And you will know us by the trail of dead matches
The hot weather has returned and with it, the beginning of my bi-annual humiliation at the barbecue.
We usually try a spot of alfresco cooking once at either end of the summer – the second time just far enough away from the first to forget how bad it was.
I’ve nothing against the food itself. I love meat and skewered vegetables cooked over hot coals as much as the next man.
The problem is, I’m one of the un-men who is fundamentally great at making piles of dead matches and useless at making fires that burn.
It hasn’t always been this way. As a young boy I spent hours in my granddad’s garden making bonfires. After frying bacon that’s still my favourite smell in the world.
But somewhere on the journey between mini-me and me, the fire went out. As a consequence I’ve treated my Long Suffering to countless midnight meals and steaks cooked in lighter fluid sauce.
Sure as eggs are eggs and England get knocked out of major football tournaments on penalties, my first attempt this year was several hours behind schedule, arriving after we’d all gone past hunger into a lot marked despair.
The upshot is I have decided to stick to what I’m good at from now on. If you’re looking for a great copywriter contact me today. Invites to barbecue are probably best taken elsewhere.