The bi-annual barbecue purchase and assembly.
And now for the true entertainment of the day which is watching Dangerous assemble a barbecue.
Every other year, we buy a barbecue. For the first year, and because said barbecue cost anything between fifty and a hundred quid, we look after it. The second year, we leave it out and let the fucker rust.
Dangerous is in charge. He phoned me from Homebase and asked if he should buy a gas one or or a normal one. His father is looking on and offering words of encouragement. His father really wants to rip the screwdriver out of his hand and do a better job than Dangerous is doing but he’s too nice.
We have no tomato ketchup!
I have been to Marks&Spensive and Aldi and we have no bastard Tomato ketchup. We usually have a stockpile of at least three or four bottles. It’s not as though I didn’t know. All week, we have been without.
And in other news, my friend just said that she felt sorry for Meghan Markke’s mum.
I said that she need not worry. She’ll be hanging out of her arse now, having a spliff in the bogs with princess Eugenie and asking Prince Phillip if he has the number of a good dealer.
I suppose that if you’re invited to the reception, you will have your phone taken off you and have to sign a confidentiality agreement. I wish that I’d think sort of thing when entering into a night out scenario.
We are having steak, sausages and burgers. We are drinking Sauvignon Blanc. Trevor is excited about the steak, though not as excited as he gets about cake. What the fuck is that about? Should dogs even eat cake?
What are you having this evening?