Bangers Sans Le Bang!

Linda, love, didn't you ever think he was trying to tell you something?

And on the third day he rose again from his bed and.......went to a barbecue.
Doesn't quite have the same impact or ring about it, I know, but that IS what I did yesterday. We chewed the fat - literally! - until the sun went down and I drank an awful lot of wine!
I had gone armed with food and booze having trawled the town to find a decent shop but ending up at the place I had feared all along would be the only one open on Easter Sunday. It was an Indian corner shop near where the party was being hosted. I say Indian, and not Asian, because the owner once nailed his colours firmly to the mast when a friend went in and got chatting about the length of time it was taking to build some flats opposite and the mess that was being made. "That's fucking Pakis for you," said the genial Indian proprietor.
His wine cellar is not expansive, to say the least, and so I ended up with two, two-litre bottles of Valpolicella! Hell, if you can't drink it you can always put it on your chips - class! His barbecue food selection was equally paltry. Cow-related products were not much in evidence, as I had anticipated, but he didn't seem to be overly keen on things porcine either. Consequently, I ended up with two packs of Linda McCartney vegetarian sausages!
I have made grander entrances to parties, I have to admit. I put my Valpolicella on the worktop in the kitchen - so everyone could share, you understand - and people immediately began reaching for the booze they had brought and clinging onto it tightly. Outside the chat flowed as freely as the wine and I actually started to get a taste for the red de-icer I had bought.
I was too much of a gentleman to start trying to help myself to the salmon, burgers, kebabs, steaks, chops and sausages everyone else had brought so I finally summoned up the courage to whip out my Linda's and toss them on the griddle. Bloody Nora! Have you ever tried to cook one of those things? They were over the sodding flames for about an hour but still looked dodgy. Christ knows what is in them? I'm sure that saving the lives of pigs is worthy and all that but packing your product with asbestos and fire-retardant mattresses is hardly an acceptable alternative. I name those products with care because, when the barbecue had eventually burnt itself out and my Linda's were still on there, I decided enough was enough and I would eat them. They taste absolutely awful! How the fuck Paul ever managed to survive, let alone pen anything of note, while she was feeding him and the kids that muck is beyond me.
Anyway, I was medivacced out of the party at about 11pm and am still recovering today. My head feels a tad thick and my stomach keeps wanting to auto-eject its contents. Henceforth, the delights of Valpolicella and Linda McCartney's food shall only be enjoyed by the people of Grantham.