I come from a Godfather house. You know the one. Where everything a man needs to know about the world can be learned from The Godfather. Where phrases like “I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse, “can’t do it Sal,” and “I know it was you Fredo, you broke my heart,” punctuate a surprising variety of conversations. Where the baptism scene’s theatrical and theological essence is exegeted ad nauseam, as is, of course, Michael Corleone’s isolation at the end of Godfather II.

So when the Sopranos came around, we were snobby about it. Oh, no, no. We like our gangsters dark and mysterious, and, well, a few generations behind us where they seem glamorous. Plus, I heard there were way too many boobs – both literal and figurative.

But then we saw the first scene of the first episode and we were hooked. Yes, the writing was stunning as were the production values, yet we kept asking ourselves after each episode, “why are we watching this? It’s horrible people doing horrible things.” The answer was James Gandolfini. He was the reason we kept watching a show about ghastly, ruthless criminals. And boobs.

Gandolfini himself, hated Tony Soprano and it was perhaps because of this repulsion – because of his understanding that Tony’s moral code was so skewed – that allowed Gandolfini to bring out in Tony a complex and ultimately, sympathetic, character. Do you remember how emotional he got over those ducks? How could you not shed a tear when a man who kills people for a living has a panic attack because his duck friends abandon him? Gandolfini played Tony like a grown boy  - with a bad mouth and bigger, more dangerous toys - but still, deep down, a sad boy.

Like many fictional mob bosses before him, Tony was never truly loved. He was feared, he was placated, he was made nice to. He was seen as a person who could give others what they wanted from him – money, power, revenge. Even his family - Carmella and her baked ziti, his kids with their entitled attitudes, his bats-o sister, patronizing uncle, and cruel mother – never show a deep abiding affection for him, more a fear of what would happen to their own circumstances should he die or be put in prison. And that - a life bereft of love - can make near anyone a sympathetic character.

There are many articles and blogs out there quick to point out that Gandolfini played many more roles, and beautifully. That he should not be remembered merely as Tony Soprano. And I agree. But it was his embodiment of this sad mob boss man-boy, that helped me to learn once again that a man’s soul cannot be judged by merely what we see. And that the human heart, left alone, bleeds.

So tonight we’ll be having some baked ziti in Gandolfini’s honor, followed by vodka and orange juice…with “some pulp.”

With a book titled Heirs & Spares (available June 4th), you better believe I'm on the Duchess of Cambridge baby watch with the best of them.

According to E Online, Kate Middleton is craving spicy food. Reading between the lines, all this article really says is she went in to a shop, complimented the cook and got some veggie curry in the deal. It's not like she's been sending out Prince William for Thai at 3am.

Having gone through morning sickness myself, curry or crumpets, I'm glad to see the poor woman can actually eat again.

What did you or your spouse crave during pregnancy?  When I was pregnant with my daughter (during the two week period I wasn't nauseated or having horrible heart burn) it was apple turnovers and lemon meringue pie. And for my next pregnancy, I didn't need an ultrasound to tell me he was a boy: all I wanted was meat, beer, chips (or crisps, depending on one's side of the Atlantic), and peanut M&Ms.