I can’t say that I am a good cook. I can’t say that I’m even that interested in cooking. For that I have to rely on my dear wife, and more recently my two older children. They all cook good, healthy meals that are way beyond my limitations with a frying pan. I will, of course, help out. I’m good at that – before and after. Occasionally, on a Sunday, I’ll cook a roast but don’t ask for any fancy side dishes or anything out of the ordinary.

I do like Christmas though, and I love Christmas pudding. My Mum, and hers before her, made wonderful puddings. As a child, a very early memory for me was in my grandmother’s house stirring the puddings and making a wish.

When my own mother took over, I remember the ritual of the greaseproof paper, tinfoil and string and holding my finger to help tie the covers and made-up handles. I loved the smell in the house as the puddings cooked in a huge pot for what seemed like an age. We would open them up on Christmas Eve, and anxiously anticipate how they would taste. On Christmas Day, my Dad would warm the brandy and with all the lights turned off, we would set the pudding alight.

When I married, I had the delight of two puddings to choose from. I discovered that my mother-in-law was also an expert and I liked hers as much as I enjoyed my own family recipe. This became the standard after my own Mum passed away.

One year I decided to have a go myself. Nigella Lawson had a new Christmas cookbook that year and I used her recipe. It turned out well, but the results weren’t nearly as good as we had been used to. Popular opinion was in favour of the mother-in-law. Her pudding was a far better fare and left Nigella in the shade.

Christmas is a time of routine and tradition. So near panic set in when Granny Collins (my mother-in-law) decided she was hanging up her boots on the pudding front.

It didn’t take long for me to offer to have a go. I don’t know why – I just like all that old tradition. So the recipe transferred. We are not sure of its origin, as it’s simply written on the back of a cornflakes box.

I follow it religiously – mostly.

Some help in the preparation is on hand from the family. All will stir the mix and make a wish. I simply can’t tie the covering and our youngest sorts that one out. We still use the same pot as my grandmother used when I was a child.

I’m on my fifth year this year. Haven’t been sacked yet. No prizes for guessing whose verdict I look for?

So far so good!