If any of our three snugglebunnies weren’t offered a roast dinner on a Sunday then all hell would break loose. One would be forgiven for thinking Armageddon had arrived or Godzilla had met Venom on a bad day and the Living Dead had been spotted shopping in Sainsburys’.
I reached out to my trusted friend ‘Google’ who reliably informed me that the Sunday roast originated in Britain during the reign of Henry V11 in the 15th Century. During this time meat was a luxury (nothing new there) reserved for special occasions and Sunday was the perfect day for a grand feast – why this day I have no idea.
The Royal Guards, known as Yeoman of the Guard, earned their nickname ‘beefeaters’ (no not the pub chain) because of how much roast beef they would consume, and the village serfs (labourers) would be required to practice for battle and if they performed well would be rewarded with roast meat – a little bit like some of the youths of today.
Well for me, watching films showing happy families sitting down to a large table filled with mouth watering meats, potatoes and vegetables would be my idea of heaven. So, this day became very important to me as a mum. It was my dream for my now grown darlings to look back on these Sunday celebrations with fondness and hope that they carried on this tradition with their own families.
Now, as a pensioner with no pressures to conform to and someone who can rewrite the rules, who says I have to wait until Sunday to have a roast dinner! No sirree, I’m throwing caution to the wind and planning my next roast on a – wait for it, drum roll please – Thursday. I know, I know, I can hear you muttering cor blimey and feel your intake of air whilst wondering whatever next. Yep, I’m sitting here nodding and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Next, I’ll get hubby to get a sleeve tattoo. Who says you have to grow old in a certain way. Well, I’m off now to enjoy my yummy, mouth-watering plate of food – although smarty pants hubby wants you to know he made the Yorkies! Always trying to get in the limelight.