Everybody’s Talking About Jamie

This was our Jamie shortly after he arrived home from the Leeds General Infirmary (LGI) last night.

He'd been there since Tuesday and you might notice that he's a bit puffy-faced.

But he had been much worse.

Yes, the boy's had an absolute shocker.

Briefly, he felt ill on Sunday, woke up with a fever on Monday and we took him straight to the drop-in session at the local GP surgery.  We waited for an hour and a half and his right eye began to close.

A trip to the LGI followed, after which he was sent home with some oral antibiotics. 

By Tuesday morning, the situation has worsened considerably.  By lunchtime, he was on a ward and hooked up to a drip.

There are no complaints from us about any of that. The medical staff dealt with the situation as they found it.

Next, he was whisked off for a CT scan.  The consultants had decided by this stage that he'd developed an abscess near his eye, hence the swelling.  However, they wanted to be sure that it wasn't behind the eye itself, which would be much more serious and probably require surgery.

The scan results came back that evening.  And guess what?  It was behind the eye.  F***.

Cue quadruple strength antibiotics and not a little worry for his mum, dad, sister and other family members.

Miraculously, by the following morning, the situation had improved beyond all expectations.  Surgery was initially delayed and then no longer deemed necessary.

A family visit followed at teatime on Wednesday and he was released 24 hours later with enough drugs to stun a stallion. 
                  

Thanks to all of Jamie's friends, Vanessa's friends and my friends who knew what was going on and were kind beyond description. 

You know who you are and we love you all.

Reassured after Wednesday's visit, Charlotte went to Brownies and returned home with a piece of dough.  It wasn't cooked, shaped or wanted and quickly landed in the bin.  But it gave her and me a laugh while her mum and brother had another sleepover at the hospital. 

The sole White family member with other things on her mind this week was Cleo the Cat whose ego and paw remains bruised after Luna the Hamster bit her.

Since then, Luna appears to have grown both in size and stature.  Cleo's stomach for the fight has gone the other way.

Hopefully next week will be less dramatic for all of us. 

It ain't over until the fat duck sings

Good day to you and, while I'm at it, a belated Happy New Year.

I haven't updated this drivel since November but I have a bit of time on my hands today and thought I might as well use it unwisely.  (I'm also watching Donald Trump's impeachment trial because I'm a sad man).

Since my last post, Cleocatra has had her baby oven removed and won't ever have the chance to become a yummy mummy or dirty stop out. (The fact that she's sticking her tongue out at me tells you what she thinks about that).

As soon as her fur has grown back, we can all put the whole episode behind us. 

We'll also let her off the lead and allow her to meet boy cats who don't want children.

Talking of children, Charlotte has had her ninth birthday.

Yup, next up for our little girl is double figures.  (I know, I know - I don't look old enough to have a daughter of that age).

We've had Christmas (hopefully you did too).

We went back to Norn Iron for New Year.

Whilst there, we even went outside. 

But inside was very much a favourite for me.

And for her.

Other than work, which I've done a lot of up to, through and since Christmas (which is a positive when you're self-employed), the other major happening in my life is The Masked Singer.

It is surely, in equal measure, the best and worst programme in the history of television.

So much so that I can barely contain my excitement before finding out who goes tonight.

I reckon it's a toss up between John Cleese, Jeremy Corbyn and Meghan Markle. 

Or maybe Kate Winslet. 

Or Buzz Aldrin. 

Or Clare Balding. 

Or Boris Becker.   

Or Greta Thunberg.

7pm.  ITV.  Be there.  (I might be early).

Fluffy cat and fluffy tunes

People who know me are well aware that I have an awful taste in music, and I make no apology for that.  (Sorry).

Last night, Vanessa and I journeyed into Leeds to watch a-ha.

For once, we even had decent seats.  (I felt it was important that Mrs W could properly compare my youthful appearance with that of lead singer Morten Harket.  He's just turned 60.  Meh).

a-ha were fabulous, to be fair.   I bought all of their albums, 12 and 7 inch singles back in the day, although my walls were reserved exclusively for posters of Madonna, Debbie Gibson, Belinda Carlisle, Bananarama and the Bangles.  (Oh, and the Communards but that was only because the female singer with the deep voice on Don't Leave Me This Way signed my programme after their gig at the Grand Opera House  in Belfast in September 1986).

