We're all going to the zoooooooo toDAY...!

The Whites have packed up their trunks and are ready to hit the road (is that enough metaphors for you?) in just a few minutes from now.

Destination: Chester Zoo.

It was Vanessa's idea (most of the good ones are) because it's obviously the beginning of the Bank Holiday weekend, Jamie hasn't seen many big animals "in the flesh" before and (surprise, surprise) she found a deal on t'Internet.

And there's something for all the family in this particular deal as we all get to stay overnight in a local hotel with room service, meaning Jamie gets to shuffle around the zoo for as long as he wants and his mother and I don't have to make do with fish fingers for dinner at 5pm.

I'm going to stick my neck out and predict that the elephants will be the highlight, followed by the Cabernet Sauvignon 2006. But it could be a close run thing.

Feel free to come back to find out - and try not to let the suspense get to you between now and then.

An offer you don't refuse

I had a great birthday yesterday - thanks to everyone who sent me kind messages - which ended with a magnificent performance by Amy MacDonald at the O2 Academy in Leeds. Simply brilliant.

And equally brilliant was the news (and pictures) I received via e-mail last night from my good friend Stephen Walker who - get this - will shortly be packing his bags and moving to Washington DC to become Barack Obama's new official spokesman (I KNOW!)

Originally from Ballymena, Stephen and I first got to know each about nine years ago when he was BBC Northern Ireland's Westminster Correspondent and I was working for the Ulster Unionists in Parliament.

Then, with weeks of each other in 2003, he moved back across the Irish Sea to chase criminals up and down roads for the award-winning Spotlight programme, and I moved North to live in a big field called Yorkshire.

In the period since, Stephen has been editor of Let's Talk, written a highly acclaimed book entitled "Forgotten Soldiers: The Irishmen Shot at Dawn," and, most recently, taken on the role of BBC Northern Ireland Political Reporter.

And throughout it all, he's been chipping and chipping and chipping away at his Ballymena accent which undoubtedly held him back in the early and middle stages of his career. In fact, he once conceded to me - and I could only really pick up the gist of what he was trying to say - that his indecipherable tones were the real reason he briefly turned to writing.

But as he now moves into the autumn of his working life, the many hours of elocution lessons, the decision to move his family to Bangor where the locals talk proper and his sheer determination to overcome what many would see as a disability, have finally paid off with his appointment to the most prominent media job on the planet, that of White House Press Secretary.

I understand Stephen was approached early this year to see if he was interested in taking on the role, at a time when the Obama presidency was in a genuine state of crisis. But, of course, a few days ago the 44th President managed to get his controversial health care bill through Congress and the future now looks a lot brighter for the first black man to hold the office.

In the midst of all the activity of recent weeks, Stephen travelled to Washington to take part in a series of "screen tests" from the famous lectern in the White House press room and to be interviewed by President Obama in the Oval Office itself.

And the boy clearly done good (as Stephen would probably have said in his thick Ballymena accent just a few short years ago).

He now has a little time to sort out the logistics of the family move Stateside before he finally gets behind his desk in the West Wing of the White House on 1 July.

Huge congratulations to him from the Whites.

Happy Birthday to me

Yes, the day has dawned, I'm now 38 years old and - having checked - nothing appears to have dropped off. Yet.

As I write, Vanessa is downstairs making my birthday breakfast. And she'd better get a move on, if you ask me.

I haven't been downstairs yet - did I mention it was my birthday?

But when I do summon the energy, I've got some nice cards and presents to open, most notably a big brown parcel from my mum which is very intriguing.

To this point, I've already been spoilt with a shower of "upstairs gifts" from Vanessa's immediate family and also from Vanessa and Jamie.

The most original offering thus far is an outdoor sheep ornament from Mrs W. That's right, I said an outdoor sheep ornament. And, you know, it's original. Plus Jamie likes it.

As for the rest of the day, all manners of activities are being considered (whether we actually pursue any of them is an entirely different question). But the undoubted highlight will be tonight when we're off to see Amy MacDonald play in Leeds.

