30 days in September

Well, what a month that has been.

Since the early part of this year when my evil plans were being put together, I was looking forward to/dreading September in equal measure.

First there was the Great North Run which, more than three weeks on, I'm genuinely yet to fully recover from.  I actually went for my first canter since then earlier today and it wasn't pretty.  But, hey ho, no ambulance was required which was a real plus.

Then there was the Oliver Turkington Memorial Dinner which, looking back, really could not have gone much better.

Well, I say that.  But I suspect my (unplanned) speech could have gone a little more smoothly.

In fact, if anyone can recall anything of what I said, feel free to let me know.

All I can remember with any degree of certainty was the great Willie John McBride shaking my hand halfway through, bidding me a "good morning" (it was around 1130 pm) and heading home.   Once a legend, always a legend.

And then, of course, this month saw me go part-time at work with the mission of setting up Vanbar Associates, the most exciting new entry into the world of media/public relations and corporate communications since whatever the last one was.

Because of the run, the dinner, a bout of illness and the day job, I've had much less time to spend on our new venture than I'd hoped for. But over the past week or so, I am delighted to report that progress is finally being made.

I've long been of the view that, if you need something done, best have a go yourself first.  But this adage has not previously extended to building websites.  However, last Wednesday I started work on ours and I hope to be in a position to let you have a look in the next seven days.  I must warn you that, at this stage, it is more accurately described as a "webshite" than a website but I'm doing my best.

And, of course, expert help is still very much required in a whole range of different areas if the company is to fly.

Later today I'm meeting my clever techy mate Dylan to discuss our logo.  And I'm also planning to give my lifelong friend Colin a call (stand by Wee Man) to see if he'll let me "borrow" some of his very nice professional photos what he took.   I would encourage you to click HERE to see how good he is and fully appreciate why I want Vanbar Associates to bask in his reflected brilliance, fully credited of course.

Other tasks shall be fulfilled which are much more dull so I'll not burden you with them.  

Exciting times ahead?  Who knows.  But in many ways that is exciting in itself.

Bring on October.

B is for Beginner

Can you notice anything a little different about the piece of music above? 

Yes?  No?  Don't really care?

Well I'll tell you.

It's only got one note, B - immediately explaining why it's called the 'B B Blues.'

Jamie's taken up the recorder, you see. 

And here he is with it.

Unlike in my day when you took one from a box and passed the box along, you now have to buy your own in case one of your classmates didn't have a bath the previous evening.

But back to the note B and Jamie's musical career which does have to start somewhere.  And in a way his path to stardom seems more daunting by the fact that he already has big shoes to fill.

I myself rose to the lofty ranks of first violin in Macosquin Primary School orchestra in 1981 (only to give it up the following year when Louise Madden left to go to Coleraine High School, depriving me of my sole motivation to continue). And I clearly remember being able to play more than one note - I was really good at A, for example.    

But before Jamie reaches such lofty heights, he must obviously master B and only practice can make perfect.

Thankfully, help is at hand. 

To quote from his music book:

"If you want to play more pieces with just B, how about playing 'B Groovy' and 'B Really Groovy!' from Razzamajazz Recorder Book 1? If you want to sing and play, try 'How Cool Can You B,' and 'B with Me' from Red Hot Recorder songs."

I hope he will take up that challenge. It might even B fun.

Sounds fun to drink and run

Whilst Vanessa's heroics at the Ilkley Triathlon were certainly inspirational and did lead me to briefly consider having a go myself next year, that thought did not last long.  No, because I stumbled upon another event that also took place yesterday which appears much better suited to my "talents."

I'm talking about the Great Yorkshire Wineathon in Holmfirth.

And rather than explain it poorly, let me quote directly from the official website: 

"Run, wine, run, wine, run, hill, wine, run, wine…the thirstiest race in Yorkshire.

"A 9-mile easy trail run/walk with feed stations every 2 miles. These are stocked with WINE! (Each wine station is based around a different wine region of the world).

"Starts at 1:30, great excuse for an afternoon running in the sun! (and a little wine).

"Registration opens 12:30, run starts 1:30, prize + awards ceremony as soon as the last one wobbles over the finish line! 

