Bank holiday, schmank holiday... enough is enough!!

Hello there. Long time no see: it's been a while for which I must apologise. You see, I have been delayed in my writing to you by the bank holidays... Bank schmank... they've just gone on and on and on. And yet, we have another two in the next week. Joy of joy! I don't think I know what to do with myself at the moment. I mean, Mum and Dad have both been crazy busy. Dad's been flying galore and Mum's been covering extra shifts at the hospital, so I've been left to fend for myself all alone in our big empty house...

Who am I convincing? No one. It's been alright. Although, the problem I have found with all these bank holidays is the amount of errands I've had to run on the parents behalf and Gma's. Plus, because they've all been so crazy busy I've had to do the rounds.

You know what I'm talking about: the rounds.

Oh, you don't know.

Well, the rounds are when you spend the bank holidays visiting long-lost relatives you didn't even realise you had. I have seen great aunts and uncles and loads of old folk that are all biologically connected to me who I don't ever recall meeting in my life. You see, through an impartial vote (consisting of Mum, Dad and the brothers) I was elected as the official McManus representative for this year. So that meant that I had to do the rounds. Although, this year was worse than my last stint as I didn't recognise 99.9% of them due to additional wrinkles obscuring facial landmarks. (However I did recognise my Great Uncle Sydney due to the abnormally large mole on the end of his elongated left ear).

Anyway, moving swiftly on! Today we McManuses had a barbecue in our garden. It was a 'BYOSD' (better known as 'bring your own stuff do'), but I didn't BAS (bring any stuff), because I figured that my presence was enough of a gift.

Only joking! No, I didn't bring any stuff because the barbecue was being held at my house... Well, I say my house, but really I mean the parents' house. However, by proxy it is my house because I live here and because I am their daughter and we abide by the policy 'what's mine is yours' (but only when it's convenient, and this was one of those convenient moments).

It was a nice day. Mum was definitely the hostess-with-the-mostess and Dad was unquestionably the barbecue king, though why that is I have never known. This year, I took the liberty of reqeusting my sausages be 'medium-rare' in the hope that they'd only be ever so slightly charred. But no, that request fell on deaf ears as Dad truly out-did himself this year when he presented cremated sausages that disintegrated the moment they caught sight of a bap. Oh Dad, please retire the apron and step down from your post as barbecue king. Retire gracefully while you still have some barbecue dignity left and pass the apron onto one your two sons. They will gladly receive the honour of barbecue prince, because I don't think you're ready to relinquish the title of barbecue king... Ah, parents.

On other matters, I thought I ought to let you know that all is forgiven between my friend Sunshine and myself. We've put our little spat behind us now and are ready to move on. I have said that he may reinstate his hat since the twins (bites) have left me. All is now well in Mildred-land.

So, what are the barbecue morals that I have to share with you? Well, I think they're very important, given that we've got even more bank holidays to look forward to.

• Never- and I repeat, never, try to assist a father that considers himself to be king of the barbecue. Simply accept your lowly status as food carrier or even food eater (or at least food attempter).
• If you have to do the rounds, make a list of each person's distinguishing features and memorise before hand. It'll make life much easier.
• Always stay on good terms with Monsieur Sunshine, otherwise he might try to burn you... I have learnt my lesson after my blaspheming of him last week...