If you haven't heard of her, do something to correct the situation immediately. She's wee, she's cute, she's Scottish and she's got a voice like a (tuneful) foghorn.

Happy Birthday to me.

Sunrise or sunset?

I'm not going to write very much tonight because I'm tired, and yet this should hardly come as a surprise.

Not because work's been a bit busy of late and not even because Jamie only allowed Vanessa and me to sleep for about three hours each last night.

No, it's because tomorrow I become officially middle-aged.

I discovered by chance a few months ago that 38 is that not-so-magic figure for a male in this country and that is indeed my fate when the clock strikes midnight (although strictly speaking I wasn't born until teatime).

But birthdays should be celebrations and I'll certainly be having a go - I'm even on leave now until next Tuesday and you can't be bad to that.

So it's onward, mon amigos!

PS I'm just about to order pizza - that's quite a young thing to do, isn't it? And then I might go rollerblading.

I'll name that Lewis in one

Jamie's got a sore arse (again).

Sadly for him (and for his parents' prospects of getting some sleep tonight), the Teething Devil has arrived for what must surely be his final visit.

And the result for our boy is a sorry combination of painful gums, a tickly cough, a runny nose and lots of bad nappies - hence the sore "seat" (yes, I know, that was more polite).

That said, I would still describe Lewis Hamilton as an arse. I really want to like him but I just can't and yesterday's spoilt child act - after Jenson Button, possibly my favourite current sportsman, had the cheek to win the Australian Grand Prix instead of him (let's not talk about the other four drivers who also finished higher) didn't help.

However, as it's turned out, my description of Brat Boy (don't worry, I won't say arse again) was timid compared to the tag pinned on him by the Victoria state Roads Minister (pictured above).

You may have heard that Stroppy Features (still didn't say arse) was arrested on Friday night after deciding to show off his flash Mercedes by doing wheel spins in a public street.

Responding to the news, Minister Tim Pallas commented (and I kid you not): "OK, I'll say it. He's a dickhead."

If only we had a few politicians like that in this country (although, to be fair, I'd draw the line at them actually being Australian).

Park life

When you're living with a 21-month-old little boy with bags of energy and a limited attention span, you naturally greet very enthusiastically news of a wildlife attraction opening right on your doorstep.

It was therefore with a sense of high anticipation that the Whites entered the new Pudsey Park Visitor Centre earlier today.

And the verdict?

Well, it was alright.

Some of fish (pictured above) were quite good.

The rabbits and mice were as expected (i.e. big ears and small tails, and small ears and big tails respectively).

But I wasn't convinced the butterflies even were alive. (Maybe they were just having an understandable lie in after the clocks went forward).

Predictably enough, the swings outside - which weren't new - were by far the biggest hit of the morning with Junior.

However, beggars can't be choosers, the centre literally only opened yesterday and fair play to the Council for having a go. We'll certainly return.

One final observation.

There was also a wishing well in there where, as you might expect, you could chuck money in and hope for something exciting to happen on the way home.

There were already quite a few coins lying beneath the water, some of which I thought looked a bit strange. So I conducted a closer inspection.

And what I discovered was that the vast majority of the coins were old 1p, 2p, 5p and 10p pieces - which are no longer legal tender.

I can therefore only conclude that the age old "myth" is actually a truth - Yorkshire folk really don't throw good money away.

Granny Skype

Jamie's just finished a Skype gurgle with his Granny White in Portstewart.

What a thoroughly modern toddler he is.

And what a hip, silver surfing granny he has.

Maybe next time he'll stretch himself into actually saying something.

And maybe next time I won't have to drag his granny out of the shower to wave at him.

Still, everyone seemed to have fun.

Lost in cyberspace

There appears to be a fair few people out there who are even less skilled at using t'Internet than I am.

Either that or, very much like me, they are extremely bored.

I say this because, last Sunday and on the advice of my Facebook friend Alex, I added a little piece of free software to this rubbish blog which allows me to find out the geographical whereabouts of you lot.

