Today, possibly because they thought it was hip and the sun was a little bit on the warmer-than – normal side, the couple next door invited people around for a few bevvies – and that ‘traditional – even-if-it-was-imported’ UK main event, a barbeque.
Now, I am a good neighbour ordinarily. I don’t know any of the people who live in my locality and I like to keep it like that. It isn’t because I have delusions of being a man of mystery, far from it. Dealing with people and a multitude of problems as I do every day in my professional capacity, I just want to pull the drawbridge up on a weekend and let the world do what it wants so long as it doesn’t want to include me. I am – as has been pointed out to me on many occasions – the world’s only anti-social social worker.
We’re talking folk who want to be seen as middle class, with a daughter called Anaglypta (or something very ‘Hello’ like that) who attends a local school as a day boarder – which rather defeats the purpose, having been a boarder myself and separated from my parents by a routine that was labelled character building but was just another word for imprisoned.
Then there is the obligatory 4 wheel drive Chelsea tractor and a white tradesman van that was forever in my allocated parking space – until I told him to move it. Coming from North Wales, we are so close to Liverpool that we speak with a light Scouse accented and it is truly amazing what can be achieved by slightly exaggerating it so that the resulting speech sounds like a threat without actually being one. Useful on many occasions, trust me.
To ensure they keep up with their ideal, they also have the obligatory B&Q (plastic) patio set, twee solar-powered lights that come on in the dark and make the place look like a mad fairy’s grotto or are landing lights for UFO’s. Oh, and a parasol that would not be out-of-place as a sunshade for a small equatorial nation.
Now, I am not a killjoy. They’re generally good neighbours and leave me alone, which is great by me. However – as they have done whenever there is a hint of the sun coming out – they seem to be encouraged into performing this ritual. Around come the in-laws, the friends and their ‘kiddies’, the portable stereo is set up and the wine is liberally poured into throwaway eco-friendly bio-degradable beaker type things.
Soon I am being disturbed by voices in an annoying pseudo classy accent where abbreviations seem to be the norm. ‘Oh darling, can you put the JVC up a tad? One cannot quite here the music.’ Or ‘Is that your PM? How twee! God, I do so like my new ST500 but it isn’t as good as my old Nokia – frightfully large though it was….’. And all this to the sound of some unknown but culturally sensitive African – Latino steel band with a Chinese lead vocalist singing in Tibetan. What is it with psueds and world music anyway?
Then, to sounds of collective deep joy, the barbeque is lit with the sort of enthusiasm one associates with childbirth.
This is a smoking, meaty smelling volcano type affair that lollops out thick, pungent and roiling smoke that stinks of feckin’ beefburgers. It clings to any washing I have out and if I have a window open then the whole house smells like Stavros Peeps Burger Van that lurks on the high street on Saturday night.
Does it sound like it bothers me? You’d be right. My whole mind is lit by a neon sign that constantly flashes ‘FECK OFF!’ once that match is thrown onto the fuel.
Previously – and with toning down the semi-Souse accent -I have asked nicely if they wouldn’t mind shifting it to the middle of their patio and they said of course initially – and then later ignored me. I am outnumbered so there is sadly no leaping over the B&Q garden divider intent on some mindless violence to make a point.
I dropped hints – like slamming my windows shut when they lit up or grouching loudly and giving them the evils as I collected my washing. No avail. The matches come out, the fuel is placed in the metal cage and they’re off. It’s like watching an atom bomb go off only this one is meat flavoured…..
Well, newsflash folks. If the bastards do it again next weekend I am going to stand on the wheelie bin and piss on their parade. That way they might well feel the same sense of invasion and disgust I feel when they do it, as well as understand the totality of their anti-social behaviour. Then again, maybe not. That’s just a lovely pipe dream.
I mean, how English is a Barbeque? It’s an American export designed to make us all seems somehow trendy and hip – a bit like being in Nevada but with English weather.I blame TV, myself. Far too many TV shows extol the virtues of an outside meal in the lovely British sunshine – like those suggested by any of the annoying TV chefs. I mean, that Jamie Oliver? He takes his ’round towns in an articulated 30 ton diesel breathing monster. How green and eco is that?
