Close My Eyes And Count To Ten

As a one-plus year-old, Matthew couldn't eat a cookie for he would gag and choke, while others his age crunched down two at a time. He was spoonfed porridge until the age of three.

Last December, I found him on the sofa intently studying a full-colour Christmas catalogue of roasts and platters. Another time, we walked through Cold Storage and he got all excited at something he saw. "Look! Mummy, look!" It turned out to be a picture hanging on the wall, something like this.

From being so talkative in primary one until teacher had to put him at a lone desk right in front of the class, his P4 report book now says he is a quiet boy who prefers reading by himself. Harry Potter worked his magic alright!

But, he still waxes lyrical about all kinds of dishes. Start him on the topic and he'll go on and on, considering the possibilities, imagining and describing the nuances achieved by each little variation, and all I need to do is go uh-huh, yeah, mm, and he won't stop. I think his favourite is the Stuart Anderson's Black Angus medium rare ribeye with red wine sauce.

Oh, yesterday he came home having completed a three-day course. He's now capable of sailing an Optimist single-handedly. Pity no photo since we just dropped him off at the club so we never actually saw him doing it. But as some sort of evidence, we have a severely water-warped and tatty copy of the "Deathly Hallows," that only very recently arrived from The Book Depository. All thanks to him allowing it to cosy up to my precious pair of Gill gloves, still wet from the sea. Argh! But, wait a minute, he can actually wear them!