I'm not clear how a whimsical observation that the Bank Holiday motoring condition in Britain, and the response to it have changed little over the years in essence, becomes a "gloat".
Where I live we wish, oh we wish we could only have your traffic problems.
Take a look at ours, and it isn't even raining, a holiday weekend or a rush hour. No gloat there, it was me stuck in it.
tinyurl.com/kxdd
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Hmmm, methinks that L'escargot may have got out of bed on the wrong side this fine morn... ;-)!
Spot on, Growler. I am constantly bemused by our nation's (as a whole) insistence on doing exactly as you said. On Monday, we are going to Crowborough for a family barbeque (no, we're not barbequeing the family...) and I am, quite frankly, dreading the drive as it is on the way to Brighton. Gawd help us, stuck in traffic along with the lemmings, as you so succinctly put it.
Like your dear old Dad, I refuse to give in to this lunacy and stay steadfastly at home on a Bank Holiday. Where on earth is the fun in sitting in a traffic jam for four hours, arriving at your destination with just enough time to build a sandcastle (if you can find enough space on the beach, that is), then having to sit in another traffic jam for four hours to get home again?
Ain't people strange?
I'll raise a pint or two to you, Growler, when all of us here in Limeyland meet up. Take care...
Cheers
Rob
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OT but on your final remark, but Bafta is down south in Cebu right now buying his house, hoping he and I can get together in Manila on his way through back to UK for a BR Exiles meet and sink a few ice-cold San Miguels, in which case we shall return your compliment.
If you're on that particular route to Crowborough this w/e may I recommend the Neville Crest And Gun for a reviver. I wonder if the stuffed bear is still in the hallway.
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On Monday, we are going to Crowborough for a family barbeque
Oh dear, another traditional outdoor pastime gone horribly wrong.
I blame Neighbours and Home and Away.
Barbeques are fun.
The logic is simple... and I will add obligatory motoring links thus *, lest I suffer the wrath of the moderators
Get lots of thornwood, though charcoal briquettes will do at a pinch, drink a beer, arrange logs/briquettes into a neat heap. have another beer. Use firelighters to ignite the bonfire - DO NOT USE PETROL*/ACETONE/TURPS etc - this is not only silly, dangerous and more-haste-less-speed, but also gives a horrid flavour to the meat.
Use of petrol/turps etc also leads to the firewood burning far too quickly, sending plumes of acrid balck smoke across the neighbourhood, annoying mrs Splugget fro number 22 who has just put out her washing, and mr tomkins from 27, who has just washed his car*.
Always ensure you have enough flammable stuff at hand (wood etc) to keep the fire going. Get twice as much as you think you need.
Otherwise, half way through the cooking process, with three feeble coals to cook your sumptuous fare, whoever arrived last has to get into his car* and dash around trying to find a B&Q which is still open, and hasn't sold out of charcoal. Drink copious amounts of beer while the fire reches the correct consistency - should be reasonably hot, with glowing coals covered in grey ash.
Gentlemen shall converge near the fireplace, swilling ale, and discussing the relative merits of various motor cars* which they haven't got a hope in hell of ever driving, let alone affording.
Ladies will sit in the kitchen, talking babies/tupperware etc while making salads.
Once the fire has reached the neccesary temperature, the gentlemen can steer their way clear of the new conversation - why Schumacher is an absolute ponce, yet a very good driver, but not as good as Jackie Stewart, and prepare to cook the meat.
Please note MEAT. Thick, blood-filled lumps of cow (Yes, we know about mad cow disease - go on, be daring!) and sheep, NOT a packet of sausages, some safeway hamburgers and some chicken wings. The MEAT should have been standing in a family-recipe marinade for at least 3 hours.
After consumption of more ale, the meat should reach the proper stage for eating - slightly dark on the outside, and deliciously pink and warm on the inside. NOT black outside, with pink ice crystals inside.
After partaking in the feast, more ale is consumed, after which gentlemen are openely encouraged to partake in fist-fights at the slightest excuse, while ladies play hunt-the-carkeys* to ensure the menfolk don't get nicked on the way home.
Enjoy your barbeque.
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LOL Ian, holiday BBQ's. Everything stinks of smoke and charred animal corpses afterwards. Mind you those gas fired jobs you can carry in the back of your pickup* are a bit better than losing your eyebrows squirting recalcitrant barbecue pellets with lighter fluid.
I have some Kiwi friends and dread the occasion. There is no nationality more carnivorous than that of New Zealand. Everything has to be done outside in sweltering heat and humidity amid clouds of smoke and ricocheting gobbets of oil and fat.
Lamb patties to start, sausages made of lamb, followed by lamp chops, beefburgers, more sausages, try the pork mate she's not a bad bit, and finally a lump of bleeding cow (meant in the physical sense, altho' the other could equally well apply). This is all one meal mind you. Oh and I forgot the chook (that's chicken to you).
Mine host puts on one of those rubber aprons like you see in Discovery Channel Crime Night documentaries about pathologists conducting post-mortems , and this is soon covered in unpleasantness. Meanwhile he has been through the several cans of Steinlager stage and is now on the Wynne's Bin 444, boasting about Carlos and the All-Blacks and how the Wallabies are a load of poofters, with the result that what is proudly forked on to your plate triumphally may not necessarily be either edible or pleasant to look at.
As you say the distaff side is sensibly in the kitchen making salads and discussing whatever women making salads discuss, or at least they were until it's time to set off.
The fact that all this had first to (a) be packed and transported by motor vehicle* (b) and conveyed in dense traffic* to some beauty spot populated by enormous Filipino extended families: 30 or more is not unusual for one group, then the whole process has to be reversed afterwards only worse because of the washing up stinking out the car* makes one wonder what it's all for.
Me, give me a holiday weekend, I just see what's on the cable movie channels, switch on the answerfone, pull up the drawbridge call up Ernie at the wine store and get him to deliver a few bottles of the needful, dial 911-1111 for Domino's motorbike* home delivery, turn up the air-con, settle down with Growlette on the sofa and watch re-runs of Gone in 60 Seconds*, Vanishing Point*, Mad Max*, ah, bliss.
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while ladies play hunt-the-carkeys* to ensure the menfolk don't getnicked on the way home.
The last time I played a game of hunt-the-carkeys with the ladies it had absolutely nothing to do with cars or driving of any sort....
:)
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