"So run, walk or crawl your way around this wine themed event, in aid of the Laura Crane Trust."

Do you know, I think I will.  Entries for next year's race open soon.  I really, really hope. 

Carried away

Today was a day of huge emotions which I'm unlikely ever to forget. 

A day of pushing back previously unimaginable boundaries. Of dreaming the impossible and turning the impossible dream into something which actually happened. Of the head telling the heart that the heart can't win - before the heart only goes and darn well does it. 

Yes, today was the day when I defied all odds by successfully installing a bike carrier onto the back of our car. And not only that, but it then managed to get to Ilkley and back without Vanessa's bike falling off and killing someone.

 I mean look. 

Isn't it wonderful?  And, as such, aren't I wonderful too?  I suspect I probably am.

Brilliant, just brilliant.

Before I forget, I should also briefly mention that whilst in Ilkley (we were there anyway), Vanessa managed to complete her first-ever triathlon.

A bit of swimming (no photography allowed).

A bit of pedalling.

And a bit of running at the end.

Ya-de-ya-de-yadda.

It's the sort of thing ladies do when they're approaching 40. No big deal. It's just like, you know, a triathlon.

Actually, here's another angle of the bike carrier which I know you'll enjoy. 

Beautiful. I still can't believe I did it. 

Before I go, Jamie and Charlotte have insisted on a final word.

Kinda proud of her myself. But don't ever say. 

Harry Potter spellbound by Magic Johnston

I've got cabin fever.

Four days since returning from Saturday's remarkable charity dinner back home - the full impact of which still hasn't fully sunk in - I've spent pretty much all of my time at home trying to juggle my day job with the task of setting up our company.

And, already, I think I need to find an alternative to sitting at our dining room table for 12 hours a day.   I've only left the house briefly three times since Sunday evening, twice to visit Morrisons and once to post a letter, and I don't think it's doing me much good.  Plus I'm still knackered from the weekend's exerts.

But don't think I'm feeling sad, hell no.  Because I have news!

My current decrepit state isn't just down to graft and worry.  It's also got something to do with slightly overstretching myself in my beloved Railway Arms last Thursday.  And again last Friday.  Then last Saturday.  Oh, and we also had time for a couple of swift ones before heading back to the airport on Sunday.  As you do.  

And the major reason I love it so much - as does every distant visitor I've ever met in there - is the hospitality and service provided by Super-Landlady Clare Johnston.

Even Harry Potter came to call on Friday evening.

And we were very happy for him to join everyone else.

Regular readers will hopefully be aware that, last month, I launched a little campaign here to see if we could get our Clare rightfully shortlisted for the 2014 Ulster Bar Person of the Year award.

Well, guess what?  We only bloody did it!

In another White Stuff exclusive (they just never stop), I can reveal that Clare received a call earlier today to say that she had indeed made the final six.  A full-on interview and pic will appear in the Sunday Life in the coming weeks before we all have the chance to vote FOR HER.

Needless to say I'll tell you when and how to do this as soon as that moment arrives.

BOOM!

Oliver's Army

It's the evening after three evenings before, and I remain a total physical and partially emotional wreck.

After nine months of detailed planning, 180 of us sat down in the Humphreys Hall at Coleraine Inst on Saturday for the Oliver Turkington Memorial Dinner.  And it seemed to go quite well.

In my experience, the success or otherwise of such events - not that I've ever been to one like this before, never mind organise it - depends on a number of fairly obvious factors including the attitude of the guests, the quality of the food and the quirkiness of the entertainment.  And you also need a bit of luck.  Thankfully, everything and everyone seemed to be on our side.

The smiles on people's faces right from the outset made me think that we might be alright.  The food - as guaranteed by the caterers - was superb.  And the Rugby World Personality of the Century - Willie John McBride - comedians Grimes & McKee, and everyone else in part-time charge of a microphone could not have been better.

Well, I say that.  In truth, I can barely recall a word I spoke.

But anyway. Chuck in a top drawer short video and a random bagpiper and it all came together better than we could ever have hoped.

