I pulled off the Daughter’s Triumph today. My mother turned up randomly* at 7pm and I just happened to be in the middle of cooking an entire roast dinner, of which there was plenty to spare, and so out of nowhere she was treated to a slap-up Sunday roast. “Yes mother,” I said “I cook such meals every day. See how I whip up a roast chicken and all the trimmings as if it were nothing? I am become Francesca, cooker of grand meals.”
*I mean, really randomly. No warning, and she lives 100 miles away which, although I understand is about the distance an American is willing to go for take-out, is very far if you’re British.