Born a colour-blind red head to loving parents, the young William Grundy had enjoyed his childhood years assisted by his bright red comfort blanket—which he continued to carry around well into adult life.

Grundy took well to life on the family farm and, before long, was given his own baby bull to rear. He loved his little ‘Bully’, just as one might love a little brother. If Bully had a runny nose, Billy would pull out his red blanky to wipe it—but for some reason or other, Bully would forsake such loving attention—he’d paw the ground twice or thrice before chasing him round and round the paddock until, almost inevitably, ramming him squarely in the buttocks. Perhaps Billy needed to be gentler with the little beast’s obviously tender nose he thought.

As the years passed, he suffered hundreds of butt-bruising mishaps, but it still pained him dearly that his beloved Bully would repay his kindness in such terrible ways.

Events came to a fateful close one cold winter’s afternoon. Billy was burning gorse in an old cattle stop when Bully charged—head down—the length of the paddock towards him. Tragically, Bully caught his hooves in the rails of the old cattle stop. And lo, the BBQ was born.