A lot of money was raised for good causes and, most importantly for me, many old acquaintances were renewed.  Whilst I would not expect a future event to be on the same scale, I'm confident that it will not be another 25 years before some form of follow-up gathering is attempted.

Wherever it takes place, I intend to be there.

Happy

There is a famous scene in Only Fools and Horses where Trigger is having his photo taken after winning an award for owning the same broom for 20 years. (The one with 17 new heads and 14 new handles).  And either Del or Rodney encourages him to smile.  Trigger replies: "I am smiling."

That's kind of what I'm like today.

If you saw me, you'd insist that I brighten up a bit.  And I am trying.  But yesterday's Great North Run almost physically did me in. On the Metro back into Newcastle after the race, I was in deep conversation with a charming fellow runner who seemed to know as many people from Portstewart as I do.  Without warning, I broke out in a cold sweat, started to feel disorientated and felt on the point of fainting.  I had no option but to excuse myself and sit down on the train floor before I fell on it.  I remained there for the rest of the journey eating Jelly Babies as my kindly new mate fanned me with his jacket.  A couple of steak bakes from Greggs at the other end re-established some sort of equilibrium, but I still have a little way to go yet.

And yet, underneath the clapped-out middle-aged man exterior, I'm sickeningly happy.

The reasons are three-fold.  First, I completed the course without stopping - other than to use "the bathroom" (I went behind a street sign) - after four miles.  And whilst with a time of 1:52:27 I was almost five minutes slower than last year, the heat and the fact that I'm now a physical wreck meant that it truly was all I had to give.

Second - and much more importantly - the grand total raised for Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research as a result of my little misadventure now stands at more than £1,100.   The credit for that does not belong to me, but to the long list of kindly souls who gave so willingly to a such wonderful cause.  Your efforts will forever stand as a lasting tribute to David McClarty and Margaret Maciver, my friends - your friends - who will never be forgotten by those of us privileged to have known them.

And finally, the best news of all.  I am never, ever doing the Great North Run - or any other half-marathon or above - ever, ever, EVER again.  I'm finished, done, it's over. I have come to the end of the road.  (Do you see what I did there?!)   I am officially retired.  Yes, I will take part in the odd 10k here and there for "fun," but that will be the extent of it.   I hope you approve.

(Please note that I didn't say anything about cycling.  Thought it might be worth pointing that out.  No plans.  Just saying.  Cycling).

The last beg

Well, it's almost Great North Run time again - my fourth and, unless I have a body transplant in the interim, my last.

I didn't ask for any sponsorship when I first had a go back in 2004, because I wasn't sure I'd be able to complete the course.

I ran it next with Wee John in 2011 after Mags was diagnosed with leukaemia.  And then last year after it cruelly took her life.

This Sunday, I'm running in joint memory of Mags and my old friend David McClarty, a great man of Coleraine, who tragically passed away on Good Friday after bravely battling lymphoma.  My charity of choice, logically enough, is Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research.  

Mags' and David's families are right behind what I'm doing and, indeed, have generously donated to the fund.  With their permission, I will carry both names on the back of my vest.

You know the drill.

HERE'S MY LINK.

Please give something if you can.      

Non-progress update

It's day four of the "Vanbar venture" (I'll have to remember that newly made-up phrase, might use it again), and life has not been normal.  

People who know more about these things than I do (everyone) keep telling me to go slowly, get it right, be patient, there will be some tough months ahead and so on and so on.  And no doubt they're quite correct in their analysis.  But I don't do slowly and patient very well.  That said, given all the other things going on, I haven't really had much option. 

The highlight of the week thus far has been Jamie going back to school (YES!)...

...and Charlotte joining him in its baby jail department (AW!)

(Apologies if you've already seen these pictures, but their granny in Portstewart doesn't "do" Facebook and, 42 years on, remains scary to me).  

