How to execute the perfect barbeque

Last week, I found out that one of the outlaws inlaws - Izzy's 'Nana Shirley' - was staying in Oxford for a couple of days [Just to clarify: Nana Shirley is Steve's mother].

I gave Steve a call; "hey, why don't you bring her round to my house tomorrow and we can have a barbeque?" I suggested.

"You want to barbeque my mother?" he asked perplexedly.

"No. I want to do a barbeque for your mother you spod." I explained.

"Yeh, sounds like a plan," he replied.

"Great. Do you want to supply half the food and I'll do the other half?" I said.

"Umm, yes ok," he agreed.
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'Tomorrow' duly arrived and Nana, Steve and Izzy turned up at my house bearing food and beverages. The sun was out so we all sat chatting in the garden, feeding chunks of chicken, onion, green peppers, halloumi cheese and mushrooms onto kebab skewers. [note to self: after a retrospective assessment of the injuries, I have decided that it is a bad idea letting a five year old make kebabs].

Once the kebabs were all made up and ready to cook, Steve suggested I light the barbeque in readiness, but at that exact same time, grey clouds started to scurry across the sky. Bollocks.

For some obscure reason, I persauded myself that a barbeque was still a good idea even though the aforementioned clouds had started to blacken (that's denial that is), and as such, I was still trying to light the charcoal when the rain started falling. At first it fell lightly, but then it hardened; pummelling the charcoal and creating a carbon puddle at the bottom of the barbeque drum. Double bollocks. 

"I can't light the barbeque," I shouted feebly to Steve who was in the kitchen.

"Bloody hell, it's pissing down out here," he said after appearing at the back door.

"I know, but we promised your Mum a barbeque," I said.

"Leave it with me." Steve replied before disappearing into my garage. He reappeared with a petrol can.

I felt a little nervous about this latest development; "Are you sure you know what you are doing?"

Steve replied with a terse; "Stand back," and proceeded to fling the petrol onto the carbon sludge.

There was an almighty bang, and the flames from the barbeque shot twenty feet into the air, roaring and spitting from the rain.

"Ok, we are ready to cook!" he shouted gleefully (and ever-so-slightly manically) as I cowered six feet away on my haunches, trying to save my eyebrows from the searing heat.

Handily enough,  following the intervention of petrol the kebabs were fully cooked within 30 (rather frenzied) seconds, giving me much-wanted respite from the rain.

"I like what you did there," I said to Steve. He nodded and did a bit of a swagger; "thanks," he replied.

Dinner was served, and Nana Shirley eyed her plate suspiciously; "how come you've cooked these so quickly?" she asked, "You've only just taken them outside."

 Pic.No.1. Nana and Izzy eating barbeque kebabs

Pic.No.2. Hang on a minute. What is that green shit next to my plate?

I quickly changed the subject, shouting "tuck in!" and passed around the kebabs with gusto. And then my eye fell upon a plate of green shit positioned in the centre of the table.

"What the bloody hell is that?" I asked, turning to Steve.

"Salad," he replied, matter-of-factly.

"That's the kind of crap that wild rabbits eat," I pointed out.

"It's healthy," he said.

"It's got vitamins in, and they've got a funny taste," I said.

 Steve rolled his eyes at me as I begrudingly heaped some of the salad onto my plate.

"That's the last time I invite you round for a barbeque and ask you to bring the food," I muttered.

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You will be pleased to know that except for the fact that I had to graze on plant matter like a feral herbivore, we had a very pleasant evening. And I am definitely going to invest in some more petrol for future barbeques. Ignoring the slightly lingering aftertaste it gave the kebabs, you can't beat 30 seconds to cook a meal. That's gotta be the way forward.