Kevin Page.
Mrs P and I are going out for dinner with friends this weekend.
Normally we would have them to our place but there's a very good reason why we can't do that any more.
You see, last time I nearly killed Brian and Elaine.
I should explain that the incident wouldn't keep the Crime Scene Investigation team stumped for very long.
It didn't involve a knife or gun or result in intricate blood spatter patterns on the wall. My offence was committed with a fruit kebab.
I hasten to add, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it was not premeditated.
Our friends are at the head of the class when it comes to entertaining. No burned snag on the barbie for these two.
With this in mind Mrs P and I decided not so much to push the boat out but to positively row it to China and back.
Anyway, while Mrs P busied herself with the more important requirements of the evening - mainly the wine (I mean you have to prioritise don't you?) I busied myself slashing a variety of fruits into bite size pieces for the said kebabs.
The skewers located, I embarked on threading the pieces on each until I was finished. As I carefully placed the finished kebabs in the fridge, the term "visual symphony" sprang to mind.
The dinner went well, or rather the wine did, which was good because some of the veges were a little cool and the meat, well, just not quite what we'd hoped for. I wondered whether a burnt snag might have been better ...
Happily though I knew the fruit kebabs, prepared with the utmost care and attention, would save the day.
As I brought them to the table there were gasps of admiration ... which actually turned out to be Brian choking on a cold carrot.
That emergency sorted we got back to gasping in admiration at the fruit kebabs and then we tucked in.
Hmmm. Interesting taste.
I didn't recall marinating them in petrol and cow poop. Using my chemistry knowledge from the explanation of the cosmetics sold on the Shopping Channel, I figured the combination of the exotic fruits and the sudden drop in temperature while refrigerating them had set off some chain reaction and produced this, er, taste.
"Oh well," I thought, "suck it up" and went in for another bite.
Luckily Mrs P was on to the pending emergency and immediately barked an order for everyone to stop eating.
"Where," she demanded of me, "did you get the skewers for those kebabs?"
I replied they were on the bench where she had left them for me.
As I replied I looked over and pointed to the bench ... where a packet of unopened skewers was positively yelling back at me.
What wasn't there was the jar of incense diffuser sticks which had been soaking in the gloopy, oily substance they come in ... and which we now know if you eat them taste of petrol and cow poo.
So that was it really. The last time we had Brian and Elaine to dinner. Luckily we are all still alive. And still friends. Red wine helped.
So this weekend they're not coming to us. We're all going out. There might even be fruit kebabs on the menu but at least I won't be making them.
- Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to kevin.page@nzme.co.nz.
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