THEY say that the best way to get to know your children and gain a little understanding of what they are thinking about is to get the conversation going over the dinner table.

Talk about the day, find out about the latest goings-on at school.

In a moment of culinary creativity, I had put together a rather impressive Shepherd's Pie and, as I was serving up, with an eager child in the dining room salivating at the prospect of his father producing a tastebud-inducing treat, I thought of the perfect conversation opener. "So, what did you have for lunch today?"

"Roast Beef actually," came the confident reply.

I froze, there was a loud clang as the serving spoon I was holding fell reluctantly to the floor.

"You had what?" I said, trying to hide my surprise.

"Roast Beef with Yorkshires, vegetables and gravy - it was delicious," came the reply.

Now, hang on a minute, Roast Beef for lunch, at school?

"Roast Beef you say? What did you have yesterday?" My son walked into the kitchen smiling. "We had pizza with jacket potato and a choice of vegetables, either carrots or peas."

"Really?" I said through a fixed smile and clenched teeth, handing over a plate of Shepherd's Pie newly served up with clean spoon.

In the small hours of the morning, the imagination runs riot. I lie awake thinking of a seven-year-old producing a dinner menu of his choice.

"Daddy, can I have half-a-dozen escargots as a starter, followed by a fillet steak cooked to medium rare and no more? For dessert, perhaps a sorbet all washed down with a carafe of fruit shoot."

I drift into a fitful sleep, back to my schooldays in the 1970s. School dinners, the dread, and the fear.

At the end of morning lessons, we would queue up outside the assembly hall. Inside, long wooden tables would await our pleasure, a hard bench to sit on as we studied our newly-acquired plates from the nearby kitchen hatch.

Through the hatch we could see the women in those seemingly spotless white coats dishing up stuff. Yes, stuff.

These days I cannot look at a tin of pork luncheon meet without uttering a long silent scream.

Jars of beetroot send me running for cover, and tins of rice pudding can have me begging for mercy. I openly weep at the sight of mushy peas.

In the long distant days of the last century, lunch times were a time of fear.

Compare a plate of spam, soggy salty potato, and thin gangly pieces of string attempting to pass as runner beans, with a plate of Roast Beef as described by a happy seven-year-old of today. No comparison.

I ask my son if he enjoyed the Shepherd's Pie. "Yes, it was good Daddy, but can we have Roast Beef next time? I hope it is as good as the school one."