I’ve attended not one but two barbecues over the weekend and been exposed to far too much charcoal . Even without the choking smoke, two barbecues in the space of twenty four hours is a bit much for anybody, let alone when one is full of family and the other is full of Uber Homos.

Now you might not think that your average Uber would enjoy a barbie. A Barbie, yes, but not a barbie. You might think that all that smoke, and fire, and eating of food with your hands, might put them right off. There you would be quite wrong.

The lure of the fire pit, the outsize tongs, and the novelty apron strike as deeply into the heart of your average Uber Homo as they do into the heart of your average Suburban Dad. Well, perhaps not the novelty apron. For while Dad might spend his week avoiding the kitchen altogether and be quite unable to distinguish between Hamburger Helper or Wild Mushroom Gnocchi and the Uber might spend his week hand-rolling his own Gnocchi with organic flour and sourcing truffle oil, both will thrill to the core of their innately male being at the thought of an open flame and a big hunk of beef. Although both will, during the rest of that week, define each of those terms really quite differently.

Now it is also true that Suburban Dad and Uber Homo will approach said barbecue in their own distinctive ways. Suburban Dad will chargrill burgers, ribs, and steaks, and be extremely protective of his personal recipe for barbecue sauce. Uber Homo will, on the other hand, chargrill skinless chicken breasts, tuna steaks, butterflied legs of lamb, and more skinless chicken breasts, and be equally protective of his own personal recipe for a low-calorie yet flavour-packed marinade. Suburban Dad will have a wife who makes a yummy potato salad with a mayonnaise-based dressing, whilst Uber Homo will have a partner who makes a salad of couscous, celery, and green beans that you actually lose weight eating.

I did enjoy both barbies- two free meals in one weekend is not to be sniffed at- but really it was the thought of being free in the open air (unlike You Know Who) that got me through. Family dos like this are always a tad wearing, as the younger generation is always waiting for the older generation to a)go in for a cup of tea, b)go in to watch Coronation Street with a cup of tea, or c)just plain succumb to sunstroke, so they can get on with the real party. And the older generation are always far more stubborn at these gatherings than when they’re indoors. So you have to endure hours of “What loony God-bothering cousin Audrey’s up to now” and “When’s Auntie Bertha getting that new hip” before you can settle down to the real questions of “So who do you think will die first and which of us do you think will be rich first?” and “Did anyone bring some pot?”

Uber Homo barbies can be no less wearing. First of all, there’s the de rigeur champagne- “What are we celebrating?” “Just being us!”- then the inevitable black olives. I must state here and now that I loathe black olives, yet all Uber Homos seem to have simply forgotten that they come in any other color. Apparently even the olives must be slimming.

Then there’s the equally inevitable conversation along the lines of “My Word! That charcoal smells delicious and you haven’t even put on the lime and sumac marinated skinless chicken breasts! Which wood are you using?”

“Why thank you, we’re using aged cherry wood that we found in this sweet little deli off the King’s Road. We just love the way the smell fills the whole house, even from the bottom of our ninety-foot garden. FabFoodie, what does your house smell of?”

“Boiled cauliflower. Did anyone bring some pot?”