But that's not what's been keeping me busy.  With the Oliver Turkington Memorial Dinner now a mere nine days away, there is a hell of a lot of work yet to do.  There are tickets to be sold (going well but still available), publicity to pump out, menu cards to be designed, raffle/auction prizes to be secured, event running orders to be finalised, speakers to be briefed and a new suit to be bought.  And progress is being made in each of these areas, other than the suit which I tried to buy today but couldn't find anything that fitted me or my non-shoulders.  Thankfully, there is a dry cleaner's up the road which I might be forced to visit instead.  I'm bound to spill red wine on my suit, so it's probably for the best.  

Meanwhile, there are just three days to go until the Great North Run.  I went out for my final little trot yesterday morning, and didn't arrive home feeling particularly "up" for Sunday's race.  However, last night as I was climbing into bed, I received notification of a sizeable donation from Mags' mum and dad, Moira and Alasdair.  To say that this gave me a boost would be something of an understatement.  So much so that now I can't wait for the gun to go and Mo Farah to disappear over the horizon.   More on this tomorrow but, in the meantime, feel free to chuck your tuppence into the my cyber tin by following THIS LINK. 

And now, it's back to Vanbar Associates.....although I might have a cuppa first.....and a biscuit.....but no alcohol.....until Sunday.....really.....I know.....it's Thursday and everything.....go on, sponsor me....................please............................go on..... 

Introducing Vanbar Associates

I have news.  And dear readers - yes, both of you - I thought it only proper to tell you first.

Those who know me best will understand that I like to have a "project" on the go.

At some point this coming Sunday afternoon, my fourth and almost certainly final Great North Run will hopefully have been conquered. (Donations still most welcome by clicking on HERE).

And the weekend after, the much-anticipated Oliver Turkington Memorial Dinner will take place in Coleraine.  (Some tickets are still available by calling Diane Armstrong on Tel: 028 7034 4433).

But what to do next?  So I thought about it for a while - at least two cups of tea and several biscuits were involved - and finally it came to me.  I'll set up a communications company!

Well, I say that.

As it happens, the company - given the catchy name of Vanbar Associates - was formally registered by Vanessa at the turn of the year.  The more vigilant amongst you may have noticed that Vanessa begins with Van.  And Barry begins with....come on now.....someone.....anyone?   Yes, Bar.  Put the two together and what do you get?   That's right, an almost brand new communications company.

Vanessa took on her first client back in January, and all has gone well.  Meanwhile, I have remained in full-time employment with little or no involvement.  But it's time to up our game.

So, as of today, I have gone part-time at work with the purpose of turning Vanbar Associates into a communications company worthy of respect, admiration and contractual engagement with third parties.

None of this will happen without lots of hard work, which requires time, which - with Jamie and Charlotte running around - requires me to create some extra weekday hours.

And Jamie and Charlotte - together with Vanessa, obviously - are obviously relevant to all of this. Because we have to eat, Jamie needs new school shoes at least once a year, and Charlotte is relatively demanding in the "I want a new dress!" department.  And for these objectives to be achieved, our new venture has to be a commercial success.

For those with a passing interest, be assured - particularly you, Mother - that I haven't taken this decision lightly.  I have worked for communications firms in the the past, and press and PR are essentially what I've done day and daily for the past 18 years.  So I know what is involved.  I'm also confident that both Vanessa and I have the collective wherewithal to make our little enterprise work.  But, clearly, there are challenges ahead.

Something I can guarantee is that we will try to have fun along the way.  And, if you're really good, I'll tell you what I can here as we go along

There will be a new website and this will include a new blog.  But White Stuff is staying put for the foreseeable future.  I am sorry.

I do hope you approve of all of the above.

I'll keep you informed.      

Holidays over - and already in need of another

Only me, and apologies if you spotted that I haven't updated this guff for a while.

We returned on Thursday from our little hop across the Irish Sea after a predictably fun but also incredibly busy six days.

The kids - wonderfully marshalled by big cousin Katie - kept out of trouble and in the sun.

  
Apart from when they went indoors.

Then back outdoors (when it wasn't sunny).

Before seeking shelter once again.

I suggest there are worst places to go to visit in-laws.

Meanwhile, there was time for the grown-ups to have some fun too.

Well, I mean, we were there anyway.  And, of course, it was especially nice to catch-up with Mr & Mrs F after our recent dalliance in Tenerife.

