I had a very special moment with Jamie last Wednesday morning when he told me for the first time that he loved me.
Granted, I'd just given him a bollocking for being a devil child and made clear that, of all the emotions available to me at that particular time, love for him was certainly not one of them.
But I was still quietly chuffed.
He said the same thing to me again on Thursday morning and, that evening, I mentioned his declarations of fatherly devotion to Vanessa.
"Jamie has told me twice now that he loves me," I said. "I take it he's said the same thing to you?"
"No," came the thin-lipped reply from his mother.
"Oh," I said in a matter of fact type way. "He obviously likes me more."
Then Friday came, and I heard him tell his little sister that he loved her too.
So I dropped this new development into conversation with Vanessa.
"Has he said the magic words to you yet?" I asked.
"No!" barked Mrs W.
And, as of this morning, he still hadn't.
Whilst it pains me to say it (and if you believe that, you'll believe anything), one can only conclude that, when it comes to the woman who spawned him, Jamie isn't that arsed.
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