AS if having four kids of my own isn't enough, I've become a godfather. Yes, Albert Savage has me to look up to for spiritual guidance, and I hereby vow to do my best.

We'd bonded in a pub - at a mutual friend's 40th birthday party. I'd given Albert's mum a rest from juggling him on her knee, he'd done his best to breastfeed from my shirt, given it up as a bad job, and still given me the cutest of grins.

That was it - our destiny was set as godson and godfather, with my wife getting in on the act as godmother.

So there we were, in our Sunday best, at St Andrew's Church, Kirkby Malzeard, near Masham, filling a church pew with our own brood, and publicly pledging to live up to our godly duties.

Albert smiled all the way through the service, even when the vicar sprinkled water over his soft, bald, sweet-smelling head. He was, as the vicar's wife, Alison Evans, observed, "a picture of spiritual contentment".

"Why does he have to have a wash in that old sink?" asked our five-year-old, straining his neck for a better view.

"It's holy water," I explained.

"Can I see the plug?" he went on, demanding to be lifted up.

A bedtime that night, we were discussing our responsibilities as godparents.

Jack, aged eight, suggested our priority should be to stop Albert growing up as a Leeds United supporter, despite his father's allegiance.

Max, the five-year-old, followed up by pointing out that Albert would have to come and live with us if his mum and dad died.

"And we'd have to have all the others as well so he didn't get lonely," he added.

All the others are Albert's FOUR brothers: "That means we'll have nine kids," declared Max, proving that his maths is coming along nicely.

Nine kids! Eight of them boys! Sixteen muddy shoes and two shiny ones in the hall! Enormous shopping bills! Total devastation in several bedrooms! Leeds United shirts on the line! Oh, the public shame.

We clearly hadn't given nearly enough thought to this godparenting lark.

Max was on a roll: "Yeah, and we'd have to get a double decker bus to carry everyone, wouldn't we Dad? And we'd probably have to buy our own McDonald's restaurant to feed 'em all."

By now, Max was really, really hoping that Albert and all the others would be coming to live with us - even if it meant an untimely death for their parents.

It was only when it was pointed out to Max that Albert was still being breastfed that he suddenly, and definitely, changed his mind.

As I've mentioned before, our youngest is a real Mummy's boy and he doesn't share her with anyone - even me.

A double decker bus and a McDonalds restaurant could never compete with the Oedipus Complex.

Anyway, my wife had lunch with Albert's mummy last week and I'm delighted to say that she's the picture of health. With luck, she'll live to 110.

Unfortunately, it seems his daddy might be in need of a trip to the hospital, because the main topic of conversation over the salad bowl in Pizza Express was the pressing need for him to have a little operation beginning with 'v' - to save anyone else from the awesome responsibility of being a godparent.

So there, in black and white, is our first piece of spiritual guidance on little Albert's behalf: four brothers is quite enough.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

THE Dad At Large Roadshow had a fairway to go to reach the Saltburn Ladies Luncheon Club at the town's golf club...

JEAN Barr, founder of the Rosedene Nursery School in Marske, recalled the time she was with her husband at a posh Conservative Party 'do' in Nottingham.

A couple they were friendly with had a little boy who was taken to the Gents by his dad, who is now in Parliament but must remain nameless. As they were standing next to each other, answering nature's call, the boy tapped the arm of the stranger who was using the toilet on his other side.

"Excuse me sir," said the boy, "you're not doing it right. You hold it with both hands like my daddy".

Flabbergasted, the dad dropped what he was holding and returned to the function having played a rather embarrassing part in a political leak - all down the front of his trousers.

Who is the mystery politician? Jean's lips are sealed but he's well known and he uses both hands!

WHEN she was training as a teacher at her first school in Middlesbrough, Jean was preparing for a date with a handsome naval officer who was meeting her after work.

Jean, 18 at the time and anxious to make a good impression, was a little embarrassed so she went behind a piano to put on some make-up.

A child spotted her and asked: "What are you doing, Miss Wrigley?"

"I'm putting powder on," she replied.

"Why?" the child persisted.

"Doesn't your mother put powder on her face?" asked Miss Wrigley.

"Yes, but why are you putting it on?" enquired the boy.

"To make me look beautiful," said Miss Wrigley.

There was a pause before the boy concluded: "Well why doesn't it?"

Jean married the handsome naval officer. George Bar died in 1982.