When did we become a nation of BBQ barbarians?

Save us from the barbecue barbarians! They’re not even at the gates any more – they’ve let themselves in and they’re grilling burgers on Grandma’s grave.

That’s not a figure of speech. I wish it were. It’s just another day in Otley, Yorkshire, where a family of three adults and seven children were photographed this week cooking an al fresco lunch on top of a raised gravestone in the parish churchyard.

When a passing couple intervened, they were met with the words: “Thank you for your input, I’ve taken note.”

Last year, a group was found hosting a party in St John’s churchyard in Devizes, Wiltshire. Again, they were barbecuing on top of a tomb.

It’s probably impossible to explain to these sort of people why this is a terrible, sacrilegious thing. They clearly don’t share the same sensitivities about resting places being for the dead, not the ketchup bottle.

But that shouldn’t stop us trying to lay down some basic rules of outdoor eating. The first is don’t set fire to the grass; from Epping to the New Forest, the countryside has been transformed into a tinderbox.

If your teenagers are curious as to what would happen if they drop a lit match, let them Google “the threeweek conflagration of Saddleworth Moor” and watch it in real time.

Always place a disposable barbecue on bricks or, better still, invest in a reusable one; if you buy it, the weather will come to your field of dreams.

Don’t site your BBQ on top of the dearly departed. Ever. Not only will your chargrilled chicken wings be haunted, but the local clergy will place a curse on you via Facebook.

If friends or family threaten to overrule you, shout “Anthrax!” and run away, carrying all the booze.

If these civilised guidelines are followed, the rest is easy: burned chipolatas, incinerated kebabs, white rolls, sweet chilli relish, untouched salad still sweating in the bag. Sorted.

As the late, great Anthony Bourdain put it: “Barbecue may not be the road to world peace, but it’s a start.”