Yesterday, I went to watch 'the boys' play cricket. I forgot my glasses and since the pitch (is that the right word?) was pretty large, I couldn't really make out much of the action. But the main focus of the day for me (and actually it seemed for some of the players too) was the picnic.
For once, I was well-organised. I took a blanket, paper plates & plastic cutlery and I bought our picnic food - this meant cherry tomatoes, olives, houmous and pitta bread, as opposed to pork pies and scotch eggs when the OH has done the shopping. Jane made potato salad, Herm made jerk chicken (actually his mum made it) and Graham made his 'famous mozarella salad'. The opposition brought sandwiches, crisps and more boxes of Mr Kiplings cakes than I've ever seen outside of a supermarket.
Now we come to my gripe with picnics. Not the insects or hygiene or anything like that. My niggle with them is the unattractiveness of our cool bag. It is a garish bright blue thing (bought on the cheap from Robert Dyas by the OH). I was especially embarrassed to be lugging about Hampstead Heath last summer when we found ourselves sat next to Sadie Frost and the rest of the Primrose Hill set, who all looked supercool, dressed in white and unburdened by anything containing freezable ice packs.
Jane's has a swanky picnic set in a nice muted colour and I find myself suffering from coolbag envy. I know it is incredibly shallow, but I dream of owning an aethetically pleasing picnic set - something by Cath Kidston perhaps. But really I cannot justify £35 for something that I would only use a couple of times a year, when we have something perfectly serviceable already. But I regularly pop into the shop to see if anything will reach a sensible price in the sale.
(Notice I'm putting that French A Level to good use with this title!)