Now, if I wanted to be truly English I’d fell an Ox with a longbow, skin and dismember it – it’s called gravelling – with a large knife and up to my elbows in blood, guts and snot. Right there on my lawn – and then light a huge bonfire and roast it. I’d have folk musicians around with their roll up polar neck sweaters and scraggly beards. We’d have a bit of jousting on hobby horses (difficult, but you get the idea) – and lots and lots of man sports like wielding axes or sword fights with two handed bastard swords. That is the name for that sort of weapon, by the way. It wasn’t coined by some serf who lost a leg to one. There would be raucousness and much merriment in a true English slaughter your own environment as in Ye Olde Days.
That’s a Barbeque!
Now, if I could only find some fiends who could bring their own oxen………
Boadicea's Chariot 
Oh God, yet another North Walesian p-Celt who appears not to be able to spell to save themselves.
It’s ‘barbecue’ for most of us, pal. I accept that Wikipedia says that ‘barbeque’ is a ‘common spelling variant’ but the clue is in the word ‘common’. in my opinion.
Fine and enjoyable rant, by the way, but, with reference to your last paragraph, why are you keen to find any ‘fiends’ whether or not they are oxen-laden?
Mr Mackie, Sir – I agree.
The only acceptable alternative to ‘barbecue’ on this Australian site (remember!) is ‘barbie’ (which should never be confused with the doll called “Babs”).
A smiley thing – 😕 – for the elimination of doubt.
I’ll volunteer as a ‘fiend’ turning up with oxen!
the thing to do is set up your own speakers, in the house, windows open a little, facing their garden and blast them with music, classical in style. 17thC Trumpet voluntaries would do nicely, as loud as you can make it, put it on constant play and then go out for the evening!
Why, oh why, do they always grill burgers? Generally with ghastly mucked about ‘salads’ absolutely filthy! all cheap pink reclaimed meat oozing mad cow disease! Wouldn’t feed them to the dogs, let alone eat them myself!!
Why not grilled oysters, whole in the shell. Decent skewers of marinated chicken with a good dipping sauce? Scallops wrapped in streaky bacon over hickory chunks, food for the Gods!
No, cheap burgers it is, always!
The art of BBQ and smoking is endless but the translation to the UK is pretty grim!
Pity, it can be so good done properly.
Round here if the music is hearable one calls the Sheriff and that is the end of that, repeat it and they’ll get a citation. One is not allowed to incommode one’s neighbours round here, tends to get settled with shotguns! All very civilised.
You have my deepest sympathy. What about planting a leylandii hedge ASAP? Will do 5′ per year.
Good rant.
Who gives a fourx how it is spelled? It’s how it tastes that matters!!!
Hi, Bearsie.
In deference to Soutie and my SA cousins, nothing wrong with ‘braal’ as an alternative, in my opinion.
Thanks for telling me that you had lost the dead match in the rubber against NZ. Got a bit of a worried feeling about the non-enforcement of the follow-on against Bangladesh. Every time I tried to watch it this morning, ‘we’ (England and consistent and committed fellow travellers like myself) lost another wicket. There’s still just the merest possibility of a chance that the boy Cook might regret his decision with two days still to go.
Hmm!
Prawns (our size, not yours), yabbis (think ‘langoustines’), whole fish (in foil admittedly), steak (eye fillet for us, but rump or porterhouse acceptable), marinated chops (lamb usually, but sometimes pork), and the standby for fillers – snags (Aussie sausages which have meat in them, nothing like bangers), and of course pumpkin, but I’ve never been offered, or seen, burgers at a barbie.
As a bear of no class whatsoever, I love near-burnt snags, but dietary rules forbid these days, alas.
Great post, Ddraigmor, and tittifalarious comment Tina, as always. 😆
Is that match still going, JM?
I have been paying more attention to the Michael Clark saga, I regret to say.
Who, what? do I hear you cry? Just Google Lara Bingle. Oh, OK, here she is –
… Michael Clark’s ex. Very ex.
sounds a good menu bearsy!
Burgers are ok if you make them yourself out of ground steak, its the pink shop ones that give me the twitch!
