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In my house Easter Sunday has an agenda followed for many years. Church for those who choose, a brisk walk on what is usually a fairly chilly day (although this year it may be different as Easter falls so late), and a delicious, leisurely lunch.

Over the years I have switched roles, from witness to the spectacle to creator, edging into the kitchen earlier and earlier each Easter. It’s somewhere I could stay, contentedly pottering about, all day. We cook on an Aga at my mother’s, which is at times great fun and at others, a bit of a pain. When it’s all systems go it tends to slow down a bit, right at the critical veg-boiling, gravy-making moment, but the low, steady heat of the bottom oven makes the most spectacular red cabbage.

And our Easter menu? A good shoulder of lamb, some crunchy, roast potatoes and white sprouting broccoli, the tips of which act as  perfect sponges to soak up a gravy made with a spoonful of quince jelly. It’s a calm affair – as it should be on such a day