Rather worryingly, I seem to have produced a child that will devour tagliatelle with chicken livers for lunch. I can't claim any credit though - rather than anything Nigella-Lawson-domestic-goddess-ish, I suspect it was the lure of smiling Italian waiters. I'm sure it'll all go to hell in a handbasket, and that there will be refusal to eat anything except beans on toast at some point, to terrify the middle-class mother in me. But for now I'll sit back in a smug and self-satisfied manner, while looking at all the furore on advertising junk foods during children's tv. My downfall will come soon, no doubt. Probably right about the point that she discovers there's chocolate in her Christmas stocking.
In other news, I'm currently watching the back-slapping celeb-fest that is Children in Need. Much as the cause is worthy, it makes for some really terrible tv. Lots of miming bands, awful local tv segments (sorry Wendy Gibson) and Peter and Jordan. I think I need to go and lie down. Or at least top up the glass of red wine that is conveniently sat right next to the laptop.