This week I’m feeling just a little bit more of a man than normal.
It’s not that I’ve joined a gym and started pumping iron (although my good wife has put me on a calorie and control diet – I’m not allowed the calories and she’s got all the control).
With the sun shining I’ve decided to take my manly duty seriously and do some cooking with fire.
Being out in the sunshine isn’t easy for me.
I go from white as a sheet to burned quicker than you can make a round of toast and I’ve just discovered there’s a bit at the back of my head that’s getting hotter faster than the rest of it.
Thinning thatch aside, it has been refreshing to enjoy the sunshine and ensure a proper cremation for any number of meals – animal and vegetable, I don’t discriminate.
Why does everything end up charred to a crisp?
Well it’s part stubborn nature, part paranoia and a big lump of impatience.
Stubborn, well, I don’t believe in gas powered cooking – it takes away part of the challenge (the part where you’ve got to try and avoid a trip to the burns unit) and, I’m convinced, flavour, too.
Yes, you might be able to wheel it out of the shed and be cooking within seconds but that takes away the will it light, won’t it light excitement which inevitably precedes cooking.
Paranoia is pretty obvious. I’ve seen the adverts on the telly with the raw sausages and I’ve spend enough time at the hospital as it is this year.
That leaves my desperate desire to get cooking, even if it means burgers engulfed in seven foot high flames, licking dangerously close to the shed.
My Good Wife doesn’t see the point – she just sees it as a way of creating a mountain of washing up.
But I love a good grill in the garden. It’s a great part of the British summer and an excuse to stop counting calories for one night.
I say one night but with the sun shining it’s tempting to get out in the garden and eat alfresco every night
Warm sun, cold beer, burned food.
Summer in a nutshell.
Shame it never lasts long.
It’ll be barbecue in, brolly out before we know it!