Finding the right words

I'll be brief because it's late and he's worn me out.

Vanessa was out tonight and I was planning several hours of "me" time - something of a rarity these days.

I'd got a big steak in, I already had lots of Guinness in and I'd been saving a documentary about Willie John McBride's '74 Lions in South Africa to watch.

Jamie normally goes down around about 7pm - even when I'm doing his bottle.

But occasionally (again, when I'm on duty) he refuses to play ball and reinforcements are called in who answer to the name of "Mummy" (if you can talk, that is).

However, I don't know what it is and it has happened several times before but, when it's only me in the house, occasionally our boy decides there is no way he's going to sleep and he's staying up for some boys' fun time. Tonight was one such occasion.

To cut a long story short - because it is almost tomorrow - I eventually got him down at just after 9.35pm tonight, i.e. more than two and a half hours later than normal. And, to be fair, it was a lot of fun.

He played and he smiled, then he played a bit more and smiled a bit more. And then when I threatened to attempt to put him down for about the fourth occasion of the evening, he poured a bottle of water over himself - forcing me to change his clean-on sleepsuit and fresh nappy.

What finally did the trick was an old song from my not particularly dim but certainly distant past.

To explain, once I had got to around 8.15pm, I decided that I would put the Lions documentary on in any case - Jamie would just have to cope. And the sight of Willie John McBride must, ultimately, have had a subliminal effect on me.

I have tried several songs on Jamie over the last 12 months - most of which I'd rather not talk about - in my quest to get him snoozing. But tonight, from nowhere, The Wild Rover suddenly entered my head.

The Wild Rover is one of the few songs I know from start to finish; the reason being that, along with my teammates, I'd attended choir practice to learn the words in advance of my school 1st XV's rugby tour of Japan in 1989 - a tour captained by Willie John McBride's son Paul.

And, as I say, it worked a treat with Jamie nodding off in the midst of verse two (although I was having such a good time that I decided to sing the whole song through anyway- not even missing a chorus).

So there's the bright spot of tonight - Jamie and I have perhaps found our own song. And as an added bonus, it's not rude.

He'd better look after that bear

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that Jamie was off to his first teddy bears picnic - a very exciting moment for the young man.

Organised by his nursery, it wasn't to be just any teddy bears picnic held on a random day. Oh no, they're much more professional than that.

Instead, it was to be a special celebratory picnic to mark the occasion of Paddington's birthday. And, as an added extra, there was to be a raffle to win Paddington himself with all proceeds going to help sick and vulnerable babies.

Well, yes, you guessed right - our Jamie won.

Clearly, his mother and I were very pleased for him when we heard the news and he seems to like his new friend. Hopefully his run of luck will now continue for another hundred or so years yet.

But there's since been a twist to the story which has cast Jamie's success in a slightly different light - at least in my eyes.

Although he received his prize a few days ago, it was only formally announced in the July/August issue of Little People News which hit the streets yesterday (I'm sure all copies will have gone by now, so don't waste your time trying to get your hands on one).

And the article reads as follows:

"Paddington Bear Raffle Winners

1st Prize goes to Jamie White in Babies who wins Paddington Bear."

Good stuff so far - but then it adds:

"2nd Prize goes to Sara Jones in Tweenies who wins a bottle of wine."

WHAT?!

OK, call me selfish, but deep inside, a little part of me is absolutely gutted.

Omagh remembered

Saturday 15 August 1998 is a day that I, like so many millions of others across the world, will sadly never, ever forget.

For it was on this date that the Real IRA detonated a massive car bomb in Omagh, Co Tyrone, killing 31 innocent people including unborn twins and 11 children.

Despite knowing the identities of the "men" responsible for the massacre, the police could not gather together sufficient evidence to bring criminal prosecutions. But the matter would not be allowed to let rest there.

Taking as their motto, "From evil to triumph, all that is necessary is for good men to do nothing," families of 10 of the victims decided to pursue the murderers through the civil courts where the burden of proof is lower.

I was working for the Ulster Unionist Party in Westminster at the time and was privileged to become personally involved in their quest for justice which eventually ended just over three weeks ago when Michael McKevitt, Liam Campbell, Colm Murphy and Seamus Daly were found to be responsible for the bombing and ordered to pay £1.6 million in damages. Seamus McKenna was cleared of involvement but, trust me, he did it.

Last night I was honoured to attend the London launch of,"Aftermath - The Omagh Bombing and the Families' Pursuit of Justice," an awe-inspiring book written by my good friend Ruth Dudley Edwards (pictured above).

