How do I turn Cher’s volume down?
She’s inside my head, warbling along to ‘Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves’, elbowing aside my breadbasket of desire, wailing by a campfire. It’s not an easy song to dance along to, trust me. It’s not helped by the fact that I don’t know any more than the opening lines, so it’s like she’s on a super speeded up version.
It got me to thinking about how hard it must be to always cook over an open fire. It’s hard enough over a gas stove on a campsite – although food cooked outside always tastes a squillion times better than it does than that made in a kitchen. Why is that?
And now I’ve an urge to barbeque.
There are several problems with this.
One, I don’t think setting fire to my desk so I could toast a banana or some porridge oats (the two available foodstuffs within easy reach) would go down terribly well with either the fire brigade or health and safety bods. Anyway, I haven’t any matches on me so I’ll have to restrain my urges for now. But, Two, we don’t have a BBQ, so if I was to put dinner on in the garden I would have to burn a hole in the lawn. Oh, and Three – it’s February, it’s freezing and the neighbours would think we were mad. And secret problem number Four – I’ve always been rubbish at campfires. I can get them going well enough but can’t maintain their glowingly heat giving properties.
I think it’s the idea of a campfire which is appealing to me. In my head, it’s a SwallowsandAmazonesque thing to do, and following the calm cooking of my sausages I will scour the pan out with sand before hauling to and heading off down the lake in search of adventure. The reality is that I always end up downwind, choking on smoke whilst my sausages burn on the outside but remain raw on the inside. I can just about manage Damper Bread, and toasted marshmallows, so I wouldn’t starve.
I’m not sure how Cher is with the old campfire management. Giving her a packet of snorkers and a firelighter might render her speechless.