Generally speaking, I’m pretty much full of crap. Whenever I say I’m going to do something there’s a better than even chance it won’t ever happen. My friends, my family and any regular readers of mine know this by now and have either come to accept it as part of my undeniable charm, or have seen it as reason enough to tire of me.
Anyway, the week before Cyclone Bob hit town I wrote an article about preparing for her visit, in which I stated my intention to fashion a backyard barbeque out of random bricks and stuff and treat her to some sausages, overcooked outdoors, in the traditional Orstralian fashion.
And I fully expected it would never happen.
I had gathered the raw materials for the home-made barbie prior to her arrival. There were bricks and concrete blocks from behind the shed that I plonked together in one place, and I had even scrubbed down the old hot plate that I’d found near the water tank. I sort of hoped that on seeing that my intent was true, Bob would simply smile at my mild efforts and agree to another night of fish and chips.
However, a strange thing occurred once I was in the presence of the Duracell Bunny and I found her enthusiasm for everything to be rather infectious. So, one afternoon I bought some firewood (having only just learned that firewood was something one could buy..) and declared it was going to happen!
I felt all was in order as I now had everything that would be required, ie firewood, sausages and cold beer. What I hadn’t taken into account was the fact that I’ve never lit a fire in my life. My concern about this quality I lack was short-lived however, as it became clear that my guest was not only experienced in survivalist crafts but also has generations of Native American genetic memories that clearly equip her with the skills necessary to burn sausages in a suburban backyard.
And so she had the fire raging in no time. The ancient sacred rite of adding mower fuel to the kindling helped a great deal.
I was a little anxious about the dozen or so council ordinances I was violating by undertaking this backyard bash but we decided that in our defence we'd explain it would be culturally insensitive to not allow a Native American guest to indulge in some traditional practices. Happily this feeble excuse was not required as our illegal activites remained undetected by the authorities.
The bangers banged away merrily.
With the addition of sliced onions a meal is created.
Mmmm, bloody sensational!
So we had a backyard barbie afterall. The saussies were overcooked to perfection, the onions exquisitely greasy with butter and the thingie of resistance was the accompanying salad made with a lettuce grown in my very backyard!
So, several months ago when I said I intended to make myself a small veggie patch, I guess I wasn't full of crap then either. That's twice in one year!