A City within a city

Well, that's the Easter holidays almost done for another year.  We wrapped ours up in a less than obvious way, as it was off to Salford and an overnight stay at MediaCityUK.  What a truly magnificent place it turned out to be.

Most people will be aware that the BBC moved a load of jobs to Salford Quays a few years ago.  BBC Sport is now based there together with BBC Breakfast, 5 Live, CBeebies, CBBC and various other strands of the Corporation's output.

What's less known is that ITV has a major operation there too, alongside around 250 mostly digital businesses.

Coronation Street is now filmed there, as well as other familiar programmes such as Countdown for Channel 4.

We stayed at the on-site Premier Inn, which had a great view from the seventh floor.

(Jamie was hoping to bump into local hero Liam Gallagher).

Later we clambered onto the tram...

...and journeyed the short distance into Manchester to pig out.

It seems that not all MediaCityUK employees are local, with many BBC staff heading back to London every weekend to eat tofu.  The deserted multi-story car park - which was jammed on Friday - served as evidence of this when we left yesterday morning.

If you get a chance for a visit and a look around, take it.  The Imperial War Museum North, The Lowry and a top notch shopping outlet are there too.

We will definitely return for another nosy.

Jen's all set to face the music

My good friend Jennifer McCracken (now Trohear) is doing something rather wonderful next weekend and would welcome your support.

From Coleraine (of course she is), the only intensive physical exercise I ever remember Jen engaging in at school was playing the cello.  That said, as an ex-violinist myself, I can confirm that string bashing can still be very tiring.  And a cello is a lot bigger. In fact, as this lifesize comparison shows, it's even bigger than Jen.

But I digress.  Yes, Jennifer has upped her game.  She's entered the London Marathon.  (All lapsed cellists end up doing the London Marathon one day).

Jen is running in memory of a little guy called Edward Dee who brought happiness to many before being cruelly taken away by Meningitis.  The cash raised will go towards raising awareness of this b*stard of a disease, as well as finding a way to destroy it.

As a parent myself, I can think of no better cause.     

Crucially, wee Jen has been putting the miles in.  This matters.  Having run the race myself 10 years ago.....honestly...

told you...there are two crucial facts you need to be aware of. 

First, it is bloody hard.  And second, the training is even harder.

I trained up to six days a week for 16 weeks and only missed one session in that period through illness.

Jen has adopted a similarly punishing schedule.  She completed her 20-mile "long run" a fortnight ago and is now in the "tapering" stage.  Before that, she ran all sorts of silly distances including her first-ever half marathon in Blackpool also exactly a year ago.

Our Jennifer has done magnificently well and will smash it in London (the course, not her cello).

You can read Jen's story and throw a few pennies into her virtual bucket by following THIS LINK. 

Good luck you madster.

Black and White

Following yesterday's little reminisce about political events in Northern Ireland a mere 20 years ago, I must share a related matter with you.

I was down in that London last month to attend a memorial service for my departed friend Sean O'Callaghan.  And whilst there I met up with my thankfully still-very-much-with-us pal Steve Donoughue.  I went to university with Steve and we've stayed in touch.

When I worked in Westminster back in the day, I also got to know Steve's dad Bernard, aka Lord Donoughue.

Bernard is a remarkable man whose life story is much too long to tell.  Career highlights include being Head of the Downing Street Policy Unit under Harold Wilson and Jim Callaghan, a source for the writers of Yes Minister and Yes Prime Minister, and a stint as Minister for Agriculture in Tony Blair's first Government.  He was in the latter role when I first met him.

Bernard's deep experience of Whitehall, something the Labour Party lacked after 18 years in Opposition, was of great value to the new Prime Minister.  So too was his knowledge of Northern Ireland, a place that was very high on Blair's agenda upon taking office.  After encountering me through Steve, Bernard quickly decided he and I should have a proper chat.  Over a period of months, this turned into a series of exchanges.

What I hadn't realised until I saw Steve three weeks ago was that some of these conversations have been chronicled in Bernard's recently published book, "Westminster Diary Volume 2 - Farewell to Office."  My copy arrived in the post on Monday.

I'll not burden you with too many details, but I will share a small selection of Bernard's more colourful observations.

Let's begin on Monday 12 January 1998.

"Son Stephen came in with his clever young friend Barry White, who is research officer to the Ulster Unionists.  Said he had heard of me as the Unionists' middle man to No.10, but was not aware how much drafting I had done.  Discussed the whole Ulster situation, where he is very knowledgeable."

