Hello,
With warmer weather comes the need to barbecue.
For those of you who are foreign firstly, it is not your fault. Secondly, barbecues are a recent phenomenonenonenonenon here in the UK. Microwaving is our traditional way of cooking.
I’ve tried to Barbecue with a microwave oven, but the oven melts a bit.
Making a barbecuing microwave oven is on my list of things to do, in between rowing across the Atlantic and visiting the dentist.
We had a BBQ lat Saturday. My lovely wife Shirley, whose topless sunbathing can still be seen on Google Earth despite her writing to the NSA and GCHQ, invited our neighbours Gwen and Martin Slope.
Martin is a food inspector for the local Council. Before you could say, “I’d give the chicken another ten minutes Bob, there’s blood seeping out of this one,” he’s slapped a food safety notice on me and chided me for scratching my nuts whilst handling raw food. Not exactly a barrel of laughs is Martin. Cholera is more fun
“Fat Twat!” Shirley jokingly called me as she poked the snapped cork into the bottle of Estonian Pinot Grigio. Wine with cork bits floating in it always tastes better.
Then she started wailing, “Last Christmas” by Wham. Martin served a noise abatement notice on her. But that’s my Shirley!
A drunkard.
Ever since, I’ve been in the smallest room for hours on end, caning the rolls of frozen Andrex. I should have given that chicken five more minutes.
Think I’ll put the Barbie away. Stick to the microwave. Food you can trust. 5 A Day? My arse!
Martin and Gwen put their house up for sale yesterday.
Bob
I know how Martin and Gwen feel. I had the cess pit pass under my garden from all the houses in my street which used to back up quite unpleasantly. And that is without Bob as a neighbour
There’s probably a fella somewhere with a fetish for that sort of thing who would pay a fortune for that property. dirrefent kind of housing bubble i suppose
You could name anything and someone has a fetish for it. that sounds like a challenge…
The problem is it would make us appear twisted dreamng up these fetishes…..
I’ve already done the damage, my Guapo poll contribution I just did was twisted and now I’m talking fetishes on PMAO’s blog. I don’t know what’s come over me, I have no fetishes.
Better change the topic!
I don’t either – although this week some blogger photographed his knob in a bowl of oats. American no doubt.
What! 😀
I will “fish it out” and send you the link on Monday – you know what its like early days of blogging follow everything and then think WTF? Never read them again and then for some reason you have a butchers at their weekly despatch……
Cor blimey
Don’t stop now! Shirley and I should hang out. I went to a barbeque in the UK in 2005 and it was very much unlike our BBQs, but I see people like Shirley bringing everyone else up to speed.
Where would we be without the Shirley’s of this world? She may be in a loveless marriage but Estonian Pinot Grigio makes up for it (and shedding a few tears to Last Christmas)
Don’t ever play her the Corrs after a half bottle. Trust me on this one.
OK. I always thaought the brother looked a little out of place in that band
Martin should have imprisoned her in the tower of London for singing Wham.
Plus, Bob could have done his business on a truly antique pot.
On those rare occasions he visited…
They say if the ravens leave the Tower of London, England shall lose her freedom. King Bob On The Pot does have a certain regal grandeur to it
I have examined your barbie issues and come up with a solution, which I immediately drank. But seriously, you forgot to char the bejeezus out of the chicken skin before serving the bleeding interior. There will be no charge for this adbvice.
Cheers! I have donated some money to the local donkey sanctuary as a thank you!
Martin and Gwen are prudes.
Dullards
Only Americans and Australians should call them barbecues. The cultured title (as per Sarf Efrikens) is a Braai. Pronounced Bry as in the Cry you get from smoke and cutting onions.
Any chance of a poem?
Oh, I’m no good at those … 🙂
I used to use Estonian Pinot Grigio to remove rust from my 1978 Toyota FJ 40 Land Cruiser. I stopped when it removed the paint as well. I think Shirley is on to something with the bits of cork.
It is a fine grape alright John
Good Lord you make me laugh!
Good!
Yeah agreed. Ribs and steak taste way better in the microwave.
Siting in the rain eating raw chicken and coleslaw whilst everybody gets drunk. that is what i call fun!
Yeah, but is there ever a time where eating raw chicken isn’t fun? No.
Agreed
Bob has chosen the perfect position to report on a BBQ. He will have a good idea about the entire journey of the chicken. Mouth onwards. Or downwards.
A unique perspective Ankur!
Obviously Martin takes his power much to seriously. Hopefully, Bob and Shirley will get new neighbours who are a little more…loose.
Did you insinuate that you are getting warmer weather?
We are and the bowels nationally have loosened a tad Michelle!
A barbecuing microwave could save all of humanity. I think Martin should be forced to listen to Wham’s song on replay and dance for everybody. You make me laugh!
As Bob is whistling on the pot – wake me up before you go go!
Ha ha! And don’t go solo!
I can’t add one more thing to these hilarious comments! This is gold!
It is heart warming to see such nonsense Debra!
Cholera is more fun! 🙂 Bob always prints the truth.
The truth is his toilet roll so to speak