In the coming weeks, I'm booked in to see Seven Drunken Nights (a Dubliners tribute show), plus the real Happy Mondays and Snow Patrol.  I've chosen not to accompany Vanessa, Charlotte and other girlies to Little Mix in a couple of weeks.  That would just be wrong.

In other news, Cleo the Cat is yet to escape and might even like living in our house.   

She's already bowled Charlotte over.

Made a new friend (herself).

(Charlotte, in her Halloween dress, did too but forgot to look behind to say boo).

Cleo also likes rugby, a definite plus.

And doesn't appear to hate my wonky feet. 

All good.           

Meet Cleocatra Frances Clara Willow White

We've got a baby cat.

Whilst we admit to giving her lots of names - the product of allowing everyone to have a say - the kitten herself has asked that we simply address her as Cleo. (She's really clever, as most cats are)

Born on 18 August 2019 and previously known as Haze, we picked her up from Bradford Cat Watch Rescue at lunchtime yesterday.  There was a big queue and we were very lucky to get her.   

When it was our turn to visit the little area where the kittens live, there were only three left.  Two were with still their mum - Cleo and her sister.  Charlotte chose Cleo, the people next in line chose her sister and her mum.  A happy outcome - hopefully - for all three.

Cleo spent much of last night surveying her new home from under the sofa.  So I slept on it to keep her company during her first few hours of darkness in Guiseley.

All was quiet until around 6am when she decided she wanted to play and, other than a couple of long sleeps during today, she has been a fluffy-faced dynamo ever since.

She's also been shockingly well-behaved.   Not only has she eaten her food and drunk her water, she has used her litter tray right from the off which I really didn't expect.  Her mum clearly trained her well, for which our carpet will be forever grateful.

And now the adventure begins.  She can't leave the house for a few months, which is why the litter tray action is so welcome.  But when it's time for her to explore the outside world, hopefully the fun she'll have had by then will convince her to come back home for her tea.

I'll keep you updated on progress.         

Pussy hunt

I've been doing a little bit of online shopping. 

In the last hour I've bought:

• One interactive cat toys set including 2-way tunnel, bell crinkle balls, sisal mouse, novelty catnip figure and feather teaser wand

• One cat litter scoop with stand

• One cat feeding bowl (with cat ears)

• One cat water bowl (with cat ears)  

• One cat soft slicker brush

• One jungle stripes design patterned scratching board with catnip

• One Trixie Paulo cat litter tray with rim (taupe/cream)

• One bag of Catsan hygiene cat litter (20 litres) 

Yesterday, Charlotte and I visited Pets at Home to pick up a cat carrier.

I also insisted on splashing out £2 for a cat advent calendar.

Yes, you've guessed it, we're getting a dog.  Sorry, cat.

We've talked about it for ages and, as a confirmed cat lover, I've always been in favour.  But Vanessa was less convinced, which was why Charlotte had to settle for a hamster some months ago. 

Unfortunately, Luna has turned out to the most boring hamster in history and her demise can't come too soon. I would imagine our new cat can probably help with that; either by eating her or playing with her in her see through hamster ball until her tiny heart gives out.  I'll keep you updated on that.

Once our purchases arrive tomorrow, we will be missing just one thing.  An actual cat.  

The plan is to tour rescue local centres at half-term and hopefully we'll find one that suits the name Theo or Kit.  Or something totally different, depending on how creative Charlotte is feeling on the big day.  The only name she has definitely ruled out is Barry (which I would have done at birth if someone had bothered to ask me).

So, fun times ahead, until he/she starts bringing dead baby birds into the house, at which point Vanessa will tell me to take it back.  But no, the cat is staying.  Hopefully for about 20 years. I suspect Luna might not see many of them.      

Two's company

We've had a couple of extended family gatherings following our return from the South-West.

Saturday's started in warm conditions but ended in the freezing cold.

Thankfully Holly came well-prepared.

The temperature held for a bit longer yesterday and star guest Guy, pictured below on the right, told a great tale.    

Guy and son Josh are over from their home in Malaysia.  And, being a Sunday, Guy fancied a bit of Holy Communion.

But when he turned up at eight o'clock yesterday morning - and waited for a bit - it became apparent that he was accompanied by just one other. 