I've got to be happy with that.

We'll move on to Wednesday 29 April 1998, less than three weeks after the signing of the Good Friday Agreement.

"Fascinating meeting with young Barry White, the bright political adviser to the Ulster Unionists."

Excellent, another good start.

"Told me that the Ulster Unionists are totally divided and Trimble is in real trouble."

Bugger.  All true, but mildly uncomfortable to read all these years on.
 
Let's try Thursday 14 May 1998.

"Barry White, Unionist adviser, came in to brief me.  He is tall, craggy, remarkably mature and with a wonderfully incomprehensible Ulster accent."

Once from Coleraine, always from Coleraine is what I say - although you might have to ask me to say it again.

Bernard's book is now available from all good book retailers - and some rubbish ones as well.

I plan to read what he's said about everyone else over a series of early nights.              

The Long Good Friday

The picture you can see above was taken 20 years ago today.  That's me in the top right-hand corner.  Ulster Unionist Leader David Trimble is at the microphone offering the world's media his perspective on the Good Friday Agreement which had just been signed.

He was my boss back then and, earlier that day, he and I had a brief discussion over my concerns on the early release of paramilitary prisoners which was part of the deal.  I wasn't a fan of that bit and expressed my worry that these provisions could lead to the Agreement being effectively still born.

"This is about giving the people of Northern Ireland a chance," he told me, calmly but with sincerity.

A few hours later, after taking a call from President Clinton and having received two crucial "side letters" on other contentious issues from Prime Minister Tony Blair, David addressed the Ulster Unionist team.  He told us that he was minded to run with what was on the table.

A well-known Belfast city councillor asked what would happen if he was wrong.

"We're all expendable," David replied 

And with that, the long battle began, first to "sell" the Agreement and then keep the peace process on track.

My role was London-based, looking after the interests of Ulster Unionist MPs and peers in Parliament.  The UUP had 10 MPs back then and, during the referendum campaign, six campaigned in favour of the Good Friday Agreement with the other four arguing for a "No" vote.

The people of Ireland - north and south - resoundingly supported the Agreement in that referendum.  So common sense might lead you to believe that the right thing to do was rally round and make it work, despite its weaknesses.

Unfortunately, it didn't quite play out that way and I spent the next five years tearing my hair out whilst doing my best to hold the Ulster Unionist Parliamentary Party together as a functional unit.   

Fast forward to the present day and you'll probably be aware that there is no longer even an Assembly meeting at Stormont, let alone a devolved government.  Many of the old arguments that I had to deal with continue to rage on with no obvious end in sight.

But the bottom line is that Northern Ireland is now a much better, happier and peaceful place than it was 20 years ago today. 

Let's hope that the bravery and goodwill that I was so privileged to witness at first hand on 10 April 1998 will be replicated some time soon.   

Halfway there

Fresh from my April Fools' Day appointment as the new manager of Guiseley AFC, I headed off to London on Thursday to check out the Olympic Stadium where we will be playing our homes games next season.   

Seriously, you didn't fall for that did you?! It appears that some daddies most certainly did, at least according to a number of Jamie's schoolmates.  RE-SULT!

Anyway, London, well we Whites did go there and we did visit the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park (as it's now known).

Whilst at Stratford Underground station, we also paid homage to Coleraine's three 2012 Olympic medal-winning heroes. (I'm determined that Jamie will get to meet the great Alan Campbell, having personally witnessed him heroically capture the bronze on a very special day). 

Next, it was back into the centre and the cable cars that go over the Thames and back.

The highest car on the left contains my wife and children.  I took the picture.  Honestly, if you think I was going up there, well, you must be really stupid.   

We then clambered onto a speedy boat where sights included the Millennium Dome turned O2 Arena.  Yet another London attraction that neither Mrs White nor I could be arsed to go and see when we actually lived there. 

Following Nandos for tea, the other members of the clan once again proved their foolhardiness by risking vomiting it back up again.  Thankfully they didn't. 

The next morning, we stopped off for a quick picture at The Charlotte (can't think why).  

And then it was off to the Tower of London for a morning with a Beefeater who sounded like Al Murray.   

After lunch, we indulged in a bit of torture... 

....they've had it coming for some time...

...before bird-loving Jamie met a real raver, sorry, raven.

Yesterday we stopped off at the BBC but didn't see anyone famous.  (Hopefully somebody famous saw us).

