Luca's first broken bone

This picture was taken only an hour ago, immediately after leaving Aberdeen Children's A&E. Luca had a fall outside nursery this afternoon after his Granny Jo picked him up, and although it initially appeared the damage was little more than superficial, over time it transpired there was more wrong than originally suspected.

A trip to the hospital followed, where an x-ray revealed a broken collarbone. It'll repair itself over the next few weeks, and he'll wear a sling during much of that time to aid the healing process.

He's home now however, and went to bed laughing and is clearly in little discomfort. I'll report more tomorrow, and will take a video of him proudly displaying his sling.

And yeah, my heart is still in my mouth!

**Useless fact of the day - The collarbone is the bone most often broken (fractured) in childhood. Children are prone to breaking collarbones because they don't completely harden until adulthood.

The clavicles, or collarbones, are the long bones that help connect the shoulder girdle to the rib cage. A break can happen when a toddler falls on her shoulder or on an outstretched hand**

Just photo's and video's tonight

Another weekend has passed with Luca having again worn down my limited reserves. With this as my excuse to type little of note, please scroll down to enjoy/endure Luca's recent misadventures:-

My favourite one to inaugurate proceedings - Luca pulling faces on the corner of the most infamous street in Aberdeen's red light district! Fear not, as the time was barely 10am it was unlikely we'd come across any inappropriate activities. We'd taken the train into Aberdeen to visit the cinema and the reasonably significant distance between the train station and beach side cinema (surprisingly uncovered by public transport) necessitated us taking the shortest route. Considering the surprisingly hot weather endured Luca's puffed utterance of "I'm too small for this", clearly angling for me to offer a carry (an offer which wasn't forthcoming), wasn't entirely unexpected.

We had a few shops to visit after the movie ("Planet 51" - he loved it, I thought it was terrible) and of course those big brown eyes pleaded for me to supply a shiny pound coin every time we stumbled across a child ride. Being a soft touch, I often accede.

We took the bus home, but only just caught it. We'd ran the last hundred yards to the bus station, with the wee man showing surprising acceleration. The bus doors were closing as we arrived, but the driver kindly waited and allowed us to step (or in Luca's case vault) on. This was one instance (of many) where the presence of Luca was a boon. Would the driver have stopped and waited had I, a 6ft+ shaven headed lanky thug, been the only one running? Unlikely.

As you can see, the excessive walking around Aberdeen (we covered a few miles) had exhausted the boy, and he fell asleep a few times on the journey home. Perhaps we'll stick to the car until his stubby legs are a little longer!

He's rarely still for long however.

This one was taken today, as he bravely pushed his Dad to the side and fought off the Great White Shark with his bare hands. Either that, or he was pulling a comically poor scared face as we passed an odd shopping centre mural.

The above video is so dark to upload it was almost an act of pure folly - you can't see anything besides the final three seconds. Look carefully however. This was Luca dancing to the music during the end credits of "Planet 51". Trust me on this, he really works his derriere as he jives.

The final video was taken last week. Enjoy the bit right at the end where he plays keepy-up using only his head before volleying an overhead kick into the top corner.

**Useless fact of the day - Commonly used words to describe this blogs author are deceiver, deluder, fabler, falsifier, fibber, prevaricator and liar. Amongst others**

Where does he hear these things?

It's been a week or memorable quotes from the little man. From the impudence of this conversation with his Mummy:-

"Would you like a bite of my chocolate bar Mummy?"

"Oh, yes please Luca"

"Huh, I might have known...."

To the unintended cheekiness of another conversation with his Mother earlier today:-

"Mummy, come down the stairs on your bottom"

"No Luca, I'd rather walk"

"OK sweetheart!"

He sounded like a proper cockney geezer when he called him Mum sweetheart.

I'm feeling a little better today after my predicted hangover of yesterday. Luca stayed over with his Granny and Granda on Friday night, allowing Carole and I our (separate) nights out. Carole's was a slightly more sedate late lunch so she was home by early evening, whereas my night was the expectant pub crawl. It's rare I allow myself the opportunity to drink much these days, in fear of starting smoking again - my smoking was always interrelated with my drinking previously.

