In my vast experience of children (well I did have one and three extra who I love as my own… and I was one myself!) I would say that it’s rather uncommon, during a family gathering, for a child to think “I wonder if anyone would like me to make them a cup of tea?”. So when my Supergran mum says loudly to me, at said family gatherings, “Wouldn’t you think Daniel (now aged eleven) would offer make a cup of tea to save his grandmother’s legs?”, I always reply in the negative. Likewise, I’m never surprised to find that the great-grandsons have not rushed to do the washing-up of their own accord. I reckon they are probably no better or worse than I was at their ages and therefore it’s a bit much to expect such grand gestures without first being asked (or cajoled, or threatened).

Of course, Supergran is our family matriarch (not to be confused with “The Matrix” in the film of the same name which, according to Wikipedia, is the name given to a simulated reality created by sentient machines to subdue the human population – quite the opposite of my mum then). The grandmother whose legs she would like to be saved is my sister, but I hasten to add that Mary looks nothing like the archetypal grey-haired granny in a rocking chair (although she did break her leg badly last year).

Yesterday evening Chris and I went up to see my niece Liz and her husband Martin. All day long I had been working on a drawing of Rosie, their youngest child, which was to be a present for Martin’s birthday. Unable to frame the drawing in time for his birthday, I had taken a photograph and turned it into a card for him with the promise of the framed picture to come soon. Unfortunately, I was a day out – it was his birthday the day before – and instead, we should have gone to see my sister-in-law, whose birthday it really was, but by then it was too late. So we’ll have to see Fiona tonight and carry on with this day out birthday thing.

Even before sitting down in Lizzie’s lounge room she offered us a cup of tea, which we declined because we had only just finished our dinner and were full. Whilst we were all chatting Charlotte came down from the bathroom and I beckoned her to sit on my knee for a cuddle; she was in her pink pajamas, her hair was damp and she smelt of all things nice – like soap, shampoo and powder. The boys are of an age when they hate kissing and cuddling aunties but the girls, at one, eight and ten, are still a joy to hold. The average cuddle lasts about two minutes and then they are off. At the allotted time Charlotte dashed off to do some Kung Fu dancing but nobody took much notice and she disappeared into the kitchen.

Charlotte made rather a dramatic entrance back into the lounge. The eight-year-old stood coquettishly, her head at a beguiling angle to the side and her hands held together in front of her – she may even have coughed to get the attention of all. Once assured of everyone’s full attention she smiled and asked:

“Would anybody like a nice cup of tea?”

Mine was perfect – half a cup of very weak tea produced exactly as instructed.

It just goes to show that Supergran (the Matrix matriarch) is right after all. It appears that young children really do wonder if anyone would like a cup of tea. I wonder if that applies also to older children… l believe I shall be quite disappointed tonight at Rob and Fiona’s if my nephew Tom, aged twenty-three, doesn’t think to ask if we’d all like a nice cup of tea. And he can jolly well save our legs and take the “crocks” out to wash them up!