A cartoon family has a lively backyard barbecue with a man grilling sausages, others observing, and a kangaroo.

Kev Greeley loved three things more than anything: thongs, cricket, and barbecues. On that particular Sunday, all three collided in his backyard like a perfect storm. The sun blazed down on Smoky Bay, making the air shimmer over the corrugated tin fences, and the smell of charred sausages hung thick enough to make a vegan cry. “Baz! Stop waving the cricket bat like a surfboard, mate! You’ll take someone’s eye out!” Kev shouted, beer in hand, swatting at a rogue seagull that had decided to join the fun. “Relax, Kev! I’ve got skills!” Baz replied, spinning around and almost tripping over the garden gnome shaped like a kangaroo. Mags Dunn, perched on her veranda across the street with binoculars and a notebook, scribbled furiously. Her eyes narrowed. Something about this barbecue felt… off. Sure, the thongs flapped, the beers flowed, and the cricket balls went wherever they pleased — but there was a tension in the air she couldn’t quite name. Old Mrs Mangle, the neighbour from hell who had a telescope permanently fixed on Kev’s backyard, muttered to herself: “I knew that Kev boy would be up to no good. I saw it in his eyes last week when he bought that suspicious gas cylinder.” Kev laughed heartily, flipping a sausage onto a plate. “Cheers to Sundays, eh! Sun, cricket, and mates! Nothing could go wrong today!” Famous last words. The first hint that something had gone awry was subtle — a sharp clink from the cylinder, a faint hiss, quickly swallowed by the sizzling sausages. Baz See more