Also speaking were three very important people whose individual roles were crucial to the success of the campaign.

One was the always impressive Marquis of Salisbury - formerly Robert Cranborne - who put his hand in his pocket and also assisted in countless other ways.

Peter Mandelson who, to his immense credit, persuaded the Labour Government to make a significant contribution from the public purse towards the fighting fund.

And Victor Barker, for me, the most eloquent spokesperson for the Omagh families, who tragically lost his 12-year-old son James in the atrocity.

It was an extraordinarily moving occasion and my signed copy of Ruth's book is something I will cherish forever. I would strongly encourage you to pick one up at your local bookshop if you get the chance.

As a slight but associated aside, exactly seven days after the bombing, the town of Omagh came to a standstill whilst a memorial service was held close to the site of the blast.

During that service, local singer Juliet Turner performed a song entitled "Broken Things" which I remember very vividly. I've just spent some time searching for a link to the footage of this and eventually succeeded.

I challenge you not to have tears in your eyes by the time you've finished listening: http://news.bbc.co.uk/olmedia/155000/video/_156891_julia_turner_vi.ram

A chance to witness history - missed

I try, where possible, to record little pieces of living history on this blog so Jamie can read all about them in years to come. Tonight, I figured, was bound to be one such occasion.

It was the fourth round of the men's singles at Wimbledon. Britain's Andy Murray was playing against some Swiss bloke whose name wasn't Roger and who wasn't therefore expected to put up much resistance. The match was on Centre Court in front of 15,000 cheering Brits. It was also going out live to the nation on BBC1.

But, most importantly, the new Centre Court roof was closed for the first time and the floodlights were on.

However, as it turned out, the even bigger piece of history I was waiting for didn't happen.

No, despite winning in five sets, old "Come On" Andy Murray, still couldn't bring himself to smile. Not even once. Seriously, what a sour faced ****.

I'm off to London first thing tomorrow for some meetings in my old stomping ground of the House of Commons. And then, in the evening, I'm due to attend a very special and almost certainly very moving event.

Come back on on Wednesday and I'll tell you all about it.

Moose Face and Big Head

A bit of a lazy day today - arguably something of a waste - as I sought to get my life back on track after the Lions' crushing loss to the Springboks yesterday. What a game but what a terrible end.

I began the process of cheering myself up shortly after I arrived home by giving Jamie his first taste of chocolate moose. Despite what the picture might suggest, he did manage to get some in his mouth and will undoubtedly welcome a further helping at some near point in the future.

I was then planning to go to Headingley this afternoon to watch Yorkshire's final game in the Twenty20 Cup - but didn't. The rumour was that Michael Vaughan would be making his farewell appearance as a player before retirement. (After his omission from England's Ashes squad, he has - quite literally - decided to take his bat home). But at lunchtime it was announced that he wouldn't be playing after all so, if he couldn't be bothered, then neither could I.

I have mixed views about Vaughan. He was certainly one of England's greatest ever captains and deserved the adulation he received four years ago when leading his team to triumph over the Aussies. However, since then, my view of him his diminished almost as quickly as his own view of himself has seemed to increase.

Perhaps I'm being unfair - and I probably am - but the sight of him sometimes makes me think of the classic put down to that corny old David Brent-style line, "there's no 'i' in team."

Namely: "Yes, but there is a 'me.'"

Anyway, happy retirement and continued money-making to "Sir" Michael (as David Cameron will surely make him - if Gordon Brown doesn't think of it first).

Pre-match preparations

I've never been a great one for watching live sport in pubs.

My reasoning is very simple (and a bit middle-aged). If it's a game I really want to see then, by definition, I really want to see it. But, very often when I go to a pub for the occasion, I can't get a seat or a clear view of the telly and, when one team scores, I tend to get showered in beer (which is even more irritating if it's not my team who's celebrating).

However, today, I've decided to make an exception.

It's the Second Test between South Africa and the touring British and Irish Lions and, after losing last week, it's a must win game for the men in red.

Like most Lions fans, I was gutted by what happened last Saturday and have been counting the days and now the hours until 2pm when Paul O'Connell's team can hopefully put the record straight.

But given that I don't do pub sport very often, I've had to think through my own pre-match preparations. That said, I'm confident that the right decisions have been made.

My partner for the afternoon is my good friend John McIlroy, originally from Belfast but now a resident of Horsforth. John is terrific company, likes his beer and understands his rugby. And the importance of the last point cannot be overstated.

