Red Jersey

Mrs J is Welsh, and G has an extremely Welsh-sounding name, largely due to a Welsh branch of my family on my grandfather's side. So when the rugby's on, there's only ever going to be one nation for G to support. With Scotland suffering another Six Nations season without winning any matches whatsoever, it would probably count as cruel and unusual punishment to force her to cheer for her dad's team anyway.

So G was in her red shirt as Wales beat France to win the Grand Slam yesterday. Not that she had much idea of what was going on, although she did manage to spot that some of the people running around on the TV were wearing the same colour as she was.

This could also prove useful when introducing G to rugby league. Given that she was born in Salford, G should have a natural inclination to prefer the northern code. And with Salford playing in red, she could even get away with wearing the same jersey to support both teams. Might save us a few quid in replica kits too. Told you I was Scottish.

Sporty Tot

G's journey to becoming an Olympic athlete has begun. The council is laying on various activities for bored youngsters over the summer holidays, and one such is Sporty Tots, a series of free sessions for the under 5s held in the local schools. The first was in our village this morning so I took G along to see how she got on.

I wasn't exactly sure what sort of sporty things they'd get the little ones doing, although I was hopeful somebody would be on hand to teach G to throw, an important life skill which sadly passes many girls by.

When we turned up, it was clear G was by far the youngest of the children who would be taking part. Not that it seemed to bother her. During all the different games she ran around with a big smile on her face. Even though she only had a sketchy grip on what she was actually supposed to be doing, nobody seemed to mind, least of all G.

The picture shows her playing with the hula hoops. Long after the game that actually involved the hula hoops had ended, she kept on toddling back over to where they were to pick them up again. As far as the Olympics goes, I think they do use hoops, albeit in the rhythmic gymnastics. Besides the fact I'm not entirely convinced that's actually a sport, I'm not sure the ever-unsubtle G quite has the poise for it anyway. Will have to go back next week, if only to work on that throwing.

At The Cricket

On Saturday I was supposed to join Mrs J and G at a first birthday party for one of G's little friends. About ten minutes before we were going to leave I got a phone call asking if I'd be able to fill in at (very) short notice for my cricket team, Delph and Dobcross Second XI. I decided an afternoon of sporting endeavour might be more my thing than a house full of babies, so left Mrs J to take G to the party, dug my whites out of the cupboard and got down to the ground. I scored five not out, so I'm sure you'll agree it was well worth it.

Yesterday we all went back to the ground to watch a bit of our First XI playing a cup semi-final. The photo shows G relaxing while enjoying the action. Thankfully I wasn't on the field, so she was spared the embarrassment of actually having to watch me play. I've decided I'm going to have to improve a lot before I even think about letting that happen, which is probably for the best for both of us.

I Love The Smell Of Calpol In The Morning

After a few days of angelic behaviour, with plenty of smiles and gurgles, G has been restless and grouchy all weekend. It's not that she won't go to sleep at all, but she's finding it hard to settle down properly, and is constantly waking up to whine and cry. This is a bit annoying.

What it means is that, after briefly getting to the stage where we were just about going to bed at the same time, Mrs J and me are back on opposite shifts. Mornings for her, nights for me. It's now the early hours of Monday morning, so Mrs J is asleep and I'm up with the little one. I don't actually mind doing it on this night of the week, because there's a live American football game to keep me entertained during the all-too-fleeting occasions when G does manage to drift off (the NFL is a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine, along with rhubarb and custard sweets and jangly Scottish guitar band Del Amitri). I've managed to capture one of those snoozy moments in the picture above.

One reason why G may be asleep for the time being is that I've dosed her up on some of the good stuff, Calpol. I don't want you to think I've just given her some drugs because I can't think of anything else to do that will get her to sleep. Oh no, that is absolutely not the reason. The thing is, I've had a bit of a sore throat all day, and was wondering whether G might have one too, which could be the thing keeping her from settling down. So basically I had no choice but to give her some Calpol. That's it. That's the only reason.

Actually giving her the stuff took me back years. To be precise, it took me back to when I was four, and I spent three months at home with a shocking case of whooping cough that kept me and my long-suffering mum up for night after night. I'd forgotten all about that sickly sweet smell that wafts out when you open the bottle. I'm sure I'll get plenty of chances to reacquaint myself with it before long.

Naked Baby Photos

Mrs J went out with one of her friends yesterday lunchtime for a meal of some of the things she wasn't allowed to have while she was pregnant. She had a starter with some poached eggs in it, then a medium-rare steak and finally some chocolate fondant pudding, along with a big glass of wine. I didn't feel too left out though because I stayed in with G and watched some of the rugby union, and it was just as well I did (I was younger than G the last time we beat them).

Later on, I went out and left Mrs J and her friend alone with G and a camera. When I came back I found they'd carried out a whole photo shoot with the poor girl. I've decided to post up the naked baby photos partly because going in the bath already seems to be G's favourite time of the day, but mostly because I'm already looking forward to embarrassing her with them at her 16th birthday.

Cool As

G had her first trip out of the flat today. And it was the start of our efforts to make her the coolest baby in Manchester. The three of us went round the corner to the Ruby Lounge for Mr and Mrs Boon's tea party, which is a sort of family-friendly gig mixed with afternoon tea run by Clint and Charlie Boon. By the time we got there the queue was already out the door, but having a tiny baby meant we were allowed to go straight in. Who knew it could be such an advantage? Not sure if it'll work in actual nightclubs though.

Clint plays keyboards in Inspiral Carpets and I know him a bit from reading the news on his show on Xfm Manchester. He was one of lots of friends who congratulated us on the little one's arrival, and as you might expect I thoroughly enjoyed showing her off to everyone. Some of them couldn't believe Mrs J was up and about and looking so well after just four days, or that G was sleeping through all the noise and excitement (the place was packed, with loads of kids running around). When the band came on things got a bit loud and we decided not to push our luck and so we made an early exit before she woke up.

G's beautiful behaviour was all a bit of an illusion, because she'd actually worn herself out screaming most of the night. She carried on during the morning, until I turned on the Grand Prix qualifying I'd recorded, whereupon she went straight off to sleep. Even from an early age, girls obviously find motor racing dull.