The vicar.

Being a man of strong character, Guy didn't make his excuses and leave.  Instead, he stayed and had a personal Communion.  Just him and The Rev sharing a bit of bread and a drop of wine.  All good.

To Guy's relief, his new best mate excused him from belting out a hymn. 

Cornwall conquered

Our road trip is almost at an end.

It’s our fourth and final night in Cornwall, following seven in Devon and three in Dorset.

And do you know what? It’s just about enough.

Since Monday, Jamie has had a fine time jumping the Cornish waves.

And harassing the Cornish crabs.

Whilst Charlotte, as is a lady’s prerogative, has enjoyed doing as little as humanly possible.

Often going to exteme lengths to avoid forward movement.

The sights have been tremendous.

The food has been good.

And the drink has been plentiful.

They’ve also made new friends, including two from Otley who they plan to meet up with back in Yorkshire.

A staycation might not be to everyone’s taste, especially when the weather isn’t kind. But we planned it, we went for it and we’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.

The two-day journey home begins tomorrow morning. And new adventures await.

Looking pasty in Cornwall

Greetings from a field in Bude which you may be aware is in Cornwall rather than Devon where we spent the past week.

You can tell we’ve moved because the rain has a slightly different taste (thankfully it wasn’t raining earlier).

Our final three days in Woolacombe saw the kids reach new heights.

Including this...

...and this.

Thankfully both were safely tethered to ropes at all times.

They also had an hour each harassing a pony.

And Jamie indulged in a bit of hardcore bodyboarding.

We went shopping yesterday in a lovely little town called Ilfracombe where Jamie stumbled across a mini-electric guitar which he now plans to restore to its former glory.

He played it the whole way to the car just like The Edge in the “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” video.

Against our better judgement, we chanced the camp entertainment on both of our last two nights.

And it doesn’t get more camp than this.

Last night’s main event was two nice chaps playing tunes on strings, including an electric mandolin.

Jamie was almost as excited as I was and he’s now thinking of asking the Norn Iron wing of his family circle to buy him one for Christmas.

And with that, Devon was done and the caravan left behind at 10am today.

Our new home for the next four nights is another tent.

Unlike in the caravan, we have to share these with the other guests.

But, hey, we’re still on holiday and - unlike in our caravan - we don’t have to provide our own bog roll.

Laters.

Spirits undampened

We’ve reached the midway point of our road trip and it’s fair to say that the weather could’ve been kinder thus far. But the whole country has been under a black cloud, so why should we be any different? (For the record, I blame Boris Johnson).

Since I last reported in, there has been a further beach trip with lots of rain on either side.

Let’s start with the sun.

Despite the militant seagulls, Woolacombe beach is a fabulous place.

Huge area, surfer dudes and dudesses everywhere you look with long-haired lifeguards aplenty. (I’m almost certain I spotted one who was female). Everyone very cool. And then we rocked up.

Jamie and Charlotte had been threatening for days to bury me and experience has taught me it’s best to give in early.

All I can say is that being smothered up to your neck in sand is heavy on your chest.

Especially if, like me, you haven’t got one.

That’s the sunny stuff done. Now for the wet stuff. 

And, to be totally honest, we’ve more than coped. 

There have been lots of board games played.

Some in the pub. Which has also provided the opportunity to sample a bit of live music.

Upon Jamie’s request, this band played Hotel California. (The fact that the only two words of the song the lead singer knew were “hotel” and “California” is irrelevant. He had a go. It was four yeses from us).

On the subject of guitars, Jamie visited a local shop and road tested a posh one (Christmas is coming up).

We also visited other retail outlets. 

Jamie didn’t buy this bought Charlotte bought a lot.

And earlier today, we finally got round to watching Toy Story 4 in the cinema.

I’ll not spoil the plot but it did bring back memories of previous Toy Story movies...

....when some of our number...

....were more enthusiastic Toy Story fans...

...than they would ever admit now.

If the forecast is to be believed, the worst of the inclement Devon weather is finally behind us. 

So tomorrow we start again.

One port of call might be nearby Croyde, the beauty of which wasn’t immediately obvious when we drove through earlier today whilst the rain lashed down.

But no one was downhearted.

Onwards.