To illustrate, I remember when living in London, going along to a pub to watch Ireland play the All Blacks. With me were Vanessa and a Kiwi couple who we were very friendly with. Now, I wouldn't normally have Vanessa with me on such occasions - not that she would normally wish to come. But my calculation was that she could speak to female Kiwi about EastEnders and blouses whilst I could talk to male Kiwi about the game. What I didn't realise until just before the first whistle was that he must've been the only New Zealand gentleman on the planet not to like rugby.

I tried to make the best of the situation but if I tell you that, with 15 minutes to go, Ireland trailing by less than a try and with a five-metre scrum on the All Black line, he turned to me and asked, "so then, how's the world of politics?" Well, he was lucky I didn't have a gun for, at the very least, I would have hit him over the head with it there and then - and possibly a lot worse. Anyway, John won't ask such questions so that's OK.

The other important choice for today was the venue but I think I've played a blinder there. We're headed to The Sports Cafe in Leeds which has a capacity of 1000, contains four bars over three floors and has more TVs and big screens than a Curry's discount warehouse.

So, I've done all I can to guarantee a successful and memorable afternoon from my end. Now all I need is the Lions to do their bit and I can begin the countdown to next Saturday and the Third and deciding Test.

Now then, where did I put my Lions shirt..?

It's the end for Jacko - as Granny flies back(o)

The picture above was taken seven years ago at the House of Commons - just seconds before I almost literally walked straight into Michael Jackson who, unless you live on the Moon or Hull, you will obviously know died yesterday.

To cut a long story short, he was touring the building with then Labour MP Paul Boateng (right), bonkers attention-seeker David Blaine (centre) and equally bonkers attention seeker Uri Geller (who I think you can see behind Boateng).

I was walking down a flight of steps to the Terrace Cafeteria to buy a coffee and couldn't decide whether I wanted either Maltesers or Minstrels to accompany it. As I studied my moving feet whilst making my decision, I was suddenly aware of someone speeding up the stairs towards me and just inches away. I immediately stopped dead in my tracks and lifted my head to apologise for not looking where I was going.

I got as far as the "sor" of "sorry" when I realised I was looking into the eyes of Michael Jackson. A split second later, he was past me with his entourage of celebs and hangers-on trotting along behind.

Clearly, news of his death is sad although I cannot help but think that this weekend's Sunday papers are likely to take a rather less rosy view of his life than the rolling news channels have been all day today.

Did he fiddle? Almost certainly and that, to my mind, cannot be forgotten despite the huge amount of talent he undoubtedly had as a performer.

Back on Planet Pudsey, Jamie's Granny White and Grandad Derek should now be close to home in Portstewart after seven days of intense spoiling of our boy - bless them. They've been great company for him and I know he's really enjoyed having them around.

Last night, whilst having dinner, my Mum gave me a print out of a poem entitled, "Children Learn What They Live." It was written in the 1950s, has since been translated into 35 different languages and contains plenty for parents to think about. Ironically, and, judging by much of what I've heard about Michael Jackson's childhood over the past few hours, perhaps there's even more truth in there than I realised when I read it for the first time last night - before news of his death was announced. Make your own mind up:

“If a child lives with criticism, he learns to condemn…
“If a child lives with hostility, he learns to fight…
“If a child lives with fear, he learns to be apprehensive…
“If a child lives with pity, he learns to feel sorry for himself…
“If a child lives with ridicule, he learns to be shy…
“If a child lives with jealousy, he learns to feel guilt.

“But…

"If a child lives with tolerance, he learns to be patient…
“If a child lives with encouragement, he learns to be confident…
“If a child lives with praise, he learns to be appreciative…
“If a child lives with acceptance, he learns to love…
“If a child lives with honesty, he learns what truth is…
“If a child lives with fairness, he learns justice…
“If a child lives with security, he learns to have faith in himself and those about him…
“If a child lives with friendliness, he learns the world is a nice place in which to live.
“With what is your child living?”

Thanks Mum - and see you in August.

A Major honour to be there

I went along to the annual 364 Club lunch today - my fourth - and it was fantastic.

To explain, it was, as ever, held at Headingley Cricket Ground and the purpose was to celebrate the life of former Yorkshire and England batsman Sir Len Hutton, and also just to talk cricket.