Back in Yorkshire now, half-term is half-done - leaving another half to go.  Wish us luck.  

The luck of the draw

It was my birthday yesterday which included a fun meal with the family and my mum who has been staying for the past few days.   

To be fair, my head was been in a spin after a bizarre turn of events on Good Friday.

My pal Rob was sponsoring Guiseley AFC's home game that afternoon so invited a few of his mates to join him in the executive portacabin for some corporate hospitality.  It was a great day's entertainment, made all the more memorable by what happened when they drew the half-time raffle.       

I hadn't even bought a ticket of my own, after one of our party generously purchased eight strips and passed them around the table.  And I won.  

But here's the thing.  I didn't walk away with a bottle of champagne or a box of chocolates. Hell no. Instead I was handed the opportunity to be Guiseley team manager for the whole of next season.  It's mad.

Sadly, the club is on the brink of relegation from the National League and will almost certainly be playing in National League North next year.  As such, the club's owner wants to try something a little different by handling responsibility for team affairs to a fan for the next 12 months.  I take up the reins after Guiseley's final game of this season on Saturday 28 April.  

It's an unpaid position, which is fair enough.  However, I get to sign players and choose my own backroom staff.  Fully aware that I might not be ideally qualified for the job, I've already asked the current caretaker manager, Sean St Ledger, to stay on as my assistant.  (Happily for him, he will get paid).  

Rob, who is a die hard Guiseley fan and knows a think or two about the game, will be first team coach.  Ironically, as the owner of an HGV licence, he has also agreed to drive the first team coach to away games.  

My third and final appointment for now is Dr Andrew Parsons (pictured above standing furthest from the camera in the yellow shirt) who will become club physician.     

To keep it in the family, Jamie will be team mascot for the first home game and no doubt Charlotte will have a go later in the season.  

My only other request is that we go to Northern Ireland for a pre-season tour in July including a game with my beloved Coleraine FC, depending on the Bannsiders' European commitments. 

I told you it was bizarre.  But hopefully I can have some fun along the way and, most importantly, the club as a whole will have a year to remember. 

Wish me luck. 

Best to Take It Easy

I had an apicectomy this morning. 

"What's an apicectomy, Barry?"  I'm glad you asked. 

I'll hand you over to the British Dental Health Foundation, who describe it as follows:

An apicectomy is a surgical procedure to remove the top of the root of a dead tooth within the jaw bone and then seal the end with a filling. 

"So what exactly do they do, Barry?"  Again, back to the British Dental Health Foundation.

The procedure involves making a small incision in the gum above the tooth and the end of the root is cleaned and trimmed. Sometimes an additional seal (a retrograde root filling) is added to the end of the root. An apicectomy is usually carried out under a local anaesthetic, but sometimes sedation or a general anaesthetic may be required. 

I only had a local because I'm as hard as eggs, sorry, nails.

The dentist told me afterwards that I was "a bit of a bleeder."  Once she'd wiped the streams of blood from my chin, I told her she was "a bit of a b*stard" and there was no need to be so rude.

Stitches tightly in place, she then put me on antibiotics for the next five days.  Gutted.

But she added: "You'll be pleased to know that they are the ones you can have alcohol with."  Love her.

She then added more: "But not until tomorrow." Hate her again.

To be fair, it might be a blessing in disguise. Jamie and I are off to Guiseley Theatre tonight to see Eagles tribute band "Motel California."

And given the amount of wine I had when we went to see Liam Gallagher a few months ago, perhaps it's best I stay on Diet Coke.

    

Ice not nice

This was the view out of our bedroom window a few minutes ago.  Dig those icicles.

It's almost as cold here as it was on the Causeway Coast last month where we went for our traditional half-term visit.

Blue skies, but also blue fingers.

Joined by cousin Katie, such bravery was later rewarded with some warming Morelli's ice cream. 

 

Which Jamie then got to burn off when Boris took him for a walk.

Oh, and he also had a dinky haircut performed by a huge Turkish man who also set fire to my ears. 

The clear highlight of our trip, certainly for me, was meeting up with my old pals Nick and Mark from Roll With It.

I've said it before and will continue to say that I'd be stunned if there is a better Oasis tribute band anywhere on the planet.

Johnstons was fun too, but you already knew that. 

Back in t'Yorkshire, Jamie and I were kindly invited into the Guiseley AFC executive portacabin for some pre-game hospitality.  (Thanks to Paul 'Merv' Gaile and Chris Allen for their kindness).

