Jamie Cowell

My friends don't respect me for all sorts of reasons. 

But chief amongst them - according to many of them - is my "dodgy" taste in music.  

Now, as you might imagine, I think they're wrong. 

And such is the confidence I have in my position, that yesterday I decided to seek third party endorsement.

That's right; I let Jamie borrow my iPod. 

And do you know what? 

He agreed with me - debate over.

PS  Please be assured that there are no Cheryl Cole songs on there (although maybe one or two from Girls Aloud.  Ahem). 



Do you know who I am? I'm a "celebrity"

I'm a sad, self-confessed reality TV fan.

But, even for me, tonight's Dancing On Ice was scraping the barrel.

I mean, how can Richard and Judy's daughter Chloe and Frank Lampard's  ex-wench Conchita Prostituto (or something like that) possibly be classed as "celebrities," even by today's standards? 

And, if they are, who can we expect to see strapping on the blades next year?

David Blunkett's dog?  

Room for a Wee One?



The arrival of a second child has led to the need for a second car seat (we worked that out all by ourselves). 

But given the White Mobile isn't the biggest of vehicles, the question was: would there still be room for a third passenger in the back?

There was only one way to find out: use the smallest man we know as a guinea midget. 

Enter Wee John.

And following our experiment, I can regretfully report that there isn't much scope for another body, no matter how teeny weeny.

Although, on the plus side, at least His Weeness had a to endure a particularly uncomfortable 20-minute journey to a do at Dagenham Dave's.

Better still, it was even worse for him on the way back.

Sky, I hate you

I am such a mug. 

Over the course of today, and in the wake of buying my dream telly yesterday, I became convinced that Sky+HD was the thing for me. 

I've been a Sky customer since 2000 and they've never done anything but give me the bare minimum for the highest possible price (and I know I'm obviously not alone).

The low point came a few months ago when I discovered that, for more than two years, I'd been paying for movies I had never asked for (no, not rudies).

When I found out, I phoned up to complain and they said they would no longer charge me for said movies - after I'd paid for another month.

I wasn't pleased, as you might imagine, and I asked the admittedly pleasant call girl (it's Murdoch's money that's paying her) what Sky could do in terms of compensation.

She said she could send me a free Sky+HD box but I would then have to pay a tenner a month in extra subscription. 

I said I didn't have an HD TV so it would be no good to me anyway. And that was that.

Until today, that is, when, as a fully fledged HD TV owner, I researched the pricing arrangements for Sky+HD.  And, in short, as a Sky+ customer, I could have a free box and would then have to pay £10.25 a month in subscription (i.e. the exact same compensatory "offer" I'd been made a few months ago - plus 25p per month).  The only catch was that I'd have to shell out another £15 to have the box delivered.

So, I phoned Sky tonight, told them I now had an HD TV and could I have my box now please.

They said yes.

I said I assume they would not be charging me the £15 delivery charge given previous events.

They said "f*** off."

I said "what?!"

They said "f*** off" again. 

I asked them when I could expect my box to arrive.  

I feel totally unclean.

32 inches of pleasure



Sometimes you've got to splash out.

Our old telly, which you can see above, was trendy in its day.  But that day is now long gone and something had to be done.

I'd been thinking for some time about bagging us a new one and today - I struck.

This morning I received an e-mail from Argos telling me there was one cut price 32" Hitachi HD Ready TV in their central Bradford store and it would be mine for £249.99. (I think they sent a similar e-mail to everyone else who'd ever bought anything from Argos, but I can't be sure. Plus, in truth, they didn't actually mention Bradford at all but, on doing a search, I discovered there was one there and none in either Leeds or Keighley so, same thing really). 

I wasted little time in reserving the item and, as soon as I'd finished work, jumped on a Bradford-bound fast train.

However, as I got closer and in the midst of my excitement, I began to worry that I might have made an error.  After picking it up, my plan was to head home on the New Pudsey train, including 20 minutes of walking to and from the stations. Carrying my new big TV.

"It'll be alright!" I thought.  "I can manage!"

And I had almost convinced myself - right until the moment when the nice man at Argos plonked the huge box in front of me at Collection Point B, before asking: "Are you you going to be OK with that?!"

"Er, yes...." I whimpered, as I spotted this sticker.

I only made it half way to the train station in the end, before accepting that the bus might be a better - and closer - option.  Particularly as my upper limbs now resembled those of Stretch Armstrong.

And here was me on the number 72 a quarter of an hour later. (Camera phones are so handy).

But the effort was certainly worthwhile.

Charlotte was impressed, before I even managed to unpack my booty. 

And Sceptical Vanessa, after only a minute of her 21st century TV experience, had to admit she was very pleased to have a wonderful new friend to gaze at during her year off. And it is wonderful, trust me.

