You know, I reckon my mum makes the best fry-ups ever. I’m not sure how this came to be, she’s never been in the same league as Delia or that lovely Lawson woman, but she’s discovered the knack of making the perfect fried breakfast. For one thing, she makes her own bread. It’s lovely, far nicer than anything in the shops. She’s also got this unfeasibly small frying pan – how she cooks anything in the thing is beyond me, but fry stuff she does. I’m unsure as to the type of fat used, perhaps I should pay more attention. A good fry-up is what everyone should have on a Sunday morning, especially after a few bottles of Stella the night before.