Sunday 28th November

Mum and dad up for Sunday roast. The temperature is now down to one degree Kelvin, so their trip to the playground with Lily and Daisy ends up in Sainsburys. I plough on with the pork, contemplating whether to add a rough puff pastry since I am now a master of the art. Dad and mum come back with their frozen grandchildren and dad falls asleep snoring like a foghorn with a glass of Chateauneuf-du-Pape balanced precariously on his tummy.

The roast is a success…no pie crust necessary.

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