Valentine's Day cuts

We had no electric hook up, just a dozen fragrant candles and a disposable barbecue upon which to cook our romantic feast.

I set up our two best camping chairs and the round camping table.

We have two camping tables, the round one is for best. We have filled the closet with everything, including the kitchen sink and instead use the caravan park facilities.

Not quite the same in a field. I served my loved one with a selection of horses hooves which included olives, ready salted crisps and beautiful Ardennes pate which I managed to obtain for 20p.

Sell by dates can be a blessing.

We didn’t need the ice bucket for the Pomagne, it was freezing outside. Ladies, I know what you’re thinking. ‘I wish my fella was as romantic as Billy’. And guys I know what you’re thinking. ‘What did he do to provide the facilities in case she needed to go’? No worries.

I took a bucket and spade and used the largest of our windbreaks to create a private area which was fine as long as one remained in the crouch position. You have to remember that wind breaks are usually intended for use on the beach when sunbathing and so are not very high.

Barbecues are all right as long as they are above ground. You shouldn’t do it but we squirt a little extra fluid on to the coals if we think the fire hasn’t caught.

The ‘one use’ ones are very different when the grass is drier that you expected. I didn’t realise that our windbreak was so flammable. A party of ramblers was passing our deserted field just as I squirted. Why they would want to ramble in a field at night baffles me.

Ramblers baffle me, full stop.

The flames raced across the ground like a missile attack. I deftly removed my bottle of whisky. There is no point in adding more fuel to the fire is there? The ramblers were treated to a spectacle as incredible as it was tragic. Poor Ms Nomates was surrounded by flames as she sat on a bucket with her drawers round her ankles. Somebody in the group remarked how the scene reminded him of Joan of Arc breathing her last breath as she was burned to death. I think they were impressed.

Not amused, Ms Nomates jumped up to protect her modesty and tried to flee, but alas her underwear was stronger than it looked and did not give way as she lurched forwards. She fought the fall but it came, and boy did it come? Luckily the cow pat broke her fall otherwise she might have injured herself further.

It was then I realised our romantic adventure was over. It wasn’t because Ms Nomates looked as though she had survived a world war attack and stunk like a skunk in a midden, but because I was rolling on the floor in creases, laughing.

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