I say this as the joint owner of a gas-fired barbecue - Wee John bought Mrs W and me one for our Guiseley house-warming gift. (House-warming? Barbecue? Do you you see what he did there? Yes, very good).
But it takes some effing cleaning. And it really takes some effing cleaning when, like me, you chose simply to shove it back in the garage after the final meat feast of the previous summer without even as much as a wipe.
Yes, really.
Closer look?
Bad daddy.
But, you know, the situation wasn't irreparable and, after an hour's Easter Monday soaking, scraping, scrubbing and swearing, it came up like this.
Good daddy.
However, the problem then was that the sun came out - and so inevitably did the chicken, ribs and burgers. (And white legs).
Our gas-fired barbecue has since been wheeled back into its corner of the garage, all minging and unloved.
Let's hope the sun stays away for another little while yet, because I really can't be arsed.