It also gave my old Japan tour teammate Sean and me an opportunity to compare notes on final preparations for the Oliver Turkington Memorial Dinner which is now a mere two weeks away.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that the event, around 18 months in the planning, has taken over my life in recent times.  But I suspect it will prove to be worth the effort.  Some tickets remain available from the school office at Coleraine Inst or by calling the madster who is Diane Armstrong on Tel: 028 7034 4331.

And there's also the Great North Run, next Sunday (7th). I kept my word and completed a 12-mile shuffle along the North Coast last weekend - and have felt the effects ever since.  Six miles are planned for tomorrow morning and a handful more on Tuesday or Wednesday, and that will be that for the training.   Whatever energy I have left will be used for fundraising which, thanks to the generosity of a growing number of kindly souls, has taken my "running total" (boom boom) to almost two thirds of the self-set target amount.  Feel free to click on HERE if you'd like to help me inch a little closer.  

Which brings me on to the biggest news of all - which I can't tell you about yet.

I'm not a natural risk-taker if truth be told.  But, after seemingly endless consideration, I've finally decided to do something which even I concede is bold and, one way or the other, life-changing.

I invite you to wander back here on Monday to decide for yourself.  

Cash for insults

There are a number of events each and every summertime that negate the need to look at the calendar to remind you what season we're in. 

Wimbledon, for example.  Glastonbury.  Recreational rioting.  Exam results.  The imminent X Factor auditions.  And the White family extended excursion to the Causeway Coast.  

The latter begins tomorrow and I cannot wait.  Well, I say that, but there's one bit I'm absolutely dreading.  

It's exactly a fortnight on Sunday until the Great North Run meaning that, this Sunday morning, I'll be forced to head out for my last but furthest "long run."  We're talking something between 11 and 12 miles.  So quite a bit then.

I ran 10 miles last Sunday. It was incredibly painful at the time, and I've genuinely been hurting all week.  In fact, a two-and-a-bit mile hobble last night was as much as I've been able to do since.

However, as soon as dawn's crack presents itself on Sunday coming, I'll have to be up and at it.

The good news is that many kindly folk continue to be very generous in donating to my fundraising pot for Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research. 

So much so that, last night, I passed through the halfway mark in my quest to raise £1,000 in memory of David McClarty and Mags Maciver, so we're well on track.  But I'll only get there if more nice people come forward to support me.

Returning to Sunday morning, my plan is to run from my mum's in Portstewart, along the Prom, out the Coast Road to Portrush and then to the Whites Rocks before heading back.  And I'll be wearing my chosen charity's garish yellow tee shirt.

Ah yes, the very one. 

Together with these running shoes.

Ah yes, the very two.

So you won't fail to spot me.

And I'll level with you.  Whilst I might say I intend to be up and away early, I also plan to spend at least part of tomorrow afternoon in my beloved Railway Arms (have you voted for Clare yet?) before heading out elsewhere later.  In other words, come Sunday morning, I'll probably be in need of a lie in - and most likely won't be up and at it early at all. 

If you are cruising along the North Coast and see me crawl into view, feel free to wind down your window and hurl abuse. I'll take it as a form of encouragement.  But the deal is that you then have to give me some cash when you get home via this link.

I can't say fairer than that.  And you can say whatever you think appropriate.  The shorter words, the more you pay.

Now then, time to pack.

Vote for Clare. Then get someone else to vote for Clare.

Ladies and gentlemen, I need your help.  Or rather, the proud patrons of the Railway Arms, Coleraine do.

Above is a picture of Clare Johnston, landlady of said premises licensed to sell intoxicating liquor.  She is also unofficially the Best Bar Person in Northern Ireland.  Our job is to ensure that what is presently unofficial becomes official.    

Clare deserves the crown for a number of very good reasons.

Firstly, the Railways Arms is also unofficially the Best Bar in Northern Ireland (another anomaly we must seek to correct, but more on that in the coming weeks).  And the fact that Clare runs it is very directly related.

There is never any trouble.

The welcome offered to visitors from all parts by the regulars is second to none.  (I could tell stories).

The beer - particularly the Guinness - is without equal anywhere.

