Am I going soft?

I’VE been getting a bit of stick recently from one or two people who think I’ve gone soft since Harry arrived.

I know this because, during a recent visit to The Trap, one of the regulars, Wyn, told me to stop turning into a woman and start writing about Wrexham Football Club instead. I think he was joking – and anyway, there’s not much to say about events at The Racecourse at the moment, except that I sincerely hope things improve next year.

But Wyn’s comment got me thinking. Have I gone soft now that I’m a parent? Well, I’m not sure. Since having Harry, my whole outlook on life has certainly shifted – I now worry about feeds, baby changing facilities, the ease with which pushchairs fold, and whether we’ve got enough nappies. Naturally enough Harry is number one on my list of priorities. My music collection has also expanded – somewhat against my will – and you’re now as likely to catch me listening to nursery rhymes as Ryan Adams or Radiohead.

Having said all that, I’m still interested in life’s little essentials – a good pint of real ale, Wrexham FC and, of course, cricket – it’s just that they have to fit in with Harry.

Both Melissa and I are starting to relax a bit more now after the initial shock of parenthood. We’ve even left him with the grandparents a couple of times, which was initially a little nerve-wracking but does get easier.

Thankfully, Harry is still a very good baby. As long as he’s fed regularly, he rarely cries (as long as you don’t try and dress him) and he’s usually quite happy bouncing around in his little chair – at least this helps me feel less guilty when we do leave him behind.

Having said that, when we have left Harry, we’ve found ourselves talking about him most of the time anyway; I’m still not sure either of us can quite believe we’re responsible for creating something so, well, amazing.

So maybe I am going soft after all, although I’d rather think of it as becoming a more rounded human being if it’s all the same to you.

Having a baby's good for your health

MAKE no mistake, life with a baby can be a challenge. I was reminded of this last Friday night when Harry filled his nappy while happily bouncing around in his little play-chair.

The result was, well, messy. He’d managed to get poo everywhere – from his armpits to his toes. Now I thought I was pretty good at dealing with dirty nappies but Harry succeeded in making me think again.

Anyway, a rather hurried bath later, normality was restored and I could go back to finishing my tea.

Despite these little episodes, I’d still tell anyone that Harry is the best thing to happen to me.

It’s even beneficial to your fitness. Take Melissa, for instance. Since Harry was born, she’s been walking almost every day.

According to her trusty pedometer, she clocked up more than 36 miles in one week alone. That’s got to be good for you; Melissa’s certainly no couch potato but there’s no way she’d have walked 36 miles in a week before Harry was born.

And it’s not as if having a baby means your social life has to end. Last Saturday, my brother and his wife visited from Nottingham. Usually when my brother visits, we spend all afternoon – and evening – in the pub, drinking.

Of course, having a 12-week old baby means things have to change.

So, instead of going straight to the pub, we went for a walk across Chirk aqueduct, took in some wonderful scenery and bracing fresh air, before stopping for a drink at our friendly local, The Trap (or Bridge Inn, as it’s officially called).

We didn’t stop long, just long enough for a couple of well-earned afternoon drinks – all that fresh air works up a thirst – before heading back up the hill for a takeaway.

So there you have it; don’t let anyone tell you that being a parent is all hard work, even if you do have to deal with the odd dirty nappy.

The Trap (Bridge Inn, Chirk)

As locals go, you can't beat The Trap in Chirk. The beer's great, the company's first class and the landlady and landlord - Deb and Martin - are nice, friendly people. Oh, and you can't forget Emma - probably the best barmaid around (she'd kill me if I didn't mention her).

Anyway, here's Deb and Martin as you've probably never seen them. Martin's resemblance to Peter Kay is more striking than ever, but I'm a bit concerned about his fitness. I'm not sure he'd make a genuine superhero - best stick to pulling pints.

By the way, if anyone wonders why I'm blogging at 8.45 on Christmas Day, blame Melissa. I'm waiting for her to get ready. Unfortunately, it's not a particularly quick process.

Summer arrives...

Summer has actually arrived, although for how long is anyone's guess. The weekend was glorious, and I managed to spend plenty of time outside (mainly, trimming the hedge for what seems like the twentieth time this year).

Warm weather also encourages drinking. There are few more pleasant experiences than sitting outside pub, beer in hand, watching the world go by. Somehow, the beer tastes nicer. In fact, it's one of the main reasons I like to go abroad on holiday; even though the beer served abroad is invariably lager, I still manage to drink and enjoy it. In Britain, I'd rather have a nice cup of tea than a pint of lager.

But when the fine weather arrives in this country, it's even better. On Thursday, I was able to sit outside my local, The Bridge Inn (or The Trap to those in the know), and enjoy a couple of pints of Timothy Taylor Landlord - a fine pint of ale - with my dad. We sat on the terrace outside the pub, enjoying spectacular views of the aqueduct and viaduct, drinking beer and eating pork scratchings. And what could be better than that?