What's that? Does it have a name? Of course!

Telly Savalas.  After Kojak.

Grim Down Under



A quick mention tonight for my good friend Graham, his wife and my equally good pal Hayley, and their two lovely kids Cleve and Nell. 

Graham texted me this morning after I had enquired about he and his family's well being; he had interrupted a sandbag filling session to do so.

The Readfearns live in Brisbane, see, and as you've no doubt been following on the news, life is a little difficult there at the moment. 

Hayley and I went to university together and, when Vanessa and I moved to Yorkshire, I worked with Graham for a period - and he remains the best writer I've yet encountered.

They were also our near neighbours at that point and Graham was not only an usher at our wedding, he even sang in the church (as I say, he's a man of talent).

But not long after, they emigrated to Australia and they remain deeply missed by their many friends back in the mother country.

This morning Graham reported that the family are as well as they can be, but that Brisbane is clearly not a nice place to be at present whilst residents wait to see what nature delivers. 

As I write, 12 Queenslanders have lost their lives thus far with several dozen reported missing.  Many, many more have lost their homes, their belongings - everything. 

As you might expect, a major appeal has been launched to assist those affected, and you can make your own contribution by clicking here.

I'll keep you informed on how Mr and Mrs R plus offspring are faring.   

Spot The Baby II



As I sought to illustrate last night, Charlotte can often be very difficult to spot. 

And, compared to Jamie at the same stage in his existence, she can be as quiet as a teeny, tiny mouse. 

Added to this is the fact - particularly when her brother is kicking off in another part of the house - that it is occasionally necessary to leave her somewhere random in order to deal with a "Jamie moment."

The key to success is remembering where the **** it was.   

Anyone seen a baby around here?



Charlotte's arrival into White World has obviously necessitated a lot of changes, especially on the practical side of things.

Take transport, for example.

I'll come on to our car another time, but we'll start with the pram.

A few months ago - being a forward-thinking kind of gal - Vanessa made me agree to her shelling out a huge pile of cash to buy a double buggy. 

And until his sister appeared, Jamie was delighted with his new wheels.

But how would he react when he was made to share? 

The answer is very well, for two good reasons. 

First, when we altered the buggy to make room for two, he got to sit higher up than previously, which made him feel particularly pleased with himself.

And second, he had absolutely no idea she was there.

In fact, can you see her?  No?  Me neither.



Oh hold on, what's that?



Thank goodness. For a moment there, I thought we'd left her in the house.  

A watched kettle does boil



I tell you what, I had no idea how time consuming a second baby could be - hence no update here for a while.

I've barely had time to visit the toilet over the last few days.  Meanwhile, Jamie and Charlotte continue to go where they stand, sit or lie.  What an easy/lazy life they have.

You'll no doubt be relieved to learn that you haven't missed anything.  Actually, that's not true.  I bought a new kettle on Friday, which you can see above.  Isn't she a beauty?(!)

Jamie was especially pleased by the new addition to our kitchen and insisted I boil it up twice whilst he stood back and applauded.

Perhaps the week ahead will offer a little more in the way of genuine excitement for us all.  No, really. 

Pride and pink (shoes)



A landmark day today as Vanessa and I went to register Charlotte's birth.

For me, it was a moment of immense pride; but for Vanessa, it was more a sense of huge relief.

Were you aware that if you don't register the birth of your child within six weeks of its arrival, it has to go back where it came from?  I certainly didn't. And having made all the effort to push her out, Mrs W really didn't fancy that.

Plus, Charlotte has grown quite a bit over the last 17 days and might have had a job getting back up there. Anyway, job done.

After signing on the dotted line, I nipped into Leeds to do a bit of last-day-of-paternity-leave-before-going-back-to-work sales shopping.

And to my horror, I managed not to return home without anything for myself.  At all.  Gutted.

But more positively, I did manage to pick up newborn shoes for Charlotte.

Some smart footwear for the daytime...



...and a pair of sparklers should she decide to go dancing of an evening.

She must be the only female on Earth whose wardrobe is now complete.    

Who needs Santa Claus?

I haven't updated this guff for a few days because, quite frankly, I hate this time of year and didn't want to inflict my misery and darkness on the rest of you. 

But, the sun has now come out, I'm still on leave today and tomorrow, I'm planning to check out what's left of the sales in the morning and so I might as well just get on with it.

Which brings me to Batman who, yesterday morning, took a break from fighting the criminals of Pudsey to drop by at our house.

At first, Jamie was a little startled to see his latest (super) hero come in the back gate.

And his tension levels had increased still further by the time the Caped Crusader reached our living room.



So much so, that Batman had little option but to reveal his true identity...



