The sound of spitting oil swept onto the green lanes where boisterous voices confidently swung their balls down nondescript lanes. Those same voices merrily snapped back at the playful ribbing of eyt another toss failing to reach its mark. The early evening had arrived through ember light and a cooling breeze helped along by freshly tapped kegs, heads perfectly poured. Even with miniature stadium lighting it held all the romanticism of fairy lights…

I wasn't sure where I was going with this one. My original thought was the word “kissing” as though the oil were kissing the air - to cook sausages, obviously. But “kissing” just wasn't the right word. I had to pause after the fifth word to think of places I'd heard a sausage sizzle - schools, fetes, Bunnings, parties, bowls clubs. If you couldn't tell, I settled on the latter - a bowls club. It can get raucus of an afternoon with a few beers and no responsibilities.