Now we are eight.

Isn't this the sweetest thing. Well bittersweet, because today I am the grumpy, shouty mother who, well, should not. Back to the sweetest thing. My eight year old cannot hold a pencil 'properly' for toffee; I've been told more  than a few times that he underachieves in school. But you know what? I respect opnions and all, but that child is highly emotionally literate. My goodness, how highly that counts. And he knows about food. Today, to give his mother a boost, here is what he did. Foods chosen because he thought they were "cosy." Ah: you're wondering about the provenance of the eggs? Spirit of the same. Photo by Giles Turnbull.

1. Plump up cushions in squashy chair; tell mother to put up feet and wait for lunch. Did I want a romantic DVD or a murder book? (Funny, how young boys see their mothers.)

2. Arrive with a menu and a large reserved sign saying "Mrs V. Table three reserved" Table three is the squashy chair. Mrs V is me. He had also written (sic) "You rok!!!" on the bottom of the reserved sign.

3. Sounds of scrabbling and stumbling on stairs up to room. A tray, with a big basin of rice crispies, lots of cold milk and, well, extra milk in the tray -- for which he had brought an extra spoon.

4. A little later, I was given a cheese sandwich and a satsuma for pudding. Today, I let them eat their meals backwards, so that was why I had a cheese sandwich for dessert.

5. Sounds of running. The boy has prepared a flagon of blackcurrant squash. He is now wearing an apron, the previous lack of which he now apologises for. And he brings me a napkin and a raspberry chewy vitamin tablet.

Further details: all white bowl and plate, blue and white napkin. His choice.

The chips below: another comforting sort of food picture. Again by Giles: they are my oven chips and I particularly favour this old enamel cooking tin for their preparation. It's all in the blue rim and the pale yellow interior.