...as Wee John...



...who, shortly afterwards, returned to his Wee Bat Cave in Cardiff.

We expect to see him again next month. 

Here's one

It's "New Year's Night" and it's late, so I don't intend to detain you long.  But I've got to tell you this. 

Wee John and I went to Headingley today to watch some rugby.

Meanwhile, Jamie had his tea at home. And whilst he feasted, he mused (according to Vanessa), as Patrick Kielty rambled away in the background on Radio 2.

During a break in dining, Jamie pointed at the radio and bellowed: "He sounds like Daddy!"

Aw, how perceptive!

But here's the thing.

Mr Kielty was interviewing Cilla Black at the time, who then took it upon herself to mutter something of (no doubt) great interest to listeners across the land.

"He sounds like John!" announced White Junior.

Sometimes I really love that boy.

    

The pitter patter of (more) tiny feet

Yesterday we received what can only be described as an expected visitor.  And he's here for a while.

Yes, it's Wee John - the smallest "First Foot" in Western Europe, on his traditional New Year visit.  (He also makes traditional visits in February, March, May, July, August and October).   

Last night he persuaded Jamie to eat his tea - before putting Charlotte off hers.    

Be assured he will be buying drink before 2010 is out, and I hope you'll be having one too. 

Whatever you're doing, have a great night and we'll regroup in 2011.

He came from the North, bearing gifts

One obvious downside of living in Yorkshire whilst my family live in and around Coleraine is that none of them have yet had the chance to meet our little addition. 

However yesterday, as if by magic, a special envoy arrived - and very good it was to see him too. 

My old friend Paul "Merv" Gaile is a Coleraine man born and bred.  But, like me, he is now an adopted Yorkie and, indeed, has become something of a legend at the nearby Pudsey Pacers Running Club.

Paul is one of the most decent, genuine people I know.

And, most praiseworthy of all, he loves the Railways Arms bar in Coleraine almost as much as I do.

Coincidentally - and I say this with unashamed jealously - he is due there later today to kick off his New Year celebrations after getting an early afternoon flight from Leeds-Bradford.

He popped into our house yesterday with presents for Charlotte (and sweets for Jamie) which, as you can see above, she was particularly thrilled to receive.

Needless to say, Jamie also took the opportunity to share some love (and part of his new train set, which he soon demanded back). 



I don't know why I say this (ahem), but I have a hunch that my dad will be in the Railway Arms when Paul puts his head around the door, and will take great pleasure in hearing all about his new granddaughter. 

And that will make me very, very proud.

Do you want sky or do you want Sky?



We took Jamie out for a run around the local playground this morning, the first time he'd been able to exercise his lungs this side of Christmas.

And did we feel bad for keeping him housebound for so long? 

Not initially.  It's been cold, icy and, well, it's been Christmas. 

But then he came out with a line that killed me. 

Just as we were about to re-enter the outside world, Jamie bellowed:  "Daddy, I want to see the sky!"

Gutted.

Meanwhile, his sister - papossed to Mummy - wasn't even slightly enthused to be feeling the breeze on her person. 

She may not have much hair at the present time, but it was definitely being buffeted.    

A rhino that will not be saved

I had a brand new two-time daddy experience today, although one I'd better get used to pretty sharpish; I had my first go at looking after both my kids, unaided, all at the same time. 

Vanessa had gone off to check out the sale at M&S (which I did later and discovered it was crap), leaving me to give Jamie his lunch and put down for his midday nap, whilst juggling Charlotte with the other arm.

It didn't start well as Jamie got impatient whilst he waited for his food, thereby setting Charlotte off - and delaying his food still further. (That boy should think his tantrums through a little more).

Then, just as I calmed her down and set his lunch in front of him, we had an expected and very distressing development.  I stood on this.

Yes, Jamie's toy rhino.  Made of solid, hard plastic. And given I had no shoes on, it hurt like hell.

But thankfully, the situation soon turned around. He tucked into his beans on toast, two yogurts and a Santa biscuit.  Meanwhile, Charlotte got bored and drifted off to dream of pink fluffy angels.

And she stayed asleep, despite being transported upstairs to Jamie's room whilst I attempted to persuade him to get his head down.



A task which, incredibly enough, I succeeded in.

So, yes, I did end up feeling rather pleased with myself. 

But mark my words, the next time Jamie's back is turned, that rhino is going to get it.

UPDATE: Since last night, I received two comments from two very respected commentators with regard to my wish to kill the "rhino" - because it's not a rhino after all.

Malcolm - one of the wisest men I know- says it's a pterodactyl (the one with the wings).

So that'll be a no then.

But Alison insisted it was a triceraops. 

And she was right.

Alison, in my experience, is always right.