With this in mind, and in preparation for a potential banana skin, I've discovered the existence of herbal cigarettes. Containing no tobacco, nicotine (nor indeed any of the addictive substances found within a normal cigarette) I'm intending to buy a pack for our honeymoon. It's Ireland, there is copious amounts of drink around therefore I'm a little nervous. If I weaken after a Guinness or two too many then I'll stick one of those in my mouth. It's now been two years since I quit but it's still difficult.

On that subject, when am I going to put weight on? Every other ex-smoker I've known appears to have put on an average of a couple of stone after quitting. Curious.

Despite my lack of bulk, at least my fitness continues to improve. One of the "characters" I play football with (a bizarre chap who was accepted onto TV's "Come Dine With Me" and is presently trying to appear on "Coach Trip") wrote out an analysis of all of our footballing characteristics. I was nicknamed "The Slave" due to my unselfish running and apparently endless stamina. At least I hope that was the reason......

Saturday morning, post drinking binge, began exceptionally early with a call from work. Well, with my luck could I expect anything else? After grumpily battering my keyboard and drinking cheap coffee in my office for a couple of hours I drove out to pick Luca up from his Granny's. "I'm staying here" he announced upon my arrival, "I think I'll live at Granny Jo's house now"

Once we'd driven back to Inverurie - protestations having been ignored - he and I took a bus into Aberdeen. I'd used Carole's car earlier that day as I'd left my own in Aberdeen the previous evening, but now needed to reclaim my own motor. Luca demanded to accompany me, not out of affection or companionship, but more due to his curious love of buses. Here he is below.

Once in Aberdeen I decided we should do something to make the trip worthwhile. Luca quickly found his preferred form of entertainment:-

Before the two of us toddled to the cinema to watch "Toy Story 3". It was brilliant, I'm not sure who enjoyed it more!

In the evening Carole and I watched our traditional Saturday night movie (along with a diet busting takeaway to relieve our aching hangovers). This week it was the remake of "Clash Of The Titans". Do you remember how shonky and crappy the original was? Yep, this was the same, but simply with wonky computer graphic monsters rather than wonky plasticine ones. They didn't greatly greatly enhance proceedings.

Today (Sunday) has been a little more wasteful, with yet another morning call out to the office. Once home I took Luca shopping for some goalposts for the back garden. Here he is in full goalkeeper mode:-

Perhaps I should have purchased smaller goals. He struggled to reach the shots I was blasting into the top corner......

**Useless fact of the day - Bulgarian International and former Reading 'keeper Borislav Mihaylov gained notoriety during the 1994 World Cup Finals in the United States when he suddenly appeared with a full head of hair having been completely bald on top only weeks before. It turned out that he had decided to wear a wig to help promote his toupee company back home (During the Quarter Final game against Mexico, the poor man had to adjust his hairpiece under the protection of a towel after the blazing sun had caused him to sweat just a little too profusely…)**

Far's the photy's like?

Monsieur Stewart, ou sont les photographies?

Yes, there's not a single picture of Luca on today's blog. So for those of you who have logged in hoping to see the toddler with the 70's hairdo, you may as well log back out and I'll see you all again next time.

For those of you still reading (most likely just me, narcissistically searching my own blog for the innumerable typo's that frequently adorn it) I'll continue with a simple update of events since Thursday. Starting with Friday.......

........where Luca was again my evening dinner companion, this time (like most) at Morrison's supermarket cafe. Due to work I haven't seen much of him over the past few weeks, so when Carole reminded me of her girls night out, I eagerly agreed and readily, albeit predictably reticently, dropped everything at 5.30pm and sped out the door of my office.

He wasn't a cheap date however. Huge plate of fish fingers, beans and chips? Wolfed in seconds ("Don't you eat my chips Daddy!"). Grapes? Straight down the throat ("None for you Daddy"). Chocolate bar? He couldn't chew it quickly enough before swallowing. He laughed when I asked if I could have a bite.

