Star fish...

Hot on the heels of his March success, Finn secured his second swimming qualification today and his trunks can now be emblazoned with the Starfish 2 badge, while the certificate will be going in his Record of Achievement. Hurrah!

Listening: The Subways - All or Nothing

Let's dance...

Today Finn danced. To Prince. He got the funk.

Appetite for destruction...

Today is all about short film. So, by way of homage, Finn made a small screen appearance.

Cousin thin...

Niece is being read to from her book about cats.

"This cat is fat."

"This cat is thin."

Niece: "This cat is Finn! This cat is Finn!"

Rottweileresque...

When two or more High Street stores gather together adding the suffix outlet to their name (eg Ted Baker Outlet, Coast Outlet, Paul Smith Outlet and, tee hee hee, The Works Outlet) then you have an Outlet. Last day in York ended in a journey to the so-called Designer Outlet. Their bizarre strapline, which stands in tall letters on the glass entrance, is 'Guilt Free Shopping' - I've never felt guilty when shopping, I tend to save that for the times when I shoplift. We purchased some of last season's odds and sods, ate in the food court and took a slow drive back along the A1079 to homesville.

Ah, The Apprentice. This year's lot are a peculiar bunch and all deserve sacking. This week it was funny to see that good Jewish boy Michael had absolutely no idea what kosher meat is. But he hung in there, as Sir Alan of Sugar likes his youthful stupidity. Also clinging on for another week was horrible Miss Piggy clone Claire Young, who I am growing to despise. This woman has little going for her, save for her tedious ability to talk endlessly. But what else should we expect from a former Club 18-30 rep? Apparently, and according to her official BBC biography, Claire is nicknamed the Rottweiler because of her ability to go after whatever she wants. I dunno about that (Kev G Brown, is that what a Rottweiler does?) but I would concede that she's a big, 'orrible bitch. After her time as a holiday rep, Claire went on to find "her niche as a Category Buying Manager, which involves ensuring the shelves of Superdrug are stocked with the right hair care products." A Category Buying Manager? Sounds more like a shelf stacker to me.

We both got some writing in while we were away although probably not as much as we should have. I am now cross-checking what I've come up with against the West End Whingers' simple questionnaire which should immediately be made mandatory for all playwrights.

Museum...

To the York Castle Museum for a fun frolic amongst old stuff. I first went to this place when I was about five and it's lost none of its magic. Finn is too young to appreciate the exhibits but he did enjoy traveling past a Victorian parlour, 1950s front room, the still glorious Victorian street scene, the prison cells and the new Sixties section whilst riding in the back carrier that the museum lent to us. So much so that he fell asleep. Then he woke up and made groovy gurgling noises.

York was much nicer to be around today - the Bank Holiday visitors had all buggered off so we managed to get riverside drinks and food in at the Pitcher & Piano and could move with ease through the streets without people falling over the buggy every other second.

Reading: Richard Benson - The Farm

River Ooze...

The first of three days in York. It was Bank Holiday Monday, of course, so it was horribly busy and the misery was compounded because, on the sunniest day of the year so far, we couldn't get a drink outside because all the pubs were full of people who only ever drink once a year. Instead, Finn sat on the banks of the River Ouse and waved at people that passed him on their river cruises, pausing just the once to turn around and pose for this nice photograph. We found out later that Paul the giraffe had managed to earn £178 busking on Whipmawhopmagate. His act is simple - he plays a motionless giraffe.

Fortified whine...

Today Finn dragged us around Helmsley Castle which, unsurprisingly, is located in Helmsley (a village popular with motorcyclists on a Bank Holiday Weekend if today was anything to go by). There was an English Heritage 'special event' taking place at the castle when we arrived - which appeared to mean that lots of people with learning difficulties had been asked to dress up in itchy medieval garments and shout a lot whilst occasionally strumming on ladels, banging 'knackers' (ie, the early forerunner of timpani) or performing in some frankly dreadful 17th Century Mummers plays. As a result of their presence the admission fee had been increased by £1. I'm of the opinion that the admission fee should have been reduced because I found their tents to be a real inconvenience but I'm sure medieval re-enactors would beg to differ. Anyway, it was all rather Monty Python and the Holy Grail and the medieval music (or possibly the smoke rising from burning medieval embers) made Finn cry. Sadly, Paul the giraffe was last seen trying to clamber his way out of a moat.

