But as the cliche insists, do what I say, not what I do.
The above image is from several months ago, during a visit to Broughty Ferry for the funeral of an old friend of Carole's. Luca and I slipped out the door as the post service ceremony kicked into its drunken 5th gear and discovered this little race track nearby. Luca squealed with delight as a fully sober, cold and slightly bored father wished he was 8 years old again too.
Cheeky grin with a glint in his eyes. And Luca.
Luca hits EVERY shot at crazy golf like he's Tiger Woods. The distance he gets each time is admirable. The accuracy rather less so.
Much like the real Tiger Woods these days, I guess.
Packet of Fruit Pastilles for whoever can tell me who's birthday this was.
Lincoln, riverside. I hate bridges, I've always had this strange attention monopolising temptation to jump off the side of every bridge I've ever crossed. That's really not a good thing is it?
Lincoln again, clearly walking home from somewhere. I can't remember where, so let's just say the Chippy and leave it at that.
Dyce, just down the road from my office. It's a rock, Luca climbs them. The human race has been in existence for thousands of years yet we've yet to dispense our predilection for climbing on stuff stuck in the ground. No wonder the aliens don't visit.
Yes, my wife did this to her horse.
And then rode it in a competition. I don't think I need to say anything here do I?
Aviemore now. Not the ugliest place I've ever visited. I made a solo overnight visit a few months back to run the Cairngorms. It was hard work and painfully slow going but the views were magical.
Winter Gardens, Aberdeen. Warming up inside after scootering around the park for an hour in minus 3 degree weather. Without gloves. The word "organised" will not appear on my epitaph.
Luca's the smallest and youngest kid at his judo, but he's pretty good. He's not the roughest but his technique is getting better. He threw another kid literally over his head onto a mat on Saturday. I actually squealed a bit. Naturally this made me appear even cooler to the two teenagers sat beside me.
He's pretty settled at football these days after having been incredibly shy for his first couple of years with the club. In addition to the obvious physical benefits of regular training and games, the social side has paid dividends now too. He's very close to Jake, James and Oisin particularly - the 2 kids on his left and the tall one behind.
Always good to see an 8 year old in a pub on a Friday night.
Try to focus on his face and thumbs up above (taken after a school disco) and ignore the rather inconveniently positioned glow sticks.
Tubing on a dry ski slope is brilliant fun when you're going down, but rather less so when your son (and his friend) begin begging you to carry their surprisingly heavy tubes back to the top for the final 58 minutes of the hour long session. Sweated more than an insolvent fat lad in a sauna hiding from the taxman.
Above at one of Luca's games, away at Ellon. Looking rather lonely in his usual left wing slot. He's got genuine skill but sometimes drifts through the tougher games. I'd tear my hair out, if only I could.
Much like his Lincoln Grandad, Luca has a fascination with trains. Here we are overlooking the surprisingly rusty freight trains which arrive into Aberdeen daily. He does this every week, and no amount of Dad eye rolling crushes his enthusiasm.
Dead badger, and yes, that's its entrails stretched 8 foot into the background. Luca was as fascinated as he was horrified.
To finish, just a quick picture of Luca taken today. I like to think his preference for long, scraggly hair is a precursor to a future interest in the alternative indie rock scene. All the while knowing he just wants to look like Harry out of One Direction.
Neither informative nor funny, I promise to do better next time. I'll post again after Carole's shoulder operation on Tuesday.
**Useless fact of the day - Art Garfunkels 24 year old son tours with him, duetting on many of his fathers greatest hits**
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