Which small British weekend pleasure do you genuinely look forward to most?

Whether you cook it yourself or let the pub do the heavy lifting, there's something almost spiritual about that first forkful of roast potato drowned in gravy.

No alarm, no obligations, just you, a cuppa, and the gentle guilt of knowing you should probably get up soon.

You went for a pint of milk and came home with artisan cheese, a candle, and vague regret about your bank balance.

Whether you're at the ground, in the pub, or shouting at the telly, that 3pm kick-off feeling hits different.

A brisk yomp across a field followed by a pint and a packet of crisps in a low-ceilinged pub is peak British contentment.