Odds...

To Thirsk for a glorious afternoon eating nasty food from a burger van, drinking beer out of plastic glasses and losing money. Our usual failed system of betting on horses with nice names was employed yet again. We really should think it through - none of our horses came anywhere close to victory. We parked our car in the poor folk and playwright enclosure, where a bird wasted no time and ceremoniously shat on the roof. Luckily, a gust of wind came along to blow over a half-filled plastic glass of lager that I'd very sensibly balanced on the roof of the car, so the dirty mess was replaced by something stickier. Then, just prior to the 2.35pm race, a bird actually shat on me. "That's lucky," a bloke behind reminded me. He was patently unaware that even the most reliable of talismans would come unstuck when confronted by our losing 'nice name for a horse' system. Our luck didn't change. But we did have fun, which is surely all that matters.

We followed the racing with a trip to Tesco. Needing to buy some kiddy-friendly nail scissors I asked a member of staff the whereabouts of such niche products. "I don't think we sell them," she lied. "If we do, they'll be down here," she muttered, leading me to an aisle full of toiletries and the growing range of Durex products. "No, no, there aren't any," she lied again. I tutted, told her it didn't matter then walked around the corner and found them myself. I suppose the point of a supermarket is that they're self-service.

Keen to carry on in a manner befitting the underclass peasants that we are, we made the mistake of trying to eat dinner at a Two For One pub in north Yorkshire that we'd found ourselves parking close to. A spotty youth masquerading as 'supervisor' told us amid the chaos that seems to frequent these crazy places between the hours of 5-7pm, "There's a wait for tables at the moment but...I can let you have a table for two and a high chair, right now!" Somehow, he'd made the prospect of eating in an oversubscribed, tatty, filthy, noisy, shit heap of an establishment both exciting and exclusive. We asked him to lead the way. He brought the high chair. It was even filthier than the rest of the pub. We lashed Finn to the chair, aware that even he was also looking around wondering what the Health & Safety Executive and Public Health inspectors would make of it all. Then we went to sit down. But there wasn't even enough room to pull our chairs out and, unless we could each develop a rapid case of anorexia nervosa and get our weight down to 3 stone we wouldn't be able to squeeze in here and there was no room to manouevre. We about faced, leaving behind hundreds of folk and their children to it. Baffling that people put up with this. We may have a child, I may have children and we may, very often, like to eat out but I am not an aninal... We ended up eating at the quite fantastic Maxi's in Nether Poppleton. It's in a very, very odd place - smack in the middle of an industrial estate - but the Cantonese food and family-style dining experience was lovely. Paul the giraffe - who was arrested at Thirsk racecourse for streaking down the final furlong - joined us upon his release from the cells and he enjoyed Maxi's too.

Finn and Paul 2008 Tour...

Finn has taken us to north Yorkshire to witness his adventures with Paul the giraffe, who he met up with in a pub just outside York this afternoon. While we are holed up somewhere off the A19 the pair of us adults also hope to get some writing in. Indeed, M is typing furiously on another piece of computer equipment as I blog. I'm hoping to blast a couple of huge outlines out over the next couple of days but, right now, admiring the day's photos of Finn whilst sprawled on a bouncy hotel bed seems a pleasant alternative. Tomorrow, we're off to Thirsk for the racing, weather permitting.

Watch how you pronounce Suffolk...

Just back from four days in west Suffolk. Stayed in Mildenhall. I wouldn't recommend any of the pubs there. Other than that, nothing to report, nothing that I can blog about. This is getting like the secret service. Came back to big broad smiles from Finn, who has grown lots of additional hair in a short space of time.

Swimming success...

As if being four months old isn't enough cause for celebration, Finn secured his first qualification this weekend. On Saturday mornings, we start the day by attending Water Babies, a baby swimming class that takes place in a lovely warm hydropool. After several weeks of splashing about, we had to put those lessons learned into practice and, after an intense 3-4 minutes, Finn was awarded his Starfish 1 and, thus, avoided being labelled a failure at such a young age! We are currently adding the finishing touches to his CV.

Cute...

How happy does three month old Finn look here? I must have been really entertaining when I was taking this photograph!

Not the job for me...

