[Margaret Pilkington]

Last August I went to visit my sister in Brisbane. Barbies over there are a national institution.......and every self respecting male considers that he is KING of the barbie.
It was a lovely spring evening, we were sat on the patio trying to decide what to have for dinner......when Peter (my sisters hubby) went to investigate the contents of the fridge.
Sausages...yes, burgers....yes, chops......yes, steak...yes he considered we had all the right things to cook up a decent barbie.
He set to, to light the monster. My sister and I retired to the kitchen to make the salads and boil some potatoes.
Everything seemed to be going well......Peter looked like he had a handle on things......good smells were drifting our way......burgers sausages and chops were cooked and put into dishes and covered with foil to keep hot.......it was time for the steak to be cooked. The steak was beautiful, with just a bit of fat marbling the meat......I was licking my lips at the thought of it.
The steaks were put on the barbie and within minutes there were flames leaping up off the barbeque towards the overhang of the roof.......Peter tried to put out the flames with his apron, but he was wearing swimming trunks under his apron and the heat was too much for his tender little places........there was a large towel placed by the pool.......this was hastily dunked into the pool and thrown over the barbie........the flames were extinguished, but the steaks were ruined.
The wall of the house was singed and the paint on the verandah was all blistered......the smell fair put us off eating outside.
We ate the burgers, chops and sausages, but it wasn't quite the barbie we expected.