As Newcastle pulses to chants of “Blaydon Races,” my home echoes with the sound of mini maracas and teething-related growls. It’s a different kind of match day—less crowd roar, more cuddles and caffeine.
Still, there’s beauty in the balance: cheering on NUFC with one eye while rocking your future Magpie with the other. It’s a reminder that team spirit isn’t confined to the terraces. It’s in how we show up—game day or sleepy Tuesday—and share our passions with the next generation.
There’s no sleep schedule in the Upside Down—and bedtime negotiations have started to feel eerily familiar. Armed with bath-time spells and snack bar bribes, we march into nightly conflict like Eleven facing a Demogorgon with half a juice box and a broken nightlight.
This week, bedtime was more Stranger Things than Storytime. My youngest demanded to sleep with a plastic wand, a plush Wookiee, and a sticker chart for unknown infractions. I obliged—because parenting is sometimes about embracing the strange in exchange for peace and five minutes of silence.
In the Dadnauts chronicles, these unpredictable rituals don’t just test your patience… they strengthen your lore.
In the Dadnauts universe, every spare moment is a launchpad for imagination. This week’s log focuses on reclaiming those snatched scraps of time—while the kettle boils, during nap resets, or when you’re dodging Duplo missiles—for creative micro-missions.
Whether it’s sketching a silhouette, jotting down three lines of lore, or snapping a photo that whispers “alternate timeline”, these mini missions aren’t just placeholders. They’re progress. They’re proof that creativity doesn’t need perfect conditions—just intention.
Mission Brief:
Identify 3 “creative crevices” in your day
Assign a 5-minute task to each
Celebrate every completion like you’ve escaped from a Sarlacc pit
Because even five minutes of creative push can change the shape of your storytelling orbit.
Two sides. One storm. You’ve seen it: the chaotic ripple of a missed penalty mirrored in a living room meltdown because the toast was “too triangular.” NUFC and toddlers—iconic tantrum twins.
Let’s break it down:
⚽ NUFC Meltdown
👶 Toddler Tantrum
Missed opportunity
Lost toy
Tactical error
Snack injustice
Ref drama
Nap resistance
Emotional roar
Screaming floor dive
What do we learn? Emotional regulation starts with us. Whether we’re pacing over Bruno’s bookings or pausing for a cuddle during chaos—both require grace under pressure.
Being a fan and a father are parallel paths. You cheer when it’s messy. You believe when it’s hopeless. You show up, game after game. Tantrum after tantrum.
Newcastle United’s boardroom evolution continues, and one name rising to the top of the CEO shortlist is David Hopkinson, a seasoned executive with a global pedigree in sports and entertainment. If appointed, Hopkinson would succeed Darren Eales, who is stepping down due to health reasons after a transformative tenure at St. James’ Park.
Hopkinson’s résumé reads like a masterclass in sports business leadership. He’s currently the President and COO of Madison Square Garden Sports Corp, overseeing iconic franchises like the New York Knicks and Rangers. Before that, he served as Global Head of Partnerships at Real Madrid, where he managed commercial strategy for one of the world’s most valuable football clubs. His earlier career includes over two decades at Maple Leaf Sports & Entertainment, where he was Chief Commercial Officer, driving revenue across teams like the Toronto Raptors, Maple Leafs, and Toronto FC.
What makes Hopkinson a compelling fit for Newcastle? First, his expertise in venue management could be pivotal as NUFC explores stadium redevelopment, including the proposed move to Leazes Park. His strategic oversight of venues like Madison Square Garden and the Las Vegas Sphere shows he understands how to turn iconic locations into revenue-generating hubs without compromising heritage.
Second, Hopkinson’s track record in global partnerships aligns with Newcastle’s ambitions to expand its brand internationally. His work with Real Madrid’s billion-strong fanbase and his leadership in securing naming rights deals (like Scotiabank Arena in Toronto) demonstrate his ability to unlock commercial potential while respecting club identity.
Finally, Hopkinson’s Canadian roots and board-level experience—including roles with Canada Basketball and Women’s College Hospital Foundation—highlight his commitment to community engagement and inclusive leadership. That ethos could resonate well with Newcastle’s passionate fanbase and the club’s growing women’s and academy programs.
In short, Hopkinson offers Newcastle a rare blend of global vision, commercial acumen, and venue strategy. If appointed, he could be the architect of NUFC’s next chapter—one that balances ambition with authenticity.
Let us know what you think of this potential appointment
🛠 Whiteboards & Wizardry: Tools That Actually Work
Welcome to the Lab. If you’re anything like me, your house has been taken over by scribbles: character arcs, snack schedules, impromptu NUFC lineups, and probably a reminder to buy more blue milk. The chaos needs containment—but not control.
