“What’s for dinner?” the children ask.
“I think we’ll have a barbecue, as it is so sunny!” says Mummy.
“A barbecue?” the children say “But we are hungry! And Daddy won’t be home for ages! How can we have a barbecue?”
“I am going to barbecue!” says Mummy.
The children look dubious. Is this possible? A woman as Doctor Who is one thing, but MUMMY barbecuing? This is a strange and new concept.
“Yes!” says Mummy “I am perfectly capable of barbecuing, because I am going to let you in on a little secret, my darlings- IT’S JUST COOKING OUTSIDE! There is actually nothing particularly mysterious or complicated about it.
“Does Daddy know you are going to barbecue?” asks the Boy Child bravely.
“No,” says Mummy “It is nothing to do with him, I don’t need his permission to touch the bastarding barbecue, you know!”
“Are you sure, Mummy?” says the Girl Child “Daddy says barbecuing is very difficult and complex, and only a Manly Man can barbecue because Fire. And then I think he said something about woolly mammoths, and beer! You are not a Manly Man, Mummy, how will you manage to barbecue without a lady to fetch and carry things while you guard the Fire?”
“Pshaw!” says Mummy “Bollocks to that, barbecuing is a piece of piss. In fact, the only difficult thing about barbecuing is what a performance your bloody father makes of it!”
Mummy lights the barbecue. Mummy cooks the food. Mummy manages to fetch herself top ups of pink sunshine wine, and take the cooked things inside and bring out the next things to go on the barbecue ALL BY HERSELF. Even more astonishingly, the fucking fire was absolutely fine, even though Mummy did not spend the whole time standing over it, refusing to move more than three inches away from the barbecue BECAUSE SHE WAS BARBECUING AND SO COULD NOT STEP AWAY, NOR EVEN LOOK AWAY, as Daddy claims is the case when he is barbecuing.
Daddy comes home and says “Something smells yummy! Are the neighbours having a barbecue?”
The children say “MUMMY barbecued, Daddy! On YOUR barbecue. Mummy says barbecuing is a piece of piss and you are nothing but a bloody drama queen with the way you carry on and pretend barbecuing is very tricky and can only be done by men!”
Daddy turns pale. “MUMMY barbecued?” he cries “But how can this be? Did she even drink beer? How did she light it? Did she know the exact right moment to spread the coals out, that has to be carefully watched for? How would she even know when that moment was? Only a Man can know that, it is part of the Manly Lore, handed down through the generations! My barbecue is sullied now, and TAINTED by her feminine wiles! There is far more to the Noble Art Of Barbecuing than a bag of instant lighting charcoal and a packet of chicken drumsticks, you know.”
“There’s really not, actually! Now do shut up and have a burger, you pretentious twat!” snaps Mummy “The game’s up, mate! I’M going to do the barbecuing from now on, and you can be my bitch!”
Daddy weeps quietly to himself. He knew no good could come of a lady Doctor. It is giving women Ideas. Mummy has put bunting on his barbecue. He can barely even bring himself to look at it. Poor Daddy. Deep in his soul he knows it is only a matter of time before Mummy paints his shed duck egg blue and hangs jaunty curtains at the windows and fills it with cushions, for nothing is sacred anymore. Nothing.