And, six days in, I am a little taken aback by what it's revealed.

Because the more 350 individual visitors to the site since then have included misguided cyber-travellers from across the United States, a load from Canada, plus smatterings from France, Germany, Norway, Sweden, Luxembourg, Portugal, Spain, Romania, Italy, Belgium, Australia (although I know who they are - g'day Hayley, Graham, Louise and Zoe), New Zealand, South Africa and even one sole trooper from Sudan.

These are in addition to the substantial number of hits from various parts of England, Scotland, Ireland and about three from Wales - some of which I hope were deliberate.

But there you are, this pile of tripe is officially global.

If you are someone who has arrived here in error, a sincere welcome to you and please do come back. With any luck, my next post will be much better than this one - although I doubt it.

NatWest numpties

It may still be early in the day - but I'm on the warpath.

In common with most other people in this country, I don't care much for the banks.

And it's not because of those greedy bastards in London who commandeered billions of pounds of our cash to fill the void left by the fact that they're greedy bastards. No, it's because they're shit.

I'll save you the long list of "disappointments" they've inflicted on me down the years because I suspect you too will have a list every bit as long. So I'll just tell you why I'm currently annoyed.

Last Wednesday was St Patrick's Day and I was going to meet my mate Carson after work for a St Patrick's Day pint. Pints cost money, so I put my NatWest cash card into the wall - and it was promptly eaten.

So I marched straight into NatWest to report what had happened. The nice young girl apologised, said there was nothing wrong with my account, ordered me a new card and arranged for me to get some cash. Fair play to her, I thought. These things happen.

She said it would take seven to 10 working day for my new card to arrive but, only three days later, it popped through our letter box. Great, thought I, job well done.

Because I had taken out "an advance" to tide me over, I didn't have to use my new card until last night when I put it into the wall at Asda - and the wall ate it.

That was bad enough, but I've just checked my account online and discovered that £60 of "emergency cash" was withdrawn from my account on the day I originally lost my card - not by me it wasn't - and I've also been charged an extra £5 for the privilege of this happening.

Needless to say, NatWest will be my first port of call this morning.

And I will try to be nice but, somehow, I suspect I might fail in this particular endeavour.

PS Whilst searching for an appropriate picture to accompany this self-centred rant, I discovered a Facebook Group entitled "I Hate NatWest," which I've obviously joined. Their e-mail address is listed as we.dont.give.a.shit@natwest.com and, whilst I appreciate this is made up, at least they've got the right idea.

I might take this up professionally

Well? What do you think?

Yup, I thought you'd be impressed.

Some might argue that my creation is a teeny tiny bit over the top but, of course, they would be wrong.

Indeed, I would describe it as a fine example of Ulster conservatism.

However, art is nothing if not subjective and I would therefore not wish to be accused of forcing my views on to you.

The Easter Bonnet Parade itself starts at 10.30am prompt and Jamie has been sent out with express instructions to camp it up (not that he has much option) - there are prizes at stake after all.

But, between you and me, I think there's little chance of the nice ladies at nursery even being allowed to put it on his head.

Time will tell.

How Cavalier should he be?

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a problem

Vanessa’s headed off to London this morning for work and isn’t due back until tomorrow.

Before Jamie moved into ours, this was a scenario I used to look forward to. Perhaps it’s just a boy's thing, but having the option to eat what you like, (drink what you like), watch what you like on telly and generally make a mess is something approaching luxury in my sad little existence.

But since Sproglet descended amongst us, the prospect no longer has the same appeal.

If I tell you he was up at 4.30 this morning and refused to go back to sleep, well, you’ll have a fair idea of what I mean.

But tonight, before I get anywhere near bed, an added complication will confront me.

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned here that Jamie had been invited to take part in an Easter Bonnet Parade at nursery with all participants being awarded a small prize.

Vanessa had a plan in place to make something for him but, about an hour ago, I discovered we’d got our dates wrong.

And instead of next Wednesday, the note on our fridge advised that the parade is actually tomorrow.

