sunday lunch straggler

I can’t remember the last time I had a Sunday lunch. Well, (slight untruth) before the one I had three and a half hours ago.

You take it for granted when it’s a regular thing. Roast lamb, crispy roast potatoes, three kinds of veg plus cauliflower cheese (a meal in a meal!), home made Yorkshire puds, lashings of thick meaty gravy and a dollop of mint sauce. But it’s more than that.

On my way home I dropped Pilot Pete (our Charity mascot) at my friend and colleague Jayne’s house and nipped up, whilst I was there, to use her bathroom.  As I make my way downstairs, she announces the menu for the evening (see above) and asks me if I want to stay.  Let me consider for a moment: erm…cold house to go home to, nooo food in the fridge, nobody around who I want to talk to about my epically unsuccessful weekend…errrrmmmm…Yep. I’ll stay (like I was ever going to do anything else).

It’s funny how you forget the little things. The nuances that make a Sunday Lunch special: the satisfied face of the cook when complimented by the whole table on her expertly roasted potatoes; the therapeutic warmth of family who know and like each other; friendly banter about who has the worst TV taste (X-factor or Heartbeat?); how nice it is to dish out someone else’s beans because they can’t reach.

Before I left I made a point of saying how grateful I was to have been invited to stay. I’m not sure they really understood. After all, it’s not an unusual occurrence for them to have a straggler or two around the table (how lovely is that?). But I so needed to be their adopted Sunday lunch straggler today.  More than you would know.