Every three weeks, those of my team who live close enough to Southampton to make the trip in, get together for a lunch to say “hi!” and celebrate the completion of another batch of work.

At the lunch, a friend stirred his lime and soda with his fork. Then another friend stirred his with a knife!

My nan would have said that he was “stirring up trouble”!

I love that the memory came to me and I was able to share it with friends. The stirrer said that he was already in trouble.

She had a few other sayings and would tell you off sternly if you cross knives – possibly the sharp edges of knives symbolising conflict and she was all about peace – and proper behaviour! She knew which fork to use with which course: sometimes she had “airs” as my dad said.

I think that she just liked things done “properly”: she was proudly working class, but had learnt a bit about society and how to blend in over her life.

She also got very upset if you took a knife to a bread roll. There was a very audible and disapproving tut. Dad, would, of course make sure that he used the knife to cut a roll just to wind her up.

But there was a point to her objection: firstly, breaking bread is based on sharing (the roll standing in for a loaf) – taking a knife to bread was doing it violence and is less egalitarian (despite the notional precision of the blade).

Again, her beliefs were about peace in the home: these rituals kept her household emotionally safe.

Her style was peace through tradition. My father was a more tyrannical peace (his rules: do as I say).

There was also a religious angle: whenever she had bread she was aware of the Last Supper. No priests, just a bunch of tired guys being chased by the heavy footfall of destiny – sharing of bread was to be a memorial of that supper every time they ate it (which would have been most meals).

The same was true of the wine, which was added to the water to kill bacteria (not that the people of the time would have known that).

So every meal was, for my nan, both a family event and a spiritual one.

And even I, despite not being religious, have those memories to comfort and entertain me whenever I eat bread.

The punchline: my nan was perfectly happy with pre-sliced bread!