Balls

When it comes to buying toys for Jamie, I've decided to adopt the same policy I've always used when choosing gifts for my two nephews back home - get him what I would want. A simple, selfless yet, I'm sure you'll agree, brilliant concept.

In recent months he's received an extra-large Ulster rugby shirt, a flatscreen TV and a motorbike.

OK, so I made that last bit up, but one can never predict what the future might bring.

Anyway, he's been getting a bit bored of late so I've been racking my brains trying to decide what might help. And then it came to me. Balls. Lots and lots of balls.

Every time I go to one of those Wacky Warehouse type bars where they have ball pools for the kids to jump into, I get so jealous. I mean, how could anyone get bored playing in a big pool of balls? It would keep me occupied for years.

So I went to the Early Learning Centre in Bradford on Wednesday to pick up a ballbag (you know what I mean). And I came out with three. Each containing 100 balls. This was not the plan, but they had a three for two offer on, three giggly women behind the counter and I'm a soft touch.

I've since dumped them all into his travel cot and, to be fair, he seems to be having a ball (honestly, sometimes I don't know WHERE I get them from).

I'd better go now as I have several hours work to do before the arrival of Nanny McPhee and Uncle Fester. And then it's off to The Crucible for the snooker - more on that tomorrow.