Picnics.

Now that we have had some decent weather for a while I imagine lots of people will be double checking the weather forecast and heading out to the hills, downs, forest, beach or even some unsuspecting ( your garden is bigger than ours!) relatives, for a picnic. What is it about a picnic? We all seem to think we are going to have such a fun time but sadly it never really works out that way.

It's the fault of the media of course. The rug is laid on a beautiful lawn, Mummy is carrying a huge wicker picnic basket ( for years I have hankered after one,) two attractive, well dressed, pleasant children are helping Mummy unload said hamper, smoked salmon, lobster, cold roast chicken, assortment of salads carefully placed onto real china plates and attractively garnished. Oh look, here comes Daddy, he is smiling and looking fondly at wife and well behaved children, he takes in all the lovely food and licks his lips...what a lucky man I am, he thinks. Mummy asks Hugo, her attractive and pleasant son, to fetch Daddy a garden chair whilst she and Primrose her attractive and pleasant daughter, carry on with laying out the wine and a huge trifle, oh yes, and some homemade lemonade for the children, (none of that fizzy pop rubbish in this family!) Soon everything is ready and Mummy kneels on the rug by Daddys feet in order to be conveniently placed ready to serve him! The sun is shining ( well in this scenario it would be,) the birds are singing ( surprise surprise) and, oh wait, what is this? How lovely,Grandma and Grandpa have just turned up in their Morgan, silly Daddy forgot to tell Mummy.

Of course the reality is very different. For a start,has anyone got a designated picnic rug? (For years I have hankered after one!) Alright I grant some of you may actually have one but, I bet it's not tartan. Next the venue, in my considerable experience of picnic sites you have to drive at least 50 miles to somewhere you have never been before. Once you get there ( and ignoring the kids shouting, crying, fighting and being sick in the back of the car,) you drive for another 20 miles or so trying to find the perfect spot. At last, the kids fall out of the car, your wife is in a shitty mood, it is way past lunch time, you unload the boot. Carrier bag after carrier bag are lugged to the perfect spot and you are soon all tucking into curled up egg sandwiches, Mums famous picnic pie ( don't ask!) warm salad and tea that has sat so long in the flask it's gone a strange purple colour. Finally, replete, and trying your best to have fun, the kids cajole you into playing cricket or taking them for a walk, Mum can't join in as she's too busy piling all the uneaten food back into the carrier bags and eyeing the darkening sky warily. Things tick along nicely for a few minutes but suddenly it all goes pear shaped, little Johnny has fallen over whilst fielding for Dad ( Dad whacked the ball too hard and it's gone miles into the forest,) poor Johnny is covered in sheeps poo, and little Sally is screaming as she was pretending to be a ballet dancer and pirouetted into a huge bush of stinging nettles! What fun! And the problem is, next time someone suggests a picnic you will have forgotten all the previous ones and the whole disaster will happen all over again!