THE BETA BBQ

PART 1. THE GLADIATOR ENTERS THE ARENA.

Rhys had strictly prohibited any meat, poultry, or fish at his annual summer vegan barbeque but it appeared that someone didn't get the memo.

"You're not cooking that on my grill."

"That's no problem. I brought my own."

And sure enough, John had which instantly put Rhys's nose out of joint, especially as he was carrying a superior-looking stainless steel Napoleon Prestige model that looked as if it was worth more than his house.

Retreating to his designated barbeque area like a defensive army general, Rhys couldn't help but watch on with envious eyes as John set up his own cooking apparatus as if he had anticipated every obstacle in advance of his arrival.

"I told you to tell Sarah that John had to eat what we're cooking. The guy thinks this is some dick-swinging contest."

Amy looked across at where John was setting up and couldn't help but admire the efficiency of his barbeque compared to Rhys's which had been smoking badly and blowing in all of their faces, as well as his Gladiator-themed toga that fitted his impressive physique perfectly.

"He's probably just going to cook something for himself and be done with it. Don't let it stress you."

But no sooner had she tried to reassure her highly strung boyfriend than they saw John unpacking two sizeable T-Bone steaks followed by what appeared to be a brace of recently skinned rabbits.

"Oh come on. He's deliberately trolling us now. This is a fucking horror show. Besides, why is he dressed like Russell fucking Crowe!"

Incensed by what he believed to be an obvious provocation, Rhys headed over to where John was cooking, making sure he stood downwind of any of his meat smoke.

"Come on, man. You are only doing this to stick it to us for being vegan."

Smiling, John snapped back the ring pull of a beer can and laughed.

"I'm doing it because I don't like grilled tomato burgers or tofu skewers. It's nothing personal; it just doesn't get me excited. Surely as long as I'm cooking away from you all then there doesn't need to be a problem. And besides, I'm making sure what little smoke there is is headed well away from your direction. I've mastered the art of redirection. I'm what you might call a Jedi Knight of barbeques."

Reluctant to get into an altercation so early in the evening, Rhys headed back to his cookout and privately seethed to his mates under his breath whilst trying to temper the endless ashy smoke from his own barbecue.

"Fucking pretend Alpha. He's just doing it to show off."

Sam, Rhys's best mate tried to distract his attention by blasting some tunes from the decks he'd set up close by.

"Remember this one, Rhys?"

But Rhys was off again, marching back toward John and his barbeque.

"Actually I do mind, Russell Crowe. For all I know my neighbours might be vegan and you're polluting their back garden with your beefy chemtrails."

Pulling a bemused expression at Rhys's clumsy attempt at metaphor, John then tried his hand at diplomacy once more.

"It's really not creating that much smoke. This is a top-of-the-range barbecue and I made sure when I researched it that it wouldn't smoke out any place where I cooked using it. I can even revert to gas if you prefer but I know you're especially sensitive about climate issues. Personally, and if you don't mind me saying so, I think you're projecting just a smidge because your grill is smoking like crazy over there, fella. Looks like Fukushima. Your carbon emission rate is enough to justify my minimal smoke stack discharge. "

Looking back at the billows of smoke emanating from his grill, Rhys realised he was losing the moral argument and the phrase "smoke stack discharge" hung in the air like an uncomfortable euphemism for something he couldn't quite articulate.

"Turn those tomatoes over before they get burnt to a crisp for fuck's sake!" Rhys barked at Sam with his watering eyes who was struggling to transition from Fat Boy Slim to Chemical Bros as his decks were being slowly engulfed by Rhys's barbecue fiasco.

Although the initial tensions had been stoked between Rhys and John, the straw that finally broke the camel's back was when Amy noticed that Sarah was tucking into some rabbit.

"Oi! What are you doing? I thought you said you were vegan like us."

"I changed my mind. When your partner hunts his own food it changes things. There's an accountability for the sacrifice."

Rhys rolled his eyes. "Bloody early man over here," he said muttering to his tribe.

Looking to her man for a riposte that she herself failed to find, Rhys switched up.

"I grew these tomatoes if that's any good to you!"

But John just kept smirking unphased and Sarah seemed positively oblivious more focused on eating her delicious food than engaging in any pointless arguments about meat versus plant.

PART 2. V IS FOR VEGAN(EANCE).

As the evening wore on, a strange social divergence began to take place across the large garden where candle lanterns flickered and copious bottles of wine were consumed. Many of the group (mostly the women) who had been initially openly hostile toward John and Amy, "the meat eaters", had moved over to their grassy enclave to persuade them to see the error of their carnivorous ways only to find themselves seduced by the sweet aroma of marinaded meat and John and Amy's affable good-natured humour.

Rhys, on the other hand, remained increasingly frustrated by the collective snub by his so-called friends fantasising about how he might exact revenge on this obnoxiously likable manly man whilst gazing at the flickering flames of his lonely-looking fire pit as the sound of mellow reggae music drifted across the lawn.

Dressed as Che Guevara, Rhys felt it would now have to take a revolutionary act to make an example of this Alpha intruder of his private Vegan paradise if for no other reason that the guy was making Amy laugh in a way he hadn't heard her laugh for years.

Tearing off the last piece of barbecued courgette from a stainless steel skewer, he felt horribly sober having delivered a moral lecture to Amy about setting an example and not drinking too much in polite company.

"There's nothing fucking polite about this company."

Every time he thought Amy or one of the other guests might have the self-awareness to check if he was alright he found himself consistently disappointed.

It was when he heard John delivering the famous speech from 'Gladiator' due to popular demand from the sycophants that drove him off the edge of reason. Holding the end of his skewer over the fire, Rhys finally took decisive action.

“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridias, commander of the armies of the north, general of the Felix legions, loyal servant to the true emperor Marcus Aurelius, father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife, and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”

Charging toward his nemesis as the applause from the group amplified across the garden, Rhys bellowed at the top of his voice "MEAT IS MURDER!" and threw the hot skewer like a spear at John, penetrating his surprisingly thin costume and piercing his heart, blood spurting out of his mouth like the reddest of wine.

Shocked that what had been just an idle fantasy a few minutes before was now a bloody reality, Rhys fell into some heightened state of altered reality as he decided he was now Che Guevara for real.

“Hasta la victoria Siempre”

With the rest of the guests fleeing for their lives, all Rhys had left for company was John's dead body lying just beneath his impressive Napoleon Prestige barbeque. Perhaps if this had been a thousand years ago, Rhys might have taken it for himself as the spoils of war but this was the 21st century, and all he could hear was the sound of a police siren fast approaching.

The annual July summer barbecue was over and Rhys's only hope now was that they might serve a vegan menu at Coldingley Prison.