And the support offered to local charities and community groups is nothing short of remarkable.  It's not just a matter of putting on events and shaking collecting tins at others.  Hell no.  Clare, fond of a pint of the black stuff herself, fronts up.  For example, this year Clare abstained from alcohol for six months to raise money for The Boom Foundation, a charity set up in memory of Philip Wilson who lost his battle with sarcoma.  Now, I'm not sure I could give up alcohol for six months.  But to be in the Railways Arms every day and still avoid it, for me, would literally be impossible.

Here is Clare celebrating her achievement with partner Susan back in June.

It really is her, I promise.

So, if you've been to the Railway Arms, intend to visit the Railway Arms or simply want to make sure that the crown of Northern Ireland Bar Person of the Year 2014 goes to its rightful recipient, then you must let the organisers know.

And this can be done by sending a short email to bestbarperson@sundaylife.co.uk telling them why you think Clare must win.  Feel free to repeat any or all of the above.  Or, if you want more reasons to include in your submission, email me at barrywhitestuff@gmail.com and I will happily provide them.  

Barry White Snr doesn't do emails, but this campaign has his full approval and I'll ask him to write a letter.

Spot the deliberate error

With less than four weeks to go now until the Oliver Turkington Memorial Dinner, a committed little gaggle continues to work away to put on an event worthy of the name we have given it.

And the Belfast Telegraph came through for us today with an excellent feature by Steph Bell which will hopefully lead to people queuing up in big numbers to buy their tickets before it's too late. Follow the link HERE if you want to have a read.

I was asked to send through a load of pics to go with the piece, including one of us Whites.  

Jamie and Charlotte are very pleased with the result.  

And "Valerie"?  Not so much.

Wombles & Co

Cleaning is an ancient, honest and very necessary profession - if not always glamorous.  But it can be, and I speak from experience. 

I remain immensely proud of my six summers serving as a Womble with Coleraine Borough Council.  From 1989 - as a 16-year-old schoolboy - until 1994 - as a postgraduate - I did my share of cleaning up after local residents and chip-paper-throwing Belfast tourists.  

Not every day was memorable for a good reason.  Strapping a chemical pack to my back and mask over my mouth before spraying flies on Macosquin dump was one particular low.  So too was the Friday afternoon spent trying to fish a decaying sheep out of a stream in Garvagh and load it onto a truck without its innards exploding over me and fellow Womble Warriors. 

But, yes, it could be glamorous in its own way.  No one can tell me that poncing about on the West Strand beach in Portrush in shorts at the height of summer (picking up used nappies, I grant you) isn't that far away from being a dream occupation.  And my final assignment as a senior member of the Womble Special Operations Division (Bog Squad) even provided the opportunity to work with girlies. 

But even these glitzy memories can't compete with the experiences of the cleaner I encountered in Loro Parque, Tenerife last week.  And here he is.

Now that is glamorous.  And, if pressed, I might even feel compelled to concede that his cleaning skills would surpass even mine. 

Plus, I suspect I would have made the tank even messier the moment that stingray came towards me with its big poker out.

Anyway, that's the holiday stories done with.

And this will be the final picture.

For now. 

Daddies' dancing competition

It's Tuesday, the holiday remains over (just checked) and I'm seeking reasons to be cheerful.

Thankfully I have one.

This is the first Tuesday in three that I won't be forced on stage to take part in the daddies' dancing competition in what was our Tenerife hotel.

In week one, I was poor.

In week two, I was, well, you can make your own mind up.

We're trying to follow the moves of the fun lovin' criminal wearing the crown.  Natch.

And if you can't spot which one is me, then that's your gain.

There is only so much a daddy can give, and I gave my all.  But it was not enough.  Such a shame.  The winner's orange tee shirt would have gone ever so well with my too short shorts.

Flipper Duo

Right, so we're now back in Guiseley and obviously absolutely thrilled about it.  Over the moon.  Never better.  (Boo hoo).

So let's briefly reflect back to last Friday when, somewhat by chance rather than design, we ended up on the Flipper Uno pirate ship.  This involved three hours of searching for dolphins (there were loads, against my expectations), swimming in the sea and hanging out with pirates.