So at some point today, I’m going to have to nick out of work and buy whatever raw materials I can find.

And then tonight, I’ll make my son an Easter bonnet.

I genuinely have no idea where to start or what it’s going to look like. I didn’t even know boys were supposed to wear Easter bonnets. In fact, I’m fairly certainly they’re not.

What I can say is that I keep having images of the Gay Cavalier flashing into my head. And I’m not going to send him out looking like that.

Or am I?

I will show you what I come up with tomorrow.

Poetry for a modern age

I don't know if you're a regular reader of the Daily Mail. Come to think of it, I'd rather not know. But Richard Littlejohn's column on Friday last had me in stitches.

He referred to the fact that the Government had been ordered to drop two adverts based on nursery rhymes which, in the view of the Advertising Standards Agency, had "exaggerated the risks of so-called global warming."

One of the ads, from the Department of Energy and Climate Change, went as follows:

Jack and Jill went up the hill,

To fetch a pail of water,

There was none as extreme weather due to climate change had caused a drought.

Seriously - and we, as taxpayers, footed the bill.

Sticking to the theme, Littlejohn then set about adapting several other well-known nursery rhymes to reflect "modern Britain."

Below are what I thought were the best:

The Grand old Duke of York,
He had 10,000 men.
But he told the Chilcot inquiry he would have had 20,000,
If Gordon Brown hadn't cut defence spending.


Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
So they took him to an NHS hospital,
Where he caught MRSA and died.


There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children by a number of absentee fathers,
So the council knocked two houses into one and bought her a plasma TV.


Hey diddle diddle

They're all on the fiddle,
They claimed it was within the rules.
Four of them had their collars felt for fraud,
But the rest ran away with the money.


Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown.
Trying escape the lynch mob who think he's a paedophile.
When they catch him they'll string him up, the dirty *******.


Jack Sprat would eat no fat,
His wife would eat no lean,
So social services took away their children and put them in a home.


Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard,
To get her poor doggie a bone.
When she got there,
It was groaning with oven chips, turkey twizzlers, bumper bags of crisps and lashings of fizzy drinks.
But there weren't any bones because health and safety had threatened to prosecute the butcher if he didn't stop selling them.


Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns!
Have been taken of the shelves by the diversity department,
In case they offend Muslims.


Ding dong bell,
Pussy's in the well,
Who'll pull him out?
It's no good asking one of those community support officers.

They haven't been trained for it.


Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep,

And doesn't know where to find them.
That's because the Government slaughtered them and threw their carcasses on to a bonfire during the foot and mouth panic.


Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away did run.
But he got let off with an Asbo,
And now he's doing burglary and dealing drugs.


Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run.
This ward's been crawling with mice since the NHS contracted out the cleaning.


Rub-a-dub-dub,
Three men in a tub,
And who do you think they be?
They're all consenting adults and they got a grant for it from the council.


Doctor Foster went to Gloucester,
But when he got there
He found they'd already given the job to a foreign GP who can't speak English.


Georgie Porgie,
Pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry,
Now he's on the sexual offenders' register.

Yes, very Daily Mail - but I'll bet you still laughed.

Reeves and Relief

Thanks to the total ineptitude of Richard Branson's boys and girls at Virgin Media who denied their loyal Leeds customers television, telephone and broadband services for the second full day in eight, I wasn't able to update this drivel yesterday.

But hopefully it won't happen again between now and whenever BT arrive to plumb us into their offerings instead - bugger off Beardy and take your big teeth and your DJ hair with you. Virgin.

Thankfully I was feeling a little more charitable at bang on 9.30 this morning as I began six one-mile laps of Leeds City Centre in aid of Sport Relief.

However, Vanessa was handed a much bigger challenge in trying to keep Jamie occupied.

I had a go prior to the gun by showing him a man on stilts. But, as you can see above, he wasn't best interested.

Vanessa then pulled out the old "banana and balloon" trick. But, whilst he ate half his banana, he still wasn't that arsed.