Afterwards, Jamie even got to present the Man of the Match award to Guiseley's Ash Palmer. 

So that's what we've been up to since the last time I spouted on here.

Let's hope spring is resprung sometime soon. 

A year in the wife

Vanessa had yet another birthday this week - I've long-since forgotten how old she is - and really trailed this one out.

The picture above was taken on Wednesday, her official birthday.

The one below was snapped on Friday when we were out for a family birthday meal in her honour.      

Charlotte had a better time than it looks.

However, other members of the White clan also managed to celebrate some landmark moments of our own.

Charlotte finished her days at Rainbows with the formal handing over ceremony to Brownies.   

Literally. 

There she goes, jumping over the toadstool and into the hands of her new keepers.

It's good preparation for when she joins the Freemasons.

And yesterday I visited the Ilkley Beer Festival for the very first time. 

I think it was good.  

Young step, old shuffle

Another new step up the ladder of life this morning when Jamie headed off to school on his own with neither Vanessa nor me to be seen.

Normally one or other of us follows along behind him, with Charlotte in very slow tow.

Sadly Little Missy was off school today after barfing on her hands and coat on the way back into class after break.  That's an instant red card and one match ban these days; she's due to return tomorrow having shown no signs of illness since.   

And what a day it's setting up to be as tomorrow night we're off to a family magic show at St Oswald's Primary School in aid of the parents' group.  

Oh, and Vanessa turns 43.  We know how to spoil that woman.

I mean, look how excited she is.

Happy birthday Vanessa.    

Vin de Van, anyone?

A few weeks ago, having completed a massive pre-Christmas raid of Morrisons alcohol department, I decided that we didn't have quite enough drink in our house.  So I selflessly decided to add something extra to Vanessa's Santa list.

You can see the results of it above. Well, just about.

Yes, it's a bucket of almost-ready-to-drink white wine.  All our in-house maker needs to do now is get it out of the bucket and into these.  

Actually, there are many more than that.  The bucket holds 30 bottles of wine in all and we're well-equipped after I - selflessly once again - put the time in to build up our stockpile of empties.  What a trooper, nay, hero.

The one challenge Vanessa now faces is how to syphon.  She supposedly had all the necessary kit but she's since identified another tube that can apparently do the job better - a snip at just £3 from Wilkinsons.  So we're off there this afternoon.

And then, well, hopefully I'll be invited to participate in an evening taste test.  

Give that it's a school night, I reckon three bottles will be almost more than enough.

Name that band

Debbie Gibson, my undisputed teenage crush, wrote her first song at just six years old.  (I've always said she was special).  I even know the words.

It may have taken Jamie three extra Earth years to achieve that feat.  But last night, to make up time, he penned two.

One is called "Frosty Winter's Morning."  The other is as yet unnamed, but will in all likelihood have "bum" in the title.

The reason for this unexpected spurt of creativity is because he's decided to form a band.  Yes, really. 

I wrote HERE that he'd received his first electric guitar for Christmas.   After an initial technical malfunction (i.e. he broke it), a simple repair has since enabled him to jam away for much of the last week.   But yesterday he put his instrument down, picked his pencil up and got scribbling.  I'm genuinely impressed with his efforts.

As for the band, alongside Jamie on guitar, so far we've got Euan on drums, Francis on keyboards and vocals, Sam on vocals and percussion, Joe on percussion, and Callum and Logan on beat box.  The range of musical possibilities is clearly endless.

However, in advance of their record deal and inevitable string of number ones, they obviously need a name.

We had a bit of a White family brainstorm (aka "thought shower") on this last night.  A proud Cure fan (it's always fun to channel my inner goth), I proposed "Boyz Don't Cry."  It didn't make the cut. 

Vanessa came up with "DisGuise," highlighting the band's Guiseley roots.  I liked that.

Charlotte made a narrow range of suggestions, all including the word "poo."  Jamie told her to get off the pot.

He purposely didn't come up with anything himself, instead choosing to consult with fellow band members at school today.

And the result of those discussions?   "The Airesembles," stemming from the group's geographical heartland in the Aireborough district of Leeds. 

But no final decision has been made - which is where you come in.

Do you have any better ideas?  If so, I'll put them to Jamie who'll put them to the band - who'll probably reject them as "booooorrrring!!!"   But we can but try.

So, over to you.   

