If you know anything about British culinary traditions, you’ll be well versed in the holy act of worship that is the Sunday roast. Well, T is modern day proof that this seemingly ancient ritual will not be disappearing anytime soon.

I was born into a family that will find any excuse for a roast dinner. It turns out this suits T rather well, as it combines two of his favourite things: potato and anything in which he can dip potato.

So imagine his delight when faced with not one but two delicious roasts over the weekend. First, Christmas round 2 or 3 with the grandparents, Great Granny (“gahdee”), plus T’s aunty and her fiancé.

T is lucky enough to have a full time nursery place, so has a well balanced diet of freshly prepared meals during the week. In our minds (this is not advice!), this leaves us relatively free at the weekends to accept that as long as T is eating roughly when he should be, nearly anything goes. Given that over Christmas and New Year he was ill and his appetite all but disappeared, any devoured meal is a win! And hey, it’s only Christmas once a year, so what the heck… Ok, twice.

Cue T making a B-line for the saltiest item on the table and munching through three pigs in blankets, along with the rest of his plate. At 23 months, T is semi cutlery trained, so starts diligently using his fork for the parent-chopped piggies but, after a while, everything is finger food.

Fast forward less than 24 hours and we’re in a proper Welsh village pub, where, as it turned out, the famous Welsh lamb is conspicuously absent but the roast beef is damn good.

T is looking very pleased with himself as he grabs a large, gravy-soaked roast potato and proceeds to eat it like an apple. Again, a win is a win, and what’s a mealtime if you don’t finish up with gravy in your hair?!

Sadly, T’s cutlery training does not yet extend to placing it back on his plate when he’s finished eating. Instead, this is hurled across the room regardless of who or what may be injured as a result.

Here endeth the second lesson.