So, last and by every means least, we collectively tried to wow him with a bit of celebrity in the form of Vic Reeves who came along to start the second wave of runners shortly after I'd crossed the line.

But Jamie wasn't impressed with Mr R (who was apparently born in Leeds) and, to be honest, who could blame him? I've always thought Bob was the funny one too.

Sincere gratitude to my mum, Derek, Sarah, Sally, Maura, David and Vanessa (who was given little option) for sponsoring me to do the run.

And, if you're not one of them and haven't yet donated to Sport Relief, you still have time...

http://www.mysportrelief.com/personalPage.aspx?SID=131513

Can two become one (night of telly)?

The older I get, the less I welcome the prospect of stressful situations.

And tonight is bound to be extremely stressful - particularly for a Friday.

Because tonight my beloved Coleraine FC are playing Portdown live on Sky Sports 3 (kick-off 7.45pm).

Meanwhile, it's Sport Relief night on BBC 1 from 7pm (for which YOU CAN STILL SPONSOR ME by clicking on to http://www.mysportrelief.com/personalPage.aspx?SID=131513. COME ON!)

The idea of Sky+ing one or other event is simply out of the question (it's a boy thing). So I have no option but to try to watch both the match and James Corden's spoof sketches at the exactly same time (although obviously only until the final whistle goes at Shamrock Park).

But it's not going to be easy and I would ask for your thoughts and prayers to be with me as I make my brave attempt.

What a trooper.

PS What do you mean "what about Vanessa?" I'll bring some chocolate home, alright?!

Paddy and me

My St Patrick's Day began in a predictably shaky manner but picked up later.

The picture above was taken first thing from my office window in Bradford City Hall.

Traditionally on St Patrick's Day, the Council flies both the Irish Tricolour and the Flag of St Patrick from opposite sides of Centenary Square.

And equally traditionally, whoever puts them up makes a point of flying the former from the pole 20 feet from my nose.

But, as a form of personal protest, I was wearing a pair of luminous orange pants. That'll teach them.

And when the working day was done, I met up with my my sole friend called Carson - from Belfast and genuinely named after former Unionist Leader Lord Carson - for three pints of the obvious.

The evening highlight was a private viewing of Jamie's specially-commissioned St Patrick's Day work of art, provisionally entitled "Green Stuff."

I trust you were equally creative in your Paddy-themed endeavours .

Marks & Spencer 0 Coalisland 10

Regular readers might remember that wanting-to-be-helpful M&S man last week who persuaded me to delay purchasing a new bag and jacket because a sale was rumoured to be starting yesterday.

Well, he was correct in one aspect because the M&S sale did indeed start yesterday.

And were my two items in the M&S sale?

Of course not.

And in the seven days that have passed since last week's visit, M&S had "shifted things around a bit," meaning it took me a good 20 minutes to find what I had originally picked out.

Plus, the "navy blue" jacket I eventually bought turned out to be black when I got it home.

So, all in all, not good - a bit like the M&S sale itself which I checked out whilst I was in.

In fact it was expensive pants - quite literally.

On a separate matter, a big thank you on this St Patrick's Day to the Queen of Coalisland, Mrs Maura Campbell, for standing alone yesterday in sponsoring me for the Sport Relief (Six) Mile(s).

Maura - officially Coalisland's second most famous person after snooker legend Dennis Taylor - is an extremely talented, occasionally fearsome and extraordinarily curly ex-work colleague of mine who is also clearly very generous. I'm grateful to her.

Now then, who's next to cough up?

http://www.mysportrelief.com/personalPage.aspx?SID=131513

Can I relieve you of some cash?

I'm kicking off my Tuesday with a shameless plug.

Not in the least bit fresh after running the Keighley BIGK 10K on Sunday, I'm now planning to do the Sport Relief Mile on Sunday coming.

But it's, dare I say, an "Irish mile" - because I'm going to be running six.

I ran the shorter distance in London four years ago and, save for beating that guy with the dreadlocks who wheelchair dances on BBC1 before EastEnders, it was a bit of an anti-climax.

