Doreen Tipton: Anyone fancy a charred burger?

Normally, the British Summer consists of 86 days of torrential rain, interrupted only by short periods of drizzle. Then, when it seems the guttering can’t take any more monsoon action, and cars are seen floating sideways down the country roads, we suddenly, on day 87, get a momentary glimpse of a vaguely familiar yellow globe peeking through a cloud. The temperature lifts to nine degrees, and we tentatively remove our cagoules and apply some Factor 50. Within two hours, to play safe, the Government imposes a nationwide hosepipe ban, which lasts until it snows.

But not this year. This year Britain has basked in almost unprecedented Mediterranean heat. And that, of course, has led to a massive rise in the number of barbecues.

Barbecues are a strange business. It’s the one occasion when men who wouldn’t normally be seen dead in the kitchen suddenly insist on taking the lead. Because ultimately, barbecues aren’t about cooking. They’re about project management, and arson, and being a caveman. While the women sip Prosecco quietly in the background and prepare salads, the men are felling trees, pouring petrol onto stubborn lumps of last year’s mouldy charcoal and attacking them with a blow torch, as they attempt to transform an ordinary pack of Asda sausages into archaeological remnants from Pompeii.

Some just buy a disposable barbecue. Others invest hundreds of pounds in a posh non-disposable gas barbecue which, a year later, is discovered at back of the shed, rustier than the Titanic. The cavemen grunt, disperse the spiders, and then make several failed attempts to chisel off the burgers and iron oxide barnacles from the grill bar, before finally realising that they also have no gas. Desperate to rescue the day and not be embarrassed in front of their small collection of friends, who have made the effort to turn up wearing hideous long shorts and ridiculous Hawaiian shirts, they then sneak off to the corner shop to buy a disposable barbecue, and the non-disposable barbecue is disposed of.

Meanwhile, impatient with the progress being made by the cavemen, the practically-minded women have started pre-cooking the sausages in the kitchen, only reluctantly handing them over when almost done, to be finally cremated and rendered inedible by the cavemen. Usually, at this point, it has started to rain, and everyone is now standing in the carport watching the head chef – that’s the one wearing the hilarious joke apron – drop the only properly-cooked sausage on the floor, and attempt to recover it using his rusty tongs before the dog snaffles it.

As it happens, I’ve been doing a bit of research on sausages this week. I’ve even made a short podcast about them, which you can find on my website, so if you’ve got two minutes to spare and you want to listen, go to: www.doreen.tv and head for the menu saying podcasts (I like to keep things simple).

It seems we eat more than three million sausages every day (that’s not each, that’s in total) and in the podcast I explain all sorts of interesting facts, such as why hot dogs are called hot dogs, how vegan sausages are made out of imitation animals, and why Germans have no sense of humour.

Anyway, back at the barbecue, about three hours behind schedule, everybody is finally handed their first sustenance from the crematorium. And it tastes good, much in the same way that road kill tastes good to a starving fox. And unlike a starving fox, the humans have the advantage of having had their senses mellowed by 15 cans of beer and three bottles of sparkly wine. Under those conditions, even eating your own toenails would taste good.

None of this matters, of course, because ultimately a barbecue is not about the food. It’s an al fresco social gathering – a shared experience where people bounce off each other (not literally, unless it’s a particularly lively barbecue). It’s the same reason, incidentally, that I like doing my stage shows so much. Interacting with a live crowd in a comedy situation is much more infectious than sitting at home staring at a video, or eating a perfectly cooked kitchen sausage.

In fact, in a couple of weeks, on the evening of August 17, I’ll be doing a special one-off ‘al fresco’ show at Telford Park called Doreen’s Naughty Bits. It’s not actually outside, it’s in a giant 1,000 seater marquee – this is England after all – but it’s the same sort of thing.

I’ve been in lots of tents before, but this is the first time I’ll have ever been upright in one. I’m usually flat on my back, but that’s another story.

Doreen’s Naughty Bits is a compilation of some of my favourite moments, videos and sketches from the past five years of doing the shows, so if all you’ve ever done is watched the videos and never seen a live show before, this is the ideal starter for you. Think of it as a bit like a comedy Glastonbury, only with proper seats and toilets, so us older folk of the zimmerframe generation can cope. It should be an amazing atmosphere, and a proper loff.

So if you’re bored with barbecues and you fancy something a bit different next month, like taking a peek at my naughty bits in a tent, I’ll see you there. I don’t think they’ll be doing sausages though, so eat first.

Tarra a bit x