You get crawfish in the gulf of Mexico that size and have yourself a deep south crawfish boil, by the 56lb sack, boiled in a pot the size you can boil a missionary in! (and the right shape)
Once went to one on an island in the Mississippi, full of knuckle dragging, receding forehead, prehensile toed Louisiana denizens who had made a point of screwing their slaves and sisters for a couple of hundred years! (literally, must keep the land in the family)
Some mad Christian cafe au lait tried to drag me into the bushes virtually in front of his wife and my no 2, quite unbelievable, quoting the bible and spraying me with half eaten crawfish.
Fortunately he killed himself the next week, his airoplane was thrown out of the sky by a tornado like a dart and he was squashed before he became troublesome!
I suppose God didn’t think too much of him either or that he didn’t like crawfish!
Take your pick!
Bloody funny though, a splendid and memorable day of one of the more bizarre BBQs one has attended!
You really couldn’t make it up, could you?
well I couldn’t, not into creative literature.
‘braal’
Oh!, you mean ‘braai’ with an ‘I’ pronounced ‘try’ but with a ‘B’
I’ve never ever used the term BBQ or barbie. Of course our braais are always wood or (occasionally) prepacked charcoal, lots of flames, settle down wait for the coals. The amount of wood used is always in direct proportion to the amount of beers in the fridge or coolerbox!
You have my deepest sympathies, D. Try Christina’s method – my mother did it once to some particularly revolting neighbours and they were as good as gold thereafter. 😉
When we lived on a hot island, our ex-pat Welsh neighbour and her English ex-cop husband used to sit with friends behind a fence which divided our gardens and talk …and tak….and talk, at a volume well above socially discreet. We asked them politely on several occasions if they could sit elsewhere, lower their voices, respect our proximity, etc., etc. to no avail. Towards the end of our tether I parked a radio next to the fence and played the World Service to them all day. Next time I saw ‘him’ over the fence he looked scared to death and muttered that he expected I was going to complain about the noise again. I told he he was absolutely right so could they bottle it. They did.
9/10 Braais, barbecues or barbies are a pain in the arse. If people have a perfectly good oven and hob inside the house, why for the love of God don’t they use it. Food cooked on a braai never, ever tastes as as it does on a proper cooker. The meat is usually dry and tasteless, except for the scorched bits. If you must braai, then each person cooks his own and eats it when it is done to his or her taste. None of this waiting around until 20 chops and 20 pieces of steak have been tortured till they are either over done or under done and then serving them cold as people pile their plates with under boiled potato salad, dry garlic bread and salad dressed with a vile vinaigrette. The worst are those dreaded Weber Braais that people seem so enamoured by. Filthy bloody things. The only excuse for cooking over a braai is if there is no decent kitchen nearby. No fancy salads, just meat, baked potatoes (and/or mielie pap), and beer. And it has to be hot and sunny.
Sorry Bearsy,
Even that doesn’t make cricket interesting. 🙂
Thanks for the mention in despatches btw, look at me all over the front page Woo Hoo.
Sipu
I couldn’t have put it better! I always try to get whoever’s in charge of the incinerator to let me cook my own steak, they always refuse and I end up with a cinder that needs copious quantities of wine to disguise the taste.
We do not own a barbecue.
It only tastes like that because no body knows what they are doing!
The fire is too cool and the steak is cooking too slowly!
Any tough piece of meat is better smoked instead.
Even the toughest old deer/(dear) is succulent and tender after 8 hours in a smoker.
We have a BBQ with a lid that comes down and covers the cooking area so with this in mind thai is how we do things at Oldmovietowers. Mrsoldmovie does all the easy stuff like preparing the salads, sauces, vinigary things, cheeses, breads etc etc, while I do the tricky stuff. I get two self lighting bags of charcoal, place them in the BBQ, set light to them and retire to get the steaks. Once the temperature reaches a few degrees hotter than the surface of the sun I whip the cover up, sprinkle damp hickory chips over the coals, let the temperature rise again, whip the lid up and whack the steaks on. One minute twenty each side and that’s it, job done, some may say a bit of a waste of charcoal but the trick is to get it as hot as you can so that the Steaks are not overdone.
omg to use up the charcoal,
After the steaks put on some marinated chicken quarters to cook slowly for the next day.
