It’s been a bit tough around these parts today. It’s my Mums Birthday. We hadn’t made any real plans for it. I was going to cook whatever she wanted for dinner and we were probably going to watch a movie this evening. Somewhere along the way this week it evolved (I am starting to hate that word) into buying a Bar-B-Que and having a little family get together. I thought this was a great idea, Mum doesn’t get bored and the food will be “different”
The plan this morning was for my Sister In Law to come around at about 11.30 and for my Brother to follow once his church service had finished and then Mum and SIL would go out and buy the Bar-B-Que and requisite items to go with it. Then once the hardware was bought it would get ferried home by Taxi and they would head to get the food part of the day. All good so far. This all went off to plan. When the hardware arrived my Brother set to putting it together (he is better at things like that… fuck he’s better at most things than me… but that’s just my general fucked up view of things… it’s supposed to be the older brother who leads the way.. not in this family.) It took him about 30 minutes to put the Bar-B-Que together… I would still be fighting over the legs 12 hours later. Once Mum and SIL arrived home with a metric tonne of food to be cooked we had just about gotten to the stage of lighting the damn thing. According to those congregated it was my job to set the fires going and to cook the food. I fought for thirty minutes trying different ways of getting that dam thing burning properly. We, in the end, used about 2/3 of a bottle of lighter gel and after about another thirty minutes it was raging like a trooper.
Needless to say my brother had taken over after I had all but admitted defeat at the hands of the charcoal briquettes . I did however take over the cooking and managed to cook some pork steaks and not burn them. I moved on to the food on skewers and managed to singe a few sausages. I knew I was on to a losing battle as my anxiety levels were gradually creeping up. The kids were hungry and things just weren’t moving fast enough to keep everyone happy. I started getting that feeling you get when everyone is watching you judging every move you make. I handed the cooking tongs over to my Brother and he was in his element cooking away with a beer in hand. (What I wouldn’t have given for a cold beer today, but with the Seroquel and extra Lorazapam I had taken it just wasn’t wise for me to drink as well.)
My brother handled the rest of the cook duties for the afternoon with a plomb. the only things that looked a bot weird were the sausages.. they went from Brown to Black…but perfectly edible. They weren’t burnt at all and I had two or three of them so they must have been allright.
I guess it’s my inadequacies that I foster and imagine that make my success in anything where my brother is concerned all the worse. I have written before about how he is better at virtually everything we have or have had in common. I honestly can’t think of a single thing that I do “better” than him. He is Musical he is a tech guru (He can build websites from a blank notepad page and make it look good.. he is also a great parent something that I am sure that if I was in the same position wouldn’t be the case. I may be the funky uncle but I am sure I would make a shit Dad.. probably wise that Linda and I couldn’t have kids then.)
OK this is just turning into one big fucking Pity Me party so I am gonna go and wallow in bed and try not to wake up until after Easter is all over.
Until Next Time…