Vien-get-her

I'm still a little concussed by the shenanigans at the BBQ last night to lucidly write of its going ons. All I remember is Bob leaving muttering something about human sacrifices being next, and even Chazney when told about it, saying, 'Gone too far? Perhaps.'

What I can remember is a delightful gathering under the bunting in the garden. Chris manfully

stepped up to the Step-Dad role with Alex away and tenderly BBQd us some homemade pork and apple burgers, sausages and salmon. We also had a tomato, cucumber and rocket salade and a potato salad. And the obligatory crisps that disappear way before the mains, and some tear and shares. It didn't get too heated whilst eating. The environmental psychology of the kitch picnic rugs and children playing nearby cooled the whoops and nipple flashing down, so in the end the only worry was the choking game. Still that was fine as Chris was wearing leather gloves so didn't mind when I bit him. The meaty tongs holding open my mouth didn't even hurt that much too.

But with the advent of four vienettas we decided to go inside to warm up before all that minty chilled dessert could get to us.

Then my mind goes as blank as if I had been buried alive in ice cream and I can't remember what happens next. I don't think I even have the words for it. In the video you can hear me wailing in a corner. You'll have to wait for Sashy's photos for the true aftermath.

Lets just say, I did clean up after. I promise.

xxxx