Seated on my left was Freddie Trueman's former Yorkshire opening bowling partner Mike Cowan. And on my right was Steve Green, the recently retired Chief Constable of Nottinghamshire Police. They were great company and each one of their stories was considerably better than all of mine put together. Obviously.

Most notably, the guest of honour was former Prime Minister, cricket nut and all round good guy Sir John Major.

I was privileged to have met him a couple of times when I worked in Westminster and found him charming then - as most people who have ever encountered him would confirm.

Today, he was typically self-effacing but also very, very funny.

I've just got time to relay one quick anecdote from his speech before I make tea.

As Prime Minister, he was walking through the Kremlin with former Russian President Boris Yeltzen with whom he became very good friends during their collective time in office.

"Boris, can you sum up the current state of Russia in just one word?" asked Major.

"Good," replied Yeltzen swiftly, but not entirely convincingly. And Major was certainly not convinced, having been pre-briefed by British officials that Russia was, in his words, "falling apart."

"OK, Boris," Major continued, "can you sum up the state of Russia in two words?"

Yeltzen paused and thought for a moment before uttering his classic response.

"Not good."

Magnificent.

IN PICTURES (and a wee bit of video): Jamie's 1st Birthday

The video of Jamie’s birthday cake being carried out for him to “blow out” the candles (in truth, he’s not much of a blower as yet) can be accessed by clicking on to the play button above. But enjoy the sight of the beautiful cake while it lasts because, a few seconds after the filming stopped, Jamie reached out and slapped the tray out of his mummy’s hands and on to the ground - leaving this as the result.

Still, most of it remained edible and Jamie even had some too...

...before returning to centre stage.

Everyone else seemed to have fun. (OK, almost everyone else).

Godmother Vicky was one person Jamie was particularly delighted to see.

Auntie Fran hasn’t had an audience with him for a while but he was very pleased with his present from her and Uncle Matt, who arrived a little bit later.

Another notable guest was Uncle Malcolm - also known as increasingly renowned blogger billatbingley. (He has already captured the mood of the event on his own site and I would encourage you to have a look by clicking on to: http://billatbingley.blogspot.com/2009/06/bit-more-about-teeth-and-very-special.html).

You can see him below taking a picture of me taking a picture of him (if you follow).

As the youngest and oldest members of the gathering began to scatter, I treated some of our remaining friends to a demonstration of Elmo Live (not in any way confirming that the present was really for me, absolutely not, nope).

Finally, everyone departed into the darkening night and thoughts began to turn to Jamie’s second year - although Kirsty could be forgiven for keeping her focus on her own planned arrival next month.

Good luck to her and husband Tom with that.

And thanks to everyone for being so kind to our little boy on his big day.

Happy 1st Birthday to him!

Yes, the moment has arrived - Jamie is one year old today (or will be at 8.49pm).

So far he's had an Elmo Live from Mummy and Daddy (and, yes, it is for him and not me - despite what Mummy says).

Meanwhile Granny White and Grandad Derek bought him a pop up tunnel and tents to play in and, as an added extra from Grandad Derek, he received his first Ulster rugby shirt. Daddy's very pleased about this too.

There's a huge pile of presents and cards from other kind people downstairs for him still to open and a load of guests about to arrive for his big birthday party and barbecue.

There are a few last minute things to do before the masses land but I'm pretty sure much fun is about to be had. Needless to say, I'll tell you all tomorrow.

Happy Birthday son.

A lot can happen in a year

Do you know what you were doing at exactly this time last year? I do, but then it's a little bit easier for me.

It was a Sunday and I'd been to see Yorkshire play cricket at Headingley with a few friends. I'd then come home and, after a bit of fretting, had ordered Vanessa and I some pizza. And at this precise time, I was clearing up our pizza boxes in preparation for bed.

Moving on a few minutes, we were upstairs watching the American version of The Office when Vanessa suddenly felt a series of shudders in her tummy. But, after phoning the maternity ward of the Leeds General Infirmary, was assured that her full term baby was merely having a bout of the hiccups.

Daddy-to-be was most relieved, if truth be told. He wasn't really ready, his bag wasn't packed and, according to his terrified little mind, most first time mothers had their babies about two weeks after the due date anyway. He needed to be mentally prepared and there would be plenty of time for that. Of course there would.

About ten minutes went past. The TV was switched off. Vanessa removed her glasses, laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. Daddy-to-be read his book for another quarter of an hour or so and did exactly the same, before turning off the light.

And, upon a count of around a hundred, Vanessa's waters broke. It was time to for daddy-to-be to pack his bag. It was time to be brave. It was time to get ready to be very, very proud. It was time to meet our child.

