APART from being present at the birth, it is arguably the biggest moment in any dad’s life – when he walks up the aisle and gives his daughter away on her wedding day.

Graham Robb, father-of-two, entrepreneur, high-profile North-East public relations expert, and confidante of the political elite, is approaching that milestone. And, with apologies to bride-to-be Jessica, I feel it is my duty to expose the scurrilous lengths to which her dad is prepared to go to look the part on her big day.

I take no pleasure in exposing his dogged deception but, as a columnist responsible for upholding the reputation of dads everywhere, I have no choice.

You see, Graham got a little bit carried away over Christmas and he needs to lose a bit of weight. He’s by no means a fat cat businessman, but he needs to tone up, if you know what I mean.

His well-meaning wife, Sue, decided Graham needed some help so she turned to the wonders of modern technology. She bought him an ingenious gadget which he clips to his belt and it monitors how many steps he walks a day, how many miles he’s covered, and how many times he’s climbed up some stairs.

By linking it to an ‘app’ on his mobile phone, he can key in what he’s eaten and it will calculate the calories.

All of this data about his exercise and calorie intake is then transmitted to Sue’s laptop so she can monitor her hubby’s progress.

Graham showed me his gadget while we were having a catch-up lunch the other day. He also made the mistake of telling me that he’d got sick and tired of the Big Brother approach to his fitness regime.

“I’d had enough,” he explained.

“So I secretly attached it to the inside of the dog’s collar.”

Ruby is a three-year-old springer spaniel with a lot more bounce and energy than an over-worked, middleaged dad, whose most athletic days are well behind him.

Anyway, it went unnoticed that Graham had suddenly got into the habit of throwing the ball around the garden for Ruby rather a lot, and regularly chucking tasty treats to the top of the stairs.

But at the end of the week, Graham got a pat on the back from his impressed wife who’d seen a marked improvement in his performance statistics on her computer.

“Well done, you’ve really worked hard this week,” he was told – and he shamelessly accepted the praise without batting an eyelid.

So there you have the shocking truth about Graham Robb. I am left to wonder if he has taken to cocking his leg against every tree, or if he has a wet nose, or if he’s on Bob Martin tablets to keep his coat shiny.

What I do know for certain is that he’s a lying hound – and he’s been well and truly collared.

  • Does the dad in your life need to be exposed? Email me at peter.barron@nne.co.uk or get in touch on Twitter (@echopeterbarron)

THE THINGS THEY SAY

AT a meeting of West Auckland Women’s Institute, Truda Watson recalled the time granddaughter Anna, ten, wanted to be a beautician. She looked up and said: “Nan, can I pluck the hairs out of your chin?”

TRUDA was driving her grandson, Daniel, home from nursery and she asked him if he’d like beans on toast for his dinner.

Having previously told Daniel to eat his crusts because they’d make his hair curl, he replied: “Yes, but will you cut the crusts off because my mam likes my hair just the way it is.”

SHEILA, who declined to give her second name, remembered the time her son, Martin, six at the time, announced: “We had sex at school today.”

“Oh, did you enjoy it?” asked Sheila, a bit flummoxed.

“Yes,” replied Martin. “There was that much pudding, we all had secs.”