It's better that I say this sooner rather than later - I wouldn't want to waste the valuable time of the FA and the SFA. Yes, it's true: I'm ruling myself out of both the Scotland and England managerial roles. I know this will come as a disappointment to the players of both national squads, as they were probably already looking forward to my training camps down the pub and the many hours that I would have alloted to them for updating blogs. But, suffice to say, it's not the right time for me to move into international management, what with the new son and the imminent world premiere. I'm sure it will come round again.

Back to the office today. In my absence Finn was placed on the scales. Impressively, he's put on a full pound since he initially weighed in on the world stage. Not bad for two weeks' work.

Tags: Finn, sport

It's official...

We went to register Finn's birth today. Fountain pen-wielding (why?) registrars are the epitomy of deadpan officialdom. Which is probably just as well, given that they also have to spend a fair amount of their time registering death. But it's a shade depressing when you're all excited about getting the official paperwork for your offspring that the person entering the details is just soooo very dull. Yet, at the end, it did appear that the whole Jack Dee forced approach was all a set-up for a gag wheeled out at every birth registration. We were handed the birth certificates (we paid the extra for the big version) at the same time as the following pearl of wisdom sprang forth from the registrar's mouth: "And, from this day forward, you will be poor."

Tags: register, Finn, birth

Sunday morning action pose...

Tags: Finn

Test drive...

While M was taking a well-deserved nap, myself and Finn took the oportunity to take the pram for its first public outing with a Finn inside it. As you can see from this exciting action pose (he's in there somewhere, honest!) the pram is a very racy machine in pillar box red - the kind of hot rod that Clarkson or the Hamster would relish taking for a spin...


So we went for a stroll in East Park, the vast expanse of green grass, watery bits and muddy paths that is, rather handily, just round the corner from our humble abode. I took Finn to see the ducks but, for reasons best known to our week old sleeping and content young 'un, he wasn't the least bit interested:


I took a few pictures as we strolled around but M says they remind her of Weekend At Bernie's. We had planned to go for a coffee in the park's rather nice cafe but it is Closed for Cleaning for a week (that's some intense cleaning, I fear the place might dissolve). Shame, as I was looking forward to taking Finn out of his comfort zone and showing him off to all and sundry for the mandatory "ooohs" and "aaaahs" and "aaaaws" that new babies command. That shall have to wait until the next journey.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for all the nice comments, emails, Facebook messages etc and all the traditional paper-based greetings cards that we've received following Finn's arrival. They all mean a lot, are really appreciated and have filled us with a nice warm glow. Actually, no, that's probably another nappy that needs changing.

Tags: Finn, family, parenting, pram

Settling in...

Things change dramatically with a Finn in the house. The hours of daylight and darkness are all the same to us as we care and feed (not me, this one, my breasts are not designed for such a task) and clothe the little tyke. It is great but it is also incredibly numbing - a bit like having a heavy dose of morphine injected directly into the brain or, for the drug intolerant, being clubbed over the head with a mallet. The last two mornings have resulted in me slumping on the sofa with Finn sleeping on my chest as I watch my new favourite Channel 4 programmes My Big Gay Prom, Sex & the Soaps and Teenage Taboos. I was in such a mood when the community midwife called to see us just as My Big Gay Prom was reaching its stunning climax - ie, a big gay prom - that myself and Finn had to adopt the same slumpy/chest position and watch the entire show again on Channel 4 +1 when community midwife had left us to it. I should add that there are many more aspects to my parenting skills than watching daytime telly with a son on my chest. But, in saying that, our whole days appear to revolve around the pivotal moment when the three of us manage to have a relaxing hour at 12.30-1.30pm watching Loose Women together. I wonder if these early TV choices will have an impact on the boy's development? This is a wonderful life - I would recommend it to anyone.

Tags: parenting, family

Home...

M and Finn came home yesterday and all is wonderful. We have, of course, entered the Twilight Zone of parenthood, a place where everything is a blur and time moves in a most peculiar way. I could regale you with tales from the maternity ward and the operating theatre and give you a full run down of feeding and nappies and the colour of stools. But don't panic. While Finn will get many a mention here in the coming months and years I will spare you the birth details and the bodily functions. But you might have to indulge me for a couple of posts as, right now, we are basking in the glory of creating a supreme and most beautiful being.

New Arrival!

Finn Edward Jago Sproxton Windass was born on Thursday, 15th November at 1:50am. He was delivered by C-section and weighed 6lb 7oz. Mother and son are doing amazingly well.