Tomorrow is Jamie's first birthday. You could say we're rather looking forward to it.

Reasons to be cheerful

Despite my optimism of just a couple days ago, sadly,the best laid plans don't always work out.

Last night was great. A typically terrific meal at East on Richardshaw Lane, Pudsey and then off to Joseph And His Lovely Big Coat which was very impressive (particularly the blonde-haired co-star - who could sing too). The picture above was taken outside the theatre.

But the highlight of today was supposed to be "Family Day" at Pontefract races.

My mum, Derek, Vanessa, Jamie and I headed off at 12.30 on the dot for the 29 minute journey (according to the AA) to the course. We got to Junction 32 of the M62 (the one for Pontefract races, coincidentally enough) within 25 minutes and had just two miles left to go. We were well on track. One hour later, we had moved precisely 400 metres more. And five minutes later, we were on our way back to Leeds - giving it up as a bad job.

We did the right thing, but it wasn't how things were meant to be. Jamie was very good and didn't complain once. But I was particularly disappointed for Derek who likes the horses and doesn't get to see them very often. He didn't complain once either but I was gutted for him.

The spare time gave me the opportunity to cause damage, and I didn't waste it. Indeed, what happened next is destined to stay with me for life. The picture on the right is what remains of our cherry blossom tree which I decided to "prune" (and I don't mind if you laugh, which is just as well).

I really am the most handless, clueless, impractical and - very often - useless human creation this side of Christendom. And, this afternoon, I proved it once again by killing our tree.

I mentioned a week or two ago that we'd had our lleyandii (I didn't know they were called that then, but I've since asked) cut back in order to 1. pacify our neighbours and 2. get more sun in our garden. However, upon further examination, we decided our cherry tree was also apparently blocking the sun out and needed to be "pruned."

Having a few spare minutes on my hands today, I decided to to do just that as a surprise for Vanessa. And, boy, did she get a surprise. What we're left with is a stump.

She's been very good about it. But I feel awful, I feel sad that I've destroyed someone else's good deed of many years hence and, what's worse, I feel a fool. And, to compound matters, when we came home from a quick trip to the pub after teatime, there was no more sun in our garden than there was before I became a tree vandal. (As I say, laughter is permitted).

It's at a time like this when you can get a little depressed. Or, you can take an alternative view and think about the positives.

And today, there was one very obvious and gleaming positive: today was my first Father's Day in my new role. I think Vanessa might've had a hand, but Jamie got me a lovely card, a "Top Dad" mug and a "Me and my Daddy" lift-the-flap fun book. And not only all of that.

He also made me card at nursery - featuring his own hand prints - and gave me a special biscuit wrapped up in plastic.

Today has been a day for perspective and, once again, my little boy has provided it.

Gutted

Jamie spent this afternoon with Mike, Derek and me, watching the Lions come so close to beating South Africa in the First Test - yet losing.

I'm absolutely devastated, although Jamie seemed to pick up once his grannies arrived.

Earlier, his Granny White, Derek and I took him to Bradford for the annual Lord Mayor's Parade - but missed it (Jamie slept in, these things happen).

But he did get to sail in a boat with Iggle Piggle.

Something else happened to him as well - something bizarre, surreal and mildly disturbing - but I'll tell you about that another time.

As for now, it's a quick change out of my Lions replica shirt, an early bird curry with all current house occupants (including Jamie who may be restricted to bread sticks) and then off to Joseph and His Lovely Big Coat (or something like that) at the Grand Theatre in Leeds.

Still gutted about the rugby, though. Some more Guinness might help soothe the still searing pain.

The badgers are in the cage

Yes folks, my mother and Derek are safely in our house after landing - equally safely - on the tarmac at Leeds Bradford Airport.

A fun week is planned for them both and sometimes the best laid plans do indeed come together.

One slight fly in the Friday teatime ointment is that R Jamie is teething like he's never teethed before. He's putting a brave face on it but, sadly, he's not flashing his four incumbent gnashers as much as one has come to expect.

Hopefully a potent cocktail of baby drugs, to be administered very shortly, followed by a good night's sleep and the Bradford Lord Mayor's Show in the morning will set him back on track.

And failing that, a convincing win for the British & Irish Lions over the Springboks tomorrow afternoon is bound to do the trick. That would certainly raise my spirits and I'm sure my happiness is equally important to White Jnr as his own.

What?!

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.