Australians may have the barbecue, and Americans have a cookout, but none quite compete with the humble institution that is the British picnic.
Despite a forecast for rain 364 days of the year, we don’t let it dampen our enthusiasm for an itchy tartan blanket, a hot plastic tub of Scotch eggs and the opportunity to get shit-faced.
Behold, the crucial stages of every successful British picnic...
1. The Whatsapp Group
Similar to organising the Napoleonic wars, but with more wine, bees and sunglasses emojis.
2. The Picnic Blanket
You thought Dan was bringing it. Dan thought you were bringing it. Both you and Dan are fuckwits, meaning everyone will end up with grass stains on their bums.
3. The Spot
The perfect ‘spot’ is ideally far away from the car park, the toilets and the family with a screaming child, but somehow you end up near them all.
4. The Promising Start
Admiring your own civility as everyone unpacks Prosecco, hummus and baba ghanoush (that purply aubergine dip, fool).
5. The First Challenge
Despite all the organisation, realising that still no one remembered the bottle opener. Or any beverage with a screw-top. Fail.
6. The Conversation
Never actually catching up because conversation becomes 99% weather based. You're either cooing about what a nice day it is or obsessively scanning the skies for signs of rain.
7. Forgetting The Cutlery
Remembering why cutlery is actually essential to eating. As is plates.
8. Ants
There's a reason humans don’t eat food with their hands and then sit on the ground for every mealtime. Ants. ALL THE ANTS.
9. Followed By Wasps
A single wasp enters the park and everyone completely loses their shit.
10. Five Bottles Of Prosecco Later...
What's my name? Why do I have grass on my bum? And where's the toilet?
11. Drunk Eating
Suddenly no one can stop eating. Like a wedding buffet, but with less shame and more elasticated waistbands.
12. Speaking Of Toilets...
While you were so busy triangulating the perfect spot to sit in, you forgot that as a human, you occasionally need to urinate. Or something more involved if you ate a dodgy Scotch egg. Cue an epic trek to a pub/tree/public lavvy.
13. The Next Morning
Remember when the idea of a picnic filled you with joy, sunshine and lollipops? Now you're just hungover, but with horsefly bites in places no horse or fly should bite you.
