The sun is shining today, for a change. In fact, the weather is looking good at the moment despite the heavy June mid-summer-in–the–global-warming-you-lying-swine rain and the somewhat cooler global-feckin’-I-don’t-believe-it-warming low temperatures that we’ve been having round here lately. With this sudden onset of Summer, my dearest and nearest decided we should get the old Weber grill out of its winter wrappings and grill food. Sounds easy, why not? Out with the Weber then Exile, and give it a good looking at. It’s the baby model. It runs on a small gas cylinder which holds about a pound of compressed propane. It usually lasts for about three good grillings. If I ate a pound of beans, I could fart more than these canisters can hold. It was empty. We need gas. These little canisters are not cheap, so I did a quick mental calculation and, adding the cost of driving the four kilometers every time to get a refill, I decided I might convert the baby Weber to run on a larger canister. The larger the canister, the more economical it would be to run. Brilliant. Wonderful. Well thought out Exile. Give yourself a pat on the back.
The tube which feeds the gas to the grill will not connect to a larger canister. The adapter which fits on the canister is completely different to that which fits on the larger bottles. OK, I need to get a new hose and the correct adapter which will, ultimately, get screwed onto the gas inlet on the grill. Looking at the Weber website, I found one that fitted both ends and even found a dealer nearby that had them in stock. Luckily for me, they even had a store sale going on and I could get the thing at 50% off. Things are looking up, I thought. Off then, and get the ruddy thing. I did. It cost me a tenner in English money, about one hundred Danish crowns.
Unfortunately, they do not carry gas bottles in that store, so another trip was necessary. Off then to the local builders merchants. I know they have these things. Taking my newly acquired Weber gas hose and adapter thingy with me I sullied into the local Silvan Builders Merchants and Hardware store. I Know people there. I used to work there. Albeit part-time. I found exactly what I was looking for, checked that everything fitted and walked out with ninety five quids worth of gas and bottle, deposit duly paid. Gone are the days of one pound canisters. I now have 45 pound bottles to fire up with. I’ve got enough gas here to last me a lifetime. It is a propane/methane mix, a carbon hybrid to be correct. Which means that when I use it, I will produce vast quantities of CO2 and will add to the ever worrying and non-existent global-bloody-warming. I don’t care. I’m already paying enough taxes for my carbon emissions, even if they aren’t making any feckin’ difference to anything anywhere. What did the damn environment do for me lately? Nothing. Apart from rain on me.
Home again and raring to go, I grabbed my trusty spanner and set about the conversion. Remembering that gas fittings are always left hand threads, as opposed to the normal right hand, I screwed the old hose off and the new one on. I fitted it to the bottle and fired up. Success! Not a dry eye in the garden. Honey, I’ve converted the grill to bottled gas, I said and beheld my handiwork. Little grill, huge bottle.
She has an eye for the obvious has my beloved…
That bottle is a bit big, she said.
Yes it is, I said, that’s the point.
It’s not very pretty, she said.
No it isn’t, but it will keep going for ages, I said. I showed her how it works, valves at both ends, and explained the economics involved.
You’re mad, she said. It cost you over a hundred quid.
Deflated, I said nothing after that.
She then casted a glance at the grill.
It needs cleaning, she said.
Have we got anything to clean it with? I asked.
Somewhere, she said and disappeared into the shack that we call our house. I could hear her crashing around in the cellar looking for said cleaning material. I know we have the stuff, in a spray canister. I remember having to buy it last year. I thought we had put it in the closet with the other cleaning stuff. I looked. Yes, there it was. I went back to the grill and sprayed the whole thing, inside and out, top to bottom.
Finally, sweating, panting and defeated, my lovely long haired one returned to the patio and declared she couldn’t find the bloody stuff to clean the grill with. Not to worry, I said. Look what I found. I think she was really impressed because she said nothing, for once, and simply went off to the kitchen to get water and sponges and cloths. Twenty minutes later, I was up to my elbows in black grease and old bits of burnt food that had clung to the grill plate and the inside of the shell that is the Weber grill. After a good scrub it was as good as new and she was pleased with the results of my intensive labour.
I’m happy about the whole thing. I see the new conversion as an investment and hang the æsthetics. We could grill a small ox on this thing now and I’m sure the hundred and odd quid was well given out, even if she does think I’ve gone stark raving bonkers. All I need is for the weather to really improve so that I can actually get some use out of it.
Maybe I can create some real global warming. At least, in the garden.