So I've decided to make an extra special effort this year, if only to justify the return train fare into Leeds.

No doubt you'll be hassled from pillar to post between now and the weekend by people asking you for money for Sport Relief.

I therefore reckon I'm offering something of a service by giving you the chance to get your donation out of the way now - by sponsoring me.

I've already started the ball rolling by fleecing myself for the princely sum of £10 which, as luck would have it, brings me right up to my self-fixed target of, er, £10.

You don't have give much - it isn't that far, after all. Indeed, you obviously don't have to give at all.

But if you want to make a donation to what is obviously an excellent cause, please click onto this link:

http://www.mysportrelief.com/BarryWHite?SID=131513

I promise to sweat loads.

Walkies

Maybe it’s been the upturn in the Yorkshire weather over the last week or so, but the sudden change in season has led to an equally sudden development of a new habit in Jamie World – a demand to be taken outside at very short notice.

But here’s the thing.

We’ve all encountered those annoying, clever-dick dogs that bring their leads to their owners when they feel like a stroll and a dump on the pavement.

Well, Jamie seems to have modelled his “I’m A Toddler Get Me Out Of Here!” act on one of them.

Because, in order to get his message across, he’s taken to going into the kitchen, picking up his hat and coat from his pram, dragging them into the living room and dropping them at the feet of either Vanessa or me to wrap him up in.

And, whilst his new trick is undoubtedly very cute, it’s not always very timely.

For example, the picture above was taken shortly after seven o’clock this morning – and, yes, he is still wearing his pyjamas.

There is an obvious plus in what he’s learnt to do i.e. we can now be certain when he wants to go out (I told you it was obvious).

But there is another way of looking at it.

If he has actually learnt his new habit from some mangy mutt somewhere, might it not be possible that at some point he gets too much into character and attempts to drop his nappy in the street?

That would definitely be my fear.

Yes, perhaps it’s best for me to develop a new habit of my own – and carry a pooper scooper around with me. Just in case.

Mum stuff and Dad guff

It's Mother's Day - all those people stopping their cars on ring roads to buy flowers is the giveaway - and Jamie happily did his bit.

Indeed, he made not one but two cards (thanks to Grandma Judy and the nice ladies at nursery for their assistance on this front) and also bought his mummy the Lady Gaga album, which may or may not have been an inspired choice. (Let's just say the Mummy Jury remains out).

The Mother's Day stuff actually had to wait until lunchtime as, first thing this morning, Team White went to Keighley for the BIGK 10K race - me to run it, and Vanessa and Jamie to see if I died during the attempt.

But thankfully all went smoothly and I crossed the line in just under 50 minutes to collect my souvenir finishers' water bottle (I can sense your intense jealousy even from here).

Jamie was most excited to see Keighley Cougars Rugby League mascot Freddie Cougar (do you see what they did there?) in the crowd.

In fact, he seemed so pleased that I asked Freddie if he would be kind enough to say hello to our boy.

But sadly that turned out to be a rubbish idea.

******************

A quick and unrelated footnote for anyone who might be interested.

Believe it or not, this blog was visited almost 500 times in the last seven days, the most "unique hits" received in the space of a week since the site was set up.

Goodness knows why any of you bother, although it is reassuring to know there are some people out there with just as much time on their hands as me.

But thanks for taking an interest and I hope I can continue to command your even occasional attention for a little while yet.

Tie, tie and tie again

Jamie and I have just finished watching the first qualifying session of the new Formula One season.

I think he enjoyed it although he kept asking where Roary the Racing car was. I suggested the Number One Star might be on the grid for the race proper tomorrow, giving me just under 24 hours to think of a reason why he's not. I might say he's ill.

On other matters, yesterday I bought some new ties - six new ties, to be precise.

You might think that six is a lot of new ties to buy in one fell swoop, particularly as there are only five days in the working week.

However, Moss Bros had a sale on and I couldn't resist: six ties, 20 pounds, job's a good 'un. And at least two of them are just about wearable.

Monday can't come soon enough (my a*se).