Well established within my household that I am extremely big not just on gifts, but on ensuring the right gift, the leadup to Fathers Day was its usual bundle of shit.
“What do you want for Fathers Day?” was the repeated question to Grumpy Pants from all his offspring and from his wife.
“Nothing,” was the inevitable reply.
Although, for a bit of variety, he also added the odd “I don’t know” which was just as helpful.
I decided we needed a new BBQ, and it was one of the many things on the List Of Stuff Required For The New House, so I took him along with me, insisiting he check out some BBQs, got him to pay for it, then sent him on his way.
So it was that last night, whilst seven children between the ages of 6 and 13 destroyed the kitchen with a pre-planned Make Your Own pizza session (Monkey Boy had invited a few friends over for a sleepover – fab timing!) I was on the balcony, DIYing Grumpy’s Fathers Day present.
A 4 burner BBQ that we’d purchased.
Or, technically, that he’d purchased, but it’s his own fault for being an arse about gifts.
I forbid him from assisting me, because it was his present.
Although, I did at one point have to send him off for a screw, because I’d dropped one and thought it had fallen between the cracks in the decking, and then had to get him to hold the other end of the thingy – one of the many thingies – whilst I screwed something else and hopefully didn’t screw it up entirely.
Then I got him to get me some wine, shirking his “Leave it and we’ll do it in the morning” type comments.
But I had other plans and it simply had to be done by morning.
It was a close call, given the lighting on our balcony is extremely limited, I had felt 6.00p.m. was a better time to start than 4.00p.m. and I was mostly doing this in the dark. I had moved the Ikea light I’d managed to construct only a week ago, manoeuvering it so it shone out the window and gave me enhanced vision, but Chippie had found the large pieces of polystyrene securing the BBQ in the box and was standing in the light, being a Transformer.
At one point, I thought I’d managed to screw myself into the interior of the BBQ. Thankfully, however, I’d put a bit on upside down, so had to take it off and reattach it, thereby ensuring my release from its confines.
Some three hours, blood, sweat and tears later, I was done and in need of a shower. Also, the tears weren’ t mine. No, a rivalry over ownership of the large, cardboard box ensued and came to blows.
There was also a suggestion that I had cunningly chosen this moment to work on the construction so as to avoid dinner and a bunch of tweenagers. Which is really unfair. Also, possibly, subconsciously true.
Bed time was demanded, the inevitable two hours of talking and fucking about occurred and I was up at some stupidly early hour this morning. I can’t help it. I just get excited when gift giving is to occur.
Also, I had mostly successfully managed to coerce Grumpy’s children to partake in some sort of contribution to his Fathers Day gift, given he is their father and not mine.
Whilst I had ensure all the DIY of his actualy gift, I could not deprive him of some form of DIY for himself. This is, after all, something Dads love, right? Some DIY.
We had coveretly hidden all manner of uncooked breakfast fare under the hood of the newly constructed cooking implement and left him with a Fathers Day Breakfast Menu.
This consisted of Deconstructed Croissants and Jam and a considerable portion of DIY BBQ Bacon and Eggs on Turkish Bread.
I’m not entirely convinced he appreciated it.
He was also treated to making pancakes for seven kids, four of whom weren’t his own.
On the upside – I BUILT A FUCKING BBQ!
And it was still standing the next mornning. And it worked!