Summer has arrived - it's official. And how do I know? No, not from the weather forecaster or my trusted piece of seaweed.

I just poke my head out of my patio doors, look for the smoke and wait for the smell of burnt burgers, sausages and onions.

Yes, it's summer - season of salmonella, scorched hedges and burnt hands.

It's barbie time - no, not Ken's girlfriend - barbecue time, when men don silly aprons, silly hats with corks hanging on pieces of string, and start calling women "Sheilas" and offering people "tinnies".

They then pass round cremated meat which is being attacked by a squadron of blue-bottles, who think it's their birthday.

The neighbours dash out to retrieve their washing and close their windows to keep out the smoke.

Leave the barbies to the Aussies, cobber.

-Paul-John Harris, Newhaven