Enter the Magic Whiteboard. Whether it’s a weekly mission planner, an ideas wall for the next Dadnaut installment, or a visual tracker for toddler emotions (it’s a real rollercoaster), this tool is pure wizardry. Here’s what works:
🪄 Dry-Erase Calendars: Perfect for parenting quests and Dadnaut deadlines.
🧩 Magnetic Icons: Assign emotions, chores, and fandom flair with custom pieces (think Slytherin shields for tricky moods).
🗂 Split Zones: Adult agenda on top, kid-friendly chaos below. Silhouettes and stickers = bonus engagement.
Real life isn’t Hogwarts, but we can borrow the best bits—like magical communication surfaces. And when your kid starts adding their own symbols? You’ve just recruited a co-pilot.
Log 003: The Day I misplaced My Patience (Then Found It)
They don’t tell you about the quiet little fractures in patience that happen over the course of a long day. One toy tossed. One cup spilled. One shouted “NO!” too many.
This week’s log isn’t shiny. It’s not a win. It’s just true.
📍 The Incident:
The baby wouldn’t nap. The toddler was pushing every button. I snapped. Not dramatically—but enough. I used a sharper tone than I meant. I closed the door harder than necessary. Then came the guilt spiral.
🔧 The Reflection:
I’ve learned that patience isn’t a constant trait. It’s a resource. It drains. It refills. Some days it’s scarce. That doesn’t make me a bad parent—it makes me human.
🧰 What Helped Me Reset:
– A breathing pause in the kitchen, 30 seconds, hands on the counter.
– A voice note to myself, just venting.
– Saying sorry—to the toddler, and to myself.
🪐 Final Transmission:
You’ll lose your cool sometimes. That doesn’t mean the mission’s a failure. It means you’re doing the hard work of showing up—again and again—with love, even when it’s cracked around the edges.
Harvey was more than a dog—he was a shadow, and a show-stealer. Loyal to his family every step of the way, Harvey’s life was one filled with love, laughter, and unbreakable companionship. From caravan holidays where he effortlessly became the centre of attention, to the quiet comfort of following me around the house, Harvey was always exactly where he was meant to be: by my side.
His gentle presence and unwavering devotion made the ordinary extraordinary. Whether trotting through caravan sites or curled up at home, Harvey reminded everyone that true greatness lies in love given freely and moments shared deeply.
He leaves behind paw prints not just on the carpet, but on hearts. Sleep well, Harvey—you were truly the very best of boys.
🧙 My Lightsaber Is Actually a Remote: The Jedi Arts of Channel Control
In our galaxy, the remote is more than tech—it’s a wand, a peacekeeper, a beacon of compromise. And wielding it? That’s pure Jedi.
I used to think I had control. Then came Bluey marathons and YouTube wormholes. Channel sovereignty became a rare artefact, like the Darksaber—spoken of, seldom seen. But here’s the trick: Jedi don’t dominate. They persuade, guide, and sometimes make room for Ewok dance breaks if it brings balance to the Force.
I’ve learned to rotate screen time like a training regimen—cartoons one day, nature docs the next, with detours through football replays for parental sanity. Sometimes, we co-watch and I sneak in dad jokes that would make Yoda groan.
And when the tiny Padawans clash? That’s when my calm Jedi dad voice comes out: “There is no fight, only sharing.” It doesn’t always work. But neither did Obi-Wan’s first try with Anakin.
🛠 Guardsman to Dadnaut: Discipline That Still Works
Before nappies, there were night watches. Before storytime, there were standing orders. I traded a regimented life in uniform for the whirlwind of parenting—and oddly, it didn’t feel all that different.
The discipline drilled into me as a Guardsman didn’t vanish the moment I strapped on a baby carrier. Instead, it evolved. The early routines? Gold. Nap schedules are like operations briefs: don’t overcomplicate, don’t deviate. Gear checks became nappy bag inspections. Early on, I realised that the same calm under pressure I needed in uniform was the very thing that got us through the “poonami” on aisle 7 of Tesco.
But it’s not about barking commands. It’s about presence. A soldier’s presence matters. So does a dad’s. When my kid melts down at bedtime, I channel that same stillness I used to stand ceremonial post. When I say “no,” it’s not sharp—it’s grounded. Confident. Respectful.
Turns out, you can turn a parade square mindset into a playroom strategy. Discipline, done right, isn’t about control—it’s about consistency, compassion, and showing up the same way every time. So while the tools have changed, the mission stays the same: protect, provide, and lead with honour.
Dadnauts 