The winner - should there be one - gets to go on stage to shake Jamie's tambourine for one whole song during their first stadium gig. 

 
So get rocking with your thoughts. 

(Re-)Introducing Vanbar Associates

It's not uncommon for people you've just met to ask you what you do for a living.  Indeed, it's a polite thing to do and, keeping with good etiquette, it's right and proper to ask them back.

What is less common is for friends you've known for years to ask you the same question. 

It's a bit like names.  There are countless people I know and speak to regularly but have absolutely no idea what to call them.  And because I've maybe interacted with them for years, it's now too rude to ask. 

It's the same with jobs. I should know what pretty much all of my friends do during working hours but I often have no clue.

So, with a new year just dawned, I thought it might be helpful to briefly explain to those who don't know - or don't care - what I do to pay the bills.  And I'll go further. I'll even tell you what Vanessa does too. 

Do you see that logo up above (skillfully designed by the great Dylan Lloyd Parry)? Well, the VAN belongs to Vanessa and the BAR belongs to me.  And when you put the two together, you end up with the name of our little company - with Associates helpfully added in to underline that we can put larger teams together should the scale or nature of the work require it.

And would kind of work would that be, Barry?

Good question, and one I am very happy to answer.

Communications is the over-arching description.  Within that you can include writing stuff, promoting things, protecting other stuff, liaising with people and organisations and helping other people and other organisations be better at saying what they want to say at the right time and in the correct order.

Got that?  Excellent.  I've never pretended it was particularly complicated.  But I'd like to think that we are quite good at all of the above, which is why we often get asked to prove it - for a reasonable fee, of course.  (That's where the need to pay the bills comes in).

We have Facebook and Twitter pages.  Heck, we even have a website.  You can check it out by clicking on HERE.   

If you think we can do for you or someone you know what we are already doing for others, feel free to let us know.  Then we'll get on with doing it. 

And if you do get in touch, perhaps you'll also be kind enough to tell me your name and what you do to pay your bills.  I might already know but, there again, I might not.  But if I don't, in no way expect me to admit it.       

For Robin

I had planned to pen some upbeat words tonight.  The idea was to talk about how much I generally despise January and to encourage us all stick together in the face of shitversity.  You know how it is.  (Thankfully I don't do Dry January.  Dry February is also unlikely.  Mainly because, like Dry January, it doesn't rhyme).   

However, tonight I received the galling news that Robin Hutchinson had passed away.

Robin was - and will always be - a hero of mine.  He gave me my first job.  I was a trainee roofer. 12 years old.  £3-a-day I was on.  Well, I say a day.  I only worked one.  I can't remember if that was only because I was too expensive or not very good at whatever it was I was trying to do. (You guess).  It was a good day though.  I still remember it well.

I've known Robin since I hatched.  His son was - and remains - my oldest and best pal.  Drew Hutchinson aka DJ Steady.

That's him above at my dad's surprise 80th birthday do in Mary Pat's.  Drew did it for free.  That's how he rolls.  Just as Robin taught him.

Neither Drew nor I will ever be rich. That's how we like it.

But there are other benefits.  Thanks to Macosquin's Big Marquee Weekend - the brainchild of Drew and the equally wonderful Robert Todd - we've got to meet Roll With It.  They've gone from relative obscurity to filling Belfast's famous (1,000+) Limelight venue two years in a row for massive post-Christmas gigs.

But they still play Macosquin when asked.

That's class.

Just like Robin.

Drew posted this picture on Facebook on New Year's Eve.

I knew Robin hadn't been well but I wasn't aware he was in hospital.  Drew went in to make him smile as 2018 approached.  And, as you can see, he obliged.

It was the first picture I saw on Facebook in the early hours of 2018.  Us Whites had been away for New Year amongst some very good friends.

Not for the first time, I was last to bed.  For the first time, I was charged with turning out the lights.  The picture appeared just as I was about to to retire.  I delayed my departure whilst I shed a tear.  I did the same again this afternoon when I heard that Robin had lost his fight.

We're heading back to Northern Ireland in February. Vanessa and I were already planning to be in Limavady to see Roll With It do their magnificent Oasis thing that weekend.  But we're now going via Macosquin for a rendezvous from where I would imagine Drew, Robert and many others will embark on a collective taxibus crusade in Robin's memory - himself a great supporter of the Big Marquee Weekend.

He will be missed by all he met.   And all he met will remember him with great fondness.