His bloated stomach predictably led to a brisk delivery to bed once we arrived home, allowing me to cook and eat my own dinner for around 8pm. I'm certain to most that sounds an absurdly late time, but life with Luca has trained my stomach in such a way that a normal dinner time of 6pm perversely is an uncomfortable experience now.

Of course my pork steak was scandalously underdone, and I somehow managed to overcook my 3 minute microwave chips too - how is that even possible? At least my evening entertainment proved decent, my borrowed copy of "Avatar" whiled away the hours.

On Saturday Carole - incumbent with a raging hangover - drove into Aberdeen with Annie to buy her wedding ring. Luca stayed at home with me, and we re-watched "Avatar" together before making our own journey to Aberdeen, where I dropped an awkward and antagonistic little b***er off with his Mum and Annie before departing toward Pittodrie to watch Aberdeen's opening game of the season.

Luca's behaviour has invariably been admirable of late, but the little tantrum sessions tend to appear out of nowhere. The raging scream is my favourite part, as his eyes screw up, his nose raises to the sky and his mouth opens so wide you can see what he had for breakfast. I'm at present a little unsure how best to handle these episodes (Tell him off? Ignore him? Smack him?) as each incident has been best resolved utilising different methods. The words "deep breath" are surely any parents mantra.

Saturday got better from there however. Not only had I rid myself of a demon-esque toddler, I was also rewarded with that rarest of things - an Aberdeen victory, in glorious sunshine, and a margin of 4-0 to boot. Miracles do happen.

My post match pint of Guinness Extra Cold also reaffirmed it as my favourite drink. Apologies to Dad and Mike for being such a philistine but my taste buds still prefer an ice cold pint to the warmer ales of their preference.

Our choice of Saturday night movie this week - intended to ease both my sunburn and her hangover - was "Case 39", a nonsensical flick starring Renee Zellweger (you know her, she's the actress who looks really attractive from middle distance but a bit weird and scary close up) about a little girl who's actually a demon. Despite the absurdity, it still drew many parallels with the chubster snoring in the room above.

Today has been a rare day at home. Necessity - and sunshine - pulled us toward the abundance of jobs needing done around the gardens (I love my use of that word in the plural, it makes us sound as if our abode is a stately home). Luca and I even managed a game of football too. What is most notable is his natural instinct always to kick with his left. He's undoubtedly a leftie, just like his Mum.

In the physical rather than political sense of course......

To finish, for any non-Sot's, here's a picture below of the Royal Stewart tartan that will be adorned at the wedding:-

**Useless fact of the day - 110 million people worldwide speak French as their first language**

Luca in a kilt..........really this time

Today brought about a peculiarly early finish for myself, in preparation for my booked appointment at McCall's kilt hire in Aberdeen. Ross, my best man, kindly collected Luca from nursery while Donald, my usher, met us there. In fact it was a nice surprise to see Luisa (his wife) had come through too, as had Harry, their son and my Godson. Here they are below:-

Still barely a hair on his head despite his Dad's decent (albeit greying) thatch, yet Luca was born with an unruly mop of curls despite his own Dad's lack thereof. How exactly does Genetics work again?

Speaking of Godsons, I'm still waiting for Cade's measurements, along with his brother and Dad for their kilts. Lucy, you need to get measuring and email me - I'll get them booked.

And Mike - it's still not too late for you to change your mind. I'm more than willing to book a kilt and sporran for you too!

Luca of course will cause us consternation come October 30th. He and Ross arrived a few minutes late tonight, predictably timing their arrival perfectly to see me walk out the changing room in my kilt. "Daddy!" yelped Luca, "What's that, why you wearing a skirt?"

