I was talking on the phone with my mum tonight, very proud of my recent achievement.
Me: Miss Q has a new boyfriend, and last night he was over for dinner to meet us. I made a lamb roast. It was beautiful, the best roast I have ever made. The meat was brown and crispy on the outside, and pink and juicy on the inside. I poked garlic and rosemary into the meat before I cooked it, so it was really tasty. I made baked potatoes too. I boiled them first, then shook them around when I put them in the tray with lots of oil, whole garlic cloves, sea salt and rosemary, so they were crunchy on the outside and fluffy in the middle. Yum! It wasn't as good as your roast though.
Mum: Yes, that sounds delicious. It couldn't have been as good as mine though.
Me: No way, mum. You make the best lamb roast ever. Plus, I think that roast always tastes a little better when someone else makes it.
Mum: That's true. Even your grandmother's roast tasted better to me. And that's saying something, because normally she wasn't the best cook. Even Robin tasted pretty good.
Me: Who's Robin?
Mum: That was your father's pet lamb. I was around for dinner one night, and halfway through the meal I said, "Reta, this is a lovely roast." "Yes," she said, "it's Robin."