Phone on loudspeaker, in the olden days it was tucked under my chin, now with more chins, it’s more likely to be a video call, I call the kids in turn. ‘Make a wish,’ I sing down the line, sometimes waking them, sometimes catching them at work. ‘Make a wish,’ I shout at voicemail as I stir the cake mix for each in turn. They thought me magical as kids, mad as teens, making them wish on cake mix. ‘But it can’t be Christmas without wishes,’ I’d whisper, hugging them in reply.