He ran over and felt the tartan material between his fingers, glancing furtively up with suspicion in his eyes. Eventually he spoke again. "Take it off"

His refusal to try on a kilt was predictable from this point, and despite all our assurances he remained extremely sceptical. Eventually, however, it was his turn. Desperation set in as I pleaded with him. "Luca, what do you want? If you try on a kilt without making a fuss I'll buy you something". His eyes arched upward. "Chocolate"

Promises made, he and I retired to the changing room to put the kilt on. "Just for a minute Daddy, OK?". His embarrassment and awkwardness ran deep as we opened the curtains to present him to his waiting audience. He literally sprang into my arms, and buried his head into my chest. Here he is below:-

The promise of chocolate brought him down long enough for the checks on length (etc) to be made, before he hurtled toward the changing room and swished the curtain shut behind him. Gratifyingly the reintroduction of trousers brought him out his shell, and he proceeded to play with his Uncle Ross and Harry. Here they are below, with a box of toys cleverly supplied by the hire shop:-

It was nice to hear how well behaved he'd been with his Uncle Ross before we met up. He doesn't spend much time alone with his Uncle, so it's nice to see the bond there. However, his daily allocation of good behaviour had clearly been used up by the time we left, and despite Donald's cajoling he was insistent he wanted to go home rather than allow us to go for a meal at Pizza Hut together.

Of course we did still make a detour on the way back to the car. He wasn't going to allow me to forget my promise of a chocolate purchase, and his face adorned a smug, self satisfied smirk as he munched on his "Ben 10" chocolate lollipop as we drove toward home.

**Useless fact of the day - Each handmade kilt takes a total of about 15 hours solid work to complete**

Luca in a kilt......

......is a picture you'll see on this blog in the next few days. Apologies for raising your hopes in advance. Tomorrow Luca, Ross, Donald and I have our kilt fitting at McCalls (http://www.mccalls.co.uk/), while Dad will follow suit on a later date. While there we'll book Scott, Cade and Braedens kilts too (with final fittings when they arrive in Scotland in October)

The most pressing matter is whether Luca will accept being dressed in a skirt? We have enough "fun" with him in the morning deciding upon which t-shirt to wear ("I want the Ben 10 t-shirt, I don't like the monkey one any more. Or that one. Or that one. Put it back") without attempting to wrap a heavy woolen kilt around his waist.

"It's very drafty" is what I fully expect him to say if we get it on him......

Following my brief daliance with the idea of wearing morning suits rather than kilts, as you can see I'm now fully (albeit reluctantly) committed to wearing this outdated outfit of an age long since passed. With this, I now need to address how best to put weight on before the wedding in order to avoid the matchstick leg look. Unfortunately, I'm a little unsure as to how to go about this.

"Eat more pies" is the obvious solution, but not one that seems to work with me (I eat many pies). What foods are best for adding weight, in particular taking into account the limited exercise I presently undertake (one game of football and one gym session per week, allied to dog walking)? This question is aimed mainly at the medically trained readers out there - Lucy, Kelly and Liz. See the new poll attached to today's blog and vote to help me stride confidently out in a kilt with legs appearing a little less similar to a hairy spiders than they presently are.

**Useless fact of the day - The spider's leg is obviously very hairy. Almost all these hairs are sensory hairs (in fact they are more like bristles), and act as receptors that can detect touch and vibration**

Water....water....

It's over. Possibly the most tumultuous working week of my life has ended. As the clock struck 10pm on Friday night my patience finally ended, and I switched off my PC and headed for home.

So what did I do on Saturday, my first day off in 13 days? Did I sleep until lunch and spend the rest of the day with my feet up in front of the TV? Nope, I jumped out of bed, straight into the car and began the 120 mile journey to Kirkcaldy to attend Partick Thistles opening league match of the season.

Initially the idea didn't seem too foolhardy. I met Colin in Stonehaven and we travelled down the road with the windows open, allowing the glorious weather to give us that cliched "white van man one arm tan" look. We stopped in Perth (surely the most picturesque town in Scotland) for a bite and a pint in an almost postcard perfect old style pub. Even Kirkcaldy was unnaturally pleasant, and we took our seats attired only in t-shirts - an exceptionally rare occurrence at any open air event in Scotland, no matter the time of the year.

It was only now things began to fall apart. Our opponents (Raith Rovers - the team Gordon Brown supports) took the lead early on, taking advantage of our goalkeepers decision simply to fall down rather than actually dive toward the ball. Further goals followed, each more farcical than the last. See picture below for a photo I took during one of the rare moments when the ball wasn't flying into our net. It finished 4 - 0.

