I am extremely territorial when it comes to the kitchen. It’s my space, my husband doesn’t get to touch my heavy bottomed pans. I’m like a lion stalking my culinary perimeter.

With this in mind it’s not often that he even offers to peel the potatoes... he normally gets knocked back you see. However I have turned over a new leaf and any help in our family food preparation is gratefully received. I am fussy when it comes to the peeling of root vegetables, my mother had the job of peeling the potatoes, carrots, parsnips and sprouts at Christmas.

She did it whilst sat at the kitchen table with her sunglasses on, it’s not unusual that she wears inappropriate eyewear at odd occasions. She also watches the television in bed with her sunglasses on. Her glasses somewhat obscured her vision and much of her peeling work had to be re done. So armed with a peeler my dearly beloved set about de-skinning the maris pipers. Simon and I working as a team in the kitchen is history repeating itself – I recall my mother responsible for producing the extraordinary cuisine during childhood whilst my late father was responsible for all the vegetable preparation. Every carrot, every French bean, every parsnip was sliced in uniform size, he was a perfectionist. What ensued during our food prep was a heated discussion about the peeler doubling up as an apple corer. Is it any wonder I won’t let him get his hands on my utensils!

* Our daughter turned one last weekend and I felt a little pang of failure and disappointment in that I can’t bake like Mary Berry. It’s an expectation, even a pre-requisite to becoming a parent these days, so I decided to bake Betsy’s cake: a humble Victoria sponge with buttercream and raspberry jam finished with some icing sugar and candles. Having erected the two layers and sandwiched them together the slightly lopsided look was what I had in mind, I was going for the shabby chic cake look. I don’t think I would be allowed to join the WI for my efforts but it was baked with love. It travelled and survived the 60 minute journey from Chippy to Baulking to the in-laws for Betsy’s first anniversary celebrations. I was slIghtly apologetic at its outward appearance but it tasted just like it should.

* Something else that the week has thrown up is my mother’s quandary. She is being pursued by an elderly amorous admirer, he waits for her to go out with the dogs every day.

As he awaited to accompany her for a promenande by the Dorset coastline mother made the quick-thinking decision to hide in someone’s garage. Unfortunately, there were no flies on the elderly suitor. He went back to discover my mother hiding between a can of WD40 and some engine oil. Awkward!