Whilst I decided to dress for the task.

Vanessa chose to drink to it.

Which leads me on to the swimming element.  I don't have any pictures of us swimming off the boat.

The reasons for this are twofold:

1. My camera can't swim, and
2. You would see us in our skimpies and Vanessa would hit me with an object of high density.

But the key point is that all four of us did it at the same time - Jamie and Charlotte wearing "shark-proof" armbands (that's what I told them anyway).  

And when they arrived back on board following their act of collective heroism, we told them how brave we thought they'd been.   This prompted Jamie to demand a certificate of proof.  Charlotte immediately followed suit.  Vanessa put a word in when we got back to our hotel.  And this little piece of video shows you the result.

I'm all for statements of humility.  But I can't help but think that this wasn't the best time.         

Thieving Herr

Just one night left of our holiday, and I think that's just about timely.

I went back to our sunbeds earlier to find that some German (almost inevitably) had made off with our parasol; the very same parasol that I had to rise at 6.20 this morning to secure.  I shall resist any references to Great Wars but feel free to use your imagination. 

This act of theft comes in the wake of last night's entertainment featuring Fat Federico Mercury from Venezuela as the pretend lead singer of Queen.  Champions they were not.

This was very much down a step from the previous evening's turn when we had Fat Pablo McCartney from Espana fronting the pretend Beatles with Thin Juan Lennon from Argentina.  They were genuinely really good.

Tonight we have a drag act, which I have my doubts about at best.

Plus, Jamie is still complaining about having black sand up his bum after a visit to the beach earlier.  So it really is time to go. 

To be fair, we have had a great last few days including trips which we - and, more importantly, the kids - will long remember.  Plus, both Jamie and Charlotte were awarded bravery certificates last night, which was quite a laugh.  I have some video footage which I'll share with you next week if you're interested. 

Until then, it's adios from Tenerife.  And time for one last assault on the self-service beer machines.  Unless I bump into a smug German walking about with our parasol. 

A month till the mayhem

It's exactly one month today until the Great North Run, which I fully expect to be my last.

Training this time has been much tougher than before, principally because the years are catching up with me (together with many over-sized fellow competitors).

The abdominal injury I picked up preparing for last year's race has never fully healed and gets very painful as soon as I run any sort of distance.

It has been joined by two new friends, Mr Sore-Groin and Mr Calf-Strain.  No-one likes uninvited guests and these two have bunked up and refused to leave my temple.  Still, the show must continue.

This includes out here in Tenerife where our holiday is now drawing to an end.  It's been much too hot for a pink-faced Coleraine man to be running outside, so I've taken to the hotel gym and endured the tuts of other guests as I go over the 20-minute treadmill limit.  How very dare me. 

As many of you may know, my somewhat ragged effort has been launched to raise money in memory of Mags Maciver, who died last year from leukaemia, and David McClarty who we lost to lymphoma on Good Friday.  Logically enough, my nominated charity is Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research.  

For the record, I obtained the place through the public ballot, paid the entrance fee myself and have set my own target amount.  Every penny you may choose to donate will go straight to the charity, not pay for me to have a day out or new trainers.

Please give if you can by clicking onto: www.justgiving.com/Barry-White

'Mon.

Robbed again

Last night I failed to reach the final of the daddies' dancing competition for the second successive Tuesday.  This despite the compere recognising me from my previous effort and insisting that I cut my shapes from the front of the stage. You can interpret that any way you will. 

I can't say I'm not disappointed, even a little crushed.  But I'm nothing if not resilient and this holiday must go on.  Plus I have video evidence which I'll share with you when we get back and you can tell me how great I was.  

If the judges' failure to recognise my dance floor talents was the lowlight of last night's proceedings, their were two clear highlights.

The first was when Vanessa stood up during the children's TV quiz show game - the method by which to indicate you knew a correct answer - only to then advise the packed audience by roving microphone that she was on her way to the toilet.

The second was Jamie and Charlotte having their picture taken with London Mayor Boris Johnson.

Yes, Muppets everywhere you look.