Everything was ready. The gravy had thickened to perfection, the spuds were at their crispy peak, the carefully hand-selected brussels sprouts had been steamed to their crunchy apogee of flavour, the mashed parsnips and carrots were in the serving bowl, and the dish was warmed ready for the duck, which I was about to carve....
....then that vicious, egotistical little sod went and spoiled it all. Our three-month-old infant demanded to be fed, the little brat. I tried to tell SWMBO that we were ready to eat and that by giving in to him so readily, she was only spoiling him, but she wouldn't listen, and insisted on hoiking her top up and plugging him in.
Of course any subsequent enjoyment was out of the question for me, and so Christmas dinner was turned into a trial to be endured, rather than a celebration of the cook's art.