing the next door desk and speaking loud enough for everyone else to hear, she purred: "There's a person here who doesn't know who she is."

That knock-out line has kept me amused all day.

And from here on in, every time I hear Diana Ross sing her hit song "Do You Know," I'll laugh.  At her.  Very loudly.

Zo bad, Zo old

Sunday evening is not a typical time for a good old laugh.  But tonight was an exception.

Vanessa and I were in one room trying to sort out summer holiday plans.  Meanwhile, the kids were next door watching the Strictly Come Come Dancing results show.  (They're big fans).

As Strictly aficionados will be be very well aware, other than the results themselves, not a lot happens in the Strictly Come Come Dancing results show.  It lasts about 45 minutes but the results last about five.  The rest is what can best be described as "padding."

Cue Zoe Ball.

Our Zoe presents a BBC2 Strictly spin-off programme five nights a week.  And it needs to be promoted.  So, as the votes were being counted tonight, she popped up to tell us all about her gig and why we needed to watch tomorrow.

As it happens, Zoe Ball and us Whites have a history.

I met her at a House of Commons reception in 1998.

See.

And later that night, I saw her again in the next door bar which also contained my recently-acquired girlfriend by the name of Vanessa.

It had previously been said by some that Vanessa and Zoe looked very similar.  So, with a drink or two in the tank, I made it my business to introduce them to each other.  I then asked Ms Ball if she thought she bore any resemblance to the modern day Mrs White.

"No," she replied.  "People say I look like Martin Clunes, so that would be an insult."

A good line.

Let's fast forward until tonight and Zoe Ball's appearance on the Strictly results show.

I paused it on Sky+ and asked Jamie if she reminded him of anyone.

"Yes!" he barked.  "A younger version of Mummy!"

Almost five years her junior, Vanessa is less than pleased.  

Thumbs up for London (and repeat)

After two nights in London, this is our third night back - and it will take a few more yet before normal energy levels are reinstated.

Above you can see Jamie and Charlotte atop the London Eye, our first port of call upon arrival on Sunday afternoon.  In the background you can see the Palace of Westminster where Vanessa and I met more than 18 years ago.  Bloody hell.  We went back for a tour the following morning.

But there was much to do and see before then.

At the head of the list was a date with an old friend - and a meeting with a very new one.

The new face belongs to Josephine who was born in December. Isn't she cute?

And being a female, she's also vicious.  Obviously.
 

And do you recognise the big head in the foreground?  That's her daddy.

Yup, Uncle John is back.  And Auntie Rosie is a good match for him as you can see.

But fatherhood hasn't changed him that much.  He still has many bad habits, some of which he's already set about passing on.

After hugs and lots of waves, it was off to Chinatown for us tourists.

Jamie wasn't a huge fan of the Oriental culinary offerings, in truth.

I knew we should've gone to the Joy Luck.

But at least there were other attractions on hand before bedtime.

After our early morning Parliamentary visit, we split up along gender lines.  Vanessa took Charlotte off to (unsuccessfully) stalk Princess Namesake at Kensington Palace.

And I dragged Jamie to the Science Museum to stare at a piece of Moon rock (amongst other attractions).

We didn't have time for the Tower of London on this occasion, but thankfully the Crown Jewels were on display in Lego form at Hamley's.

There was time for a couple more novelty pictures in advance of dinner and bed.

And before our Tuesday afternoon departure, we watched the Changing of the Guard.

And stood outside Buck House.  (The Royal Standard indicated that Her Majesty was in residence, but she stayed there. Jeremy Kyle was on).

Yes, all very touristy.  But it has to be done.

And, by the end, so too were him and her.

London Whites

Good morning and welcome to Retford, which is somewhere between Leeds and that London.  

The reason for our current location is that we Whites are indeed headed to that London on a half-term jaunt.  The jury is as yet unable to reach a decision on whether it can be described as a "break." Speaking on behalf of Mrs White and myself and fully conscious of the presence of our children, I suspect not.

To be fair, her and me must accept much of the blame for the lack of likely downtime over the next two-and-a-bit days.  Because yes, dear friends, we're packing a lot in. 

