Ok, just imagine you're all there at Christmas.
"Pass Gamgam the potatoes please Oona" calls Fievel from the other end of the table.
"Here you go Gamgam!" Oona booms. "They're great by the way, thanks so much for this wonderful dinner!"
"Gamgam, what games are we playing this evening?" asks Fievel, scratching his ear with his fork.
That can't be hygienic. You raise an eyebrow and give your DH the look.
"Oh Gamgam is it Pieface? I hope it's Pieface again! I love it sooooo much!"
It's your small DS Calendulus, he's so excited he's squeaking, with his rosy cheeks, his little paper hat from his cracker upon his head of golden curls.
Everyone smiles fondly at him.
"Gamgam, remember last year? Calendulus laughed so much when Googar was splatted in the face he fell off his chair!" Oona giggles and giggles and giggles, remembering.
Of course, this can't be countenanced.
"No darling"
"Mummy? No more Pieface?"
"Darling, remember what we talked about?"
"..."
DH chimes in. "We call people by their proper names, don't we Calendulus? Not baby names, for silly babies. You're not a baby, are you? You are a big boy. Can you try again?"
"..."
"..."
"Um, I'd like to play Pieface, Grandmother, later."
Everyone is quiet. Fievel's knife scrapes on his plate.
You wonder what time it would be reasonable to set off home in the morning.
More silence.
Oona is staring out of the window, somehow both pinched and gormless at the same time. She is a strange girl, your niece.
You swallow your stuffing.
It's a bit dry.