I use a propane BBQ and wet hickory chips, far less expensive to run and not a lot of difference in the taste.
Christina
Thanks for the tip about chicken quarters. I changed to a propane a few years ago but changed back as I missed al the faffing about you get with charcoal, ‘boys and their toys’ as Mrsoldmovie puts it.
I pfaff with my smoker, looks a bit like a cross between a dustbin and a dalek.
Runs on propane and volcanics on top of which I put large soaked wood block to smoke not burn. Then what is similar to an old fashioned washing up bowl in which one puts boiling water, wine, herbs, citrus etc etc to maintain succulence. Then racks, which will hold about 8 chickens at a time. I smoke turkeys a lot for parties, do brilliantly in about 6/7 hours. Served with a cranberry/celery/orange fresh ground mould and real gritty cornbread sticks.
& hours cooking time gives plenty of play time to prod, test, smell etc etc. They should never billow smoke, a terrible waste to burn hickory or mesquite so fast, they should ooze tendrils of smoke for hours!
PS I never let husbands touch BBQ/smoking, they never know what they are doing, I replace all the burners, volcanics and guts every three years or so in a splendid old solid cast BBQ, no tin plate or stainless steel crap here. I paint it every year, no one is allowed to touch my BBQ
God omg, now I’m going to have to smoke something next weekend.
Smoked ribs are extra good too. I feel a couple of racks of ribs coming on!
What you describe Christina is outdoor catering on an industrial scale, your BBQ sounds like it used to be towed by a Sherman Tank and has seen service in most of the Desert campaigns of WWII, the smoked turkeys sound especially mouth watering, I can imagine the meat would just fall from the drumstick just by sighing on it! I have just dribbled down my new tie at the thought of it.
What I like about BBQs is that the men like to take over.
pseu, they should be repulsed if you want anything decent to eat!
omg, a good turkey and a ham on the side does even 30 or so American appetities.
I do a bash in the summer, very few refuse the invitations unless they are out of town. I wonder why?
I have taken over all the catering for the garden club, told em straight, I wasn’t eating pot luck messes. The bashes are now overwhelmed with all the husbands wanting to come too, they used to avoid it like the plague, too many disgusting watery quiches! Every body has something they can cook well, the art form being finding what it is and dovetailing it into a decent menu. They are still talking about the Christmas party, a travelling dinner at three houses. I haven’t got anything better to do so might as well organise them!
John – what is a North Walesian? Most definitely not a name I have heard before, being a North Walian, myself. I don’t give a four X what you might think it is, it is Walian!
And a p-Celt? What’s that, then? I am not a Celt – pal. Never wanted to be, never will be. I am Welsh by birth and by grace of God!
Me, I just hate barbeques – and yes, I checked the spelling and went with one that was comfortable for me and the spell checker. Your version and mine – neither are wrong. It’s down to regional variation. Barbie is antipodean – and I am not from down under or I would use it. The Souh African version I can’t pronounce, never mind spell!
And why would I be seeking friends? Well, there is that old saying ‘strength in numbers’ firstly and whilst I fear no man, six half canned plumbers and a large father in law are a little bit much – even for me.
Ta for the comments!
“They are still talking about the Christmas party, a travelling dinner at three houses”.
We call them Safari Parties, moving from house to house for each course, enables each couple to lavish more attention on each course, we have had some crackers, not the cheese variety, the belter of a dinner Party type.
I remember one safari do when we were doing the main course and we were all given a time schedule that had to be adhered to, problem was the lady who did the first course let things run over and we all arrived at Oldmovie Towers about an hour late. I opened the front doors and let Mrsoldmovie race ahead into the kitchen to see how the chicken in curry paste and herbs was faring. When I had plucked up enough courage I ventured in and asked what the chicken was looking like, ‘Al bloody Jolson’ she hissed. But it turned out fine, she scraped the blackened skin off to find the meat very succulent and infused with curry and herbs, ‘just the way I intended it all along’ she trilled as she swept into the dining hall in triumph.
“Al bloody Jolson” LOL A woman after my own heart.
I always think summer has arrived when we can smell next-door’s barbecue lighter fluid. Yum. NOT.