And we're starting as we foolishly planned to continue. For example, upon arrival at King's Cross, we have less than an hour to get across the city to board that London Eye. After quickly checking into our downmarket digs, Covent Garden is next on the list before dinner in Chinatown. 

Intriguingly, it has been rumoured that Uncle Wee John will be joining us at that point, which should be fun - if the rumours are true.

It's an early start tomorrow with a tour of the Palace of Westminster due to get underway at 9.15. 

After that, we're splitting up on gender lines. Jamie and I are going on a boys' trip to the Cosmonaut exhibition at the Science Museum. Meanwhile, Vanessa has agreed to act as lady-in-waiting whilst Princess Charlotte embarks on a pilgrimage to stand outside the home of the other Princess Charlotte and have a go in her local (posh) playground. (Apparently there isn't a smashed bottle or an empty Special Brew can to be seen. Fancy that).

Other activities will follow, including a visit to a child friendly pub (yet to be identified). And we'll end proceedings with the inevitable trip to Hamley's "which we'll only go to if you BEHAVE!!!"

Vanessa really should cut me some slack once in a while.

Weekend over, moving on

What an awful day.

Seriously.  Ireland lost in the Rugby World Cup (depriving me of the opportunity to misbehave for the next two weekends).  Then Scotland were cheated out of it in their own quarter-final.  And, crushingly, Daniel O'Donnell was ushered off the set of Strictly Come Dancing.  The shame of it all.

I'm not sure how I'll cope, although I have decided to have a drink as I consider potential responses.

Whilst I have you, last night - with me in sole parent charge -  went well.

Vanessa told me to feed them right/healthily.

Which I believe I did.

And then I left them to watch Strictly as I surveyed the All Blacks next door.

      
Poor Daniel had it coming.

At least our two got something out of it.

Goodnight.

Tables turned - tummy full

Good evening friends and I hope your weekend is set fair.

At this early stage, I'm feeling surprisingly positive about mine - despite the odds being against me.

My little jaunt off to Cardiff last weekend is being repaid as Vanessa has this afternoon headed across to the Lake District armed with a magnum of Prosecco.  (She can tell you the rest).  And as far as our children's development between now and Sunday is therefore concerned, I'm in charge.

Well, I say that. Jamie is actually in absentia this evening, on a sleepover - and no doubt having much more fun than I can provide.

So for one night only, it's just Charlotte and me.

Needless to say, Vanessa left me clear instructions - with little expectation that any of my objectives would be delivered.  Top of the list was to make sure him and her eat properly.

And I'm thrilled to report an unexpected development.

I told Miss White she could have whatever she wanted for tea.  Anything at all.  Totally up to her.  As long as she ate up.  I wasn't arsed.  But please eat up.

And in what can only be described as a wasted opportunity on her part, she chose macaroni cheese in Morrisons' cafe. (She's from Yorkshire)

Voila.

But here's the thing.  She fulfilled her brief.

If you're watching Vanessa, MEH!!!!!!

A great start for Princess Charlotte, even if I do say so myself.  Let's hope she doesn't turn into a pumpkin before Sunday.

And shortly before tea time, a game of rugby broke out

Well, I made it back from Cardiff after a sporting experience I've not seen the like of before.  80,000 madsters cheering loudly under the roof of the greatest purpose-built rugby stadium in the world.  And Ireland won.  Other than nasty injuries to several heroes on the field, what was not to like?

The fun began on Saturday when I met up with my pal Daniel and five of his ex-work colleagues from the European Commission in Brussels.  There was a Dane, a Frenchman, an Italian, an Austrian and the inevitable Irishman.  All very different and brilliant to a man.

We even went to a disco.

I didn't dance, obviously.

Then to the game on Sunday, starting with the pre-match warm-up in the Walkabout bar.  (I had kangaroo and chips for lunch.  When in, er, Cardiff).

Honestly, some of the sights.

And then we made our way to the ground.

With a few others.

Who weren't all Irish fans.

I mean, really.

And there was plenty of French support inside the stadium too.

This monsieur was sitting two up from me.

Quackers, I know.

And after Ireland's well-deserved victory, the party got truly underway.  I have no idea who those people were, but they were having fun too.

And them.

And them.

It was a genuine privilege to be part of it.  Memories to last until the next time.