When smoke gets in your eyes

It was the morning after a wedding, and the day of the "after party", with the temperature  well on its way to the expected 40 degrees. Hangovers and exhaustion gave way to panic as someone sounded the alert about it being a total fire ban day. The 15 kilos of sausages and 100 meat patties languishing in the Party Hire "cool room" seemed destined for obsolescence until the CFA website was consulted.  A careful reading of the regulations relevant to TFB days revealed  that GAS OR ELECTRIC BARBECUES ARE ALLOWED - 

provided that: The barbecue is located within 20 metres of your dwelling, the area 3 metres around the barbecue is cleared of flammable material, there is (next to the barbecue) a hose connected to a water supply or a vessel with at least 10 litres of water and, finally, an adult is there at all times when the fire is alight.

After much discussion about whether it would be easier to move the house to within 20 metres of the barbecue or move the barbecue to within 20 metres of the dwelling, the barbecue was relocated to a cleared area and not one, but 2, hoses were fixed to taps in the vicinity. Since there didn't seem to be any requirement for the adult to be sober, conscious or anything else other than present, compliance with regulations seemed complete.

As guests drifted in and the band struggled to keep the guitars in tune in the heat, the first batch of sausages hit the hot plate running. The artificial skins buckled under the strain, releasing a stream of fat that ignited on impact with the hot rocks beneath the grill. A series of sausage related explosions culminated in a steady stream of smoke plummeting skywards (an observation that had not eluded a vigilant neighbour with a finger on the emergency services number).

Those who thought the band was out of tune were proved wrong when it became apparent that the discordant sound was generated by a tonal mismatch between some fire sirens and a Hank Williams' song.. A  crescendo of warning signals heralded the convergence of a convoy of red trucks at the property entrance (conveniently given prominence by a bevy of balloons). The ominous sound of a helicopter echoed above,  as police cars and emergency response units descended in unison, hoping to net, at last, the district fire bug.

Startled guests were momentarily distracted from their alcohol consumption as a fully uniformed fire captain rushed the property in search of the incendiary epicenter. He was stopped in his tracks by the sight of 12 cauterized sausages on a recently subdued grill, and eventually conceded that the site met requirements and the party could continue. In a dramatic conclusion to the incident the police cars sped off in search of more lucrative offenders and the helicopter hovered in disappointment for a short time before ascending into the heavens.

To this day, no one can remember whether the band's next song was "I'm on fire", "It's my party and I'll fry if I want to" or "The road goes on forever and the party never ends"