Surely I took it easy on Sunday then? Nope. Carole left early to head up the hills with pals and mutts, leaving me with the tiny terror. What to do? Should we stay home and play with his toys together on the living room carpet (honestly, those Transformers toys are Luca's, not mine....) or head out for a "skenk" (local colloquialism). A skenk it was, so we drove into Aberdeen and started the morning at the cinema's 10am Kids Club. Today it was "How To Train Your Dragon", and again I was pleased with how consistently excellent so many big budget cartoon movies of the past few years have been. This one was no exception, and the toddler and I sat enthralled throughout.

Following this we took a stroll around Aberdeen, mainly in an attempt to use up some of the gift vouchers I received for my birthday. However, I often forget how little Luca's legs are, and eventually he grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and said "Phew, this is not easy for Luca!". An adjournment for a chocolate ice cram was called for, which added remarkable (albeit predictable) vim to his energy levels.

We grabbed some lunch shortly after, and had a picnic in a park by the beach. However, foolishly I allowed Luca to choose our spot, and we sat within 30 yards of a busy road, as seen in the pictures below. Egg sandwiches and exhaust fumes, mmmm yum.

Swimming was next, so due to our current proximity I took him to Aberdeen's (in)famous Beach Leisure Pool. This particular pool is awash (no pun intended) with a huge variety of water slides. How many did Luca go on? That's right, not one....

He did love it there to be fair, and his squeals as he rode on my back while the pools wave current machine shot us in circles around an island were likely heard by his Aunt Kelly in Australia.

It was great to spend time with the wee man again, and proved to be a real spirit lifter after the trials of last week. On our return home Carole mentioned how difficult and challenging he's been this past week or so while I've been absent. It was surmised the likely reason was that he was playing up because he missed his Dad. A nice feeling if true, and much his behaviour today adds credence to the theory. Particularly, peculiarly in the cinema he kept turning round (he always sits on my knee) and cuddling me without saying a word - perhaps this was his way of demonstrating the fact?

As a final aside, I cut my toenails tonight. Fascinating eh? I'm leading to a point, bear with me. Due to the crazy hours I've worked of late, I've paid little, if any attention to my appearance. Indeed, Saturday was the first time in a week I'd even had a shave. So it should have been little surprise to realise this evening that I had a toenail missing! During football on Tuesday night I made a strong block tackle that hurt, but I didn't pay too much heed to it. However, it transpires it was tougher than thought, and my toe is badly bruised as well as "sans" toenail. I intend in future never to be so busy that I don't notice the absence of an entire toenail until five days later......

**Useless fact of the day - Fingernails take 3 to 6 months to regrow completely, while toenails require around 12 to 18 months to grow back fully**

What's my name again?

Happy (slightly) belated birthday to Cade, although the realisation that he's now hit double figures is almost unfathomable - where has the time gone? I hope our card and gift have arrived, and that his Mum hasn't confiscated the present for it's bad taste.....

What a week it's been. Working both Saturday and Sunday (until 8pm and 6pm respectively), followed by an almost permanent residence in the office since. My mobile continued to vibrate like an irritable rattlesnake during even the one hour I took on Tuesday night to play football. Depressing. Last night I left around 9pm, and tonight? It's 7.30pm now, so it's anyones guess.

Of course it go's without saying my exit time would be accelerated somewhat had I not begun this blog. As such I'll swiftly wrap this up.

What's the only thing you read this for? Oh yes, Luca. I'm sorry, I have no stories to tell as I haven't really seen my son in almost a week. My only real experience is from this morning, when he became so aggravated after an argument with his Mum that he stormed up to his bedroom and pulled his trousers, socks and pants off. I found him sitting on his bed wearing only his t-shirt. "Why did you do that?" I queried. "I don't know" screamed an exasperated, but secretly moderately amused child.

**Useless fact of the day - Britons are among the hardest working people in Europe (42.4 hours per week), with only Romanians putting in longer hours. Australians work an average of 36, and Americans 40.9. The Chinese, of course, are the worlds hardest working**