This venerable houseplant has just come into flower. It's one of a pair that have been around for decades, and that I brought home from my parents' flat after they died. The other is a Christmas cactus, which produces a winter display of flamboyantly frilly flowers in an improbable neon shade of purple. This one flowers in spring, and, today of all days, deserves to be called an Easter cactus.
According to my equally ancient reference book on houseplants, they've both been called a Schlumbergera, which doesn't sound very attractive. The book implies they're rather sensitive, but they get no special treatment from me, and yet they quietly flower on time, year after year.