It is now about a week after my birthday, and usually at this point the cry goes up from my mother, "Have you done your thankyou letters yet?"

Even as a small infant, these things have been the bane of my life. It shouldn't be a hard thing should it, saying thanks for getting stuff you haven't earned, but it was the soul destroying monotony of these wretched letters that always got to me! I refuse to believe that the hapless recipients of those 'gratitude essays' actually enjoyed reading them! It was always the same. 1) Say how much you love what you've been given, even if you don't. 2) Impart some piece of interesting 'news'. 3) Sign off in some meaningless or twee way. It was just about bearable doing this for my relatives, but dear mum used to make me do this for all my schoolfriends too! After every birthday party, I used to have to go to school and dole out these exciting creations. As we all got older, my friends would become increasingly bemused. "Why can't you just say it to my face?" Eventually, they'd just take a cricket bat to me. (Not really, but they'd certainly give me a verbal lashing, and I don't blame them at all!)

This year though, for the first time ever... nothing. Not a peep! Am I finally a big boy now?! But I'll still do them of course. Habits are very hard to break.

Last night, I made a great big pecan pie. It is a magnificent specimen. I wanted to donate it to the Tate, but after a brief phone call, I was saddened to discover that they "are unable to accept puddings".