It was hot enough now to make us seek the shade. On a sheep-cropped knoll under a clump of elms we ate the strawberries and drank the wine – as Sebastian promised, they were delicious together – and we lit fat, Turkish cigarettes and lay on our backs, Sebastian’s eyes on the leaves above him, mine on his profile, while the blue-grey smoke rose, untroubled by any wind, to the blue-green shadows of foliage, and the sweet scent of the tobacco merged with the sweet summer scents around us…
Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
A good picnic requires a perfect marriage of entirely uncontrollable elements. So often an afternoon on the grass, or the sand, is compromised by crowds of people who have had the same idea, by a family of wasps who want to make friends, by food spoiling, and drinks toppling over at the barest nudge. In my head I look like Brideshead’s Lady Julia Flyte, all white linen and lace, cheeks flushed slightly in the heat. In reality, I’m a sweaty mess, out of practice with the sun and burning far too quickly as I desperately try to keep the food in the shade.
I have experimented with various picnic assemblages over the years; wrestled with sticky cakes that attract the ants, with yoghurt-based dips that barely make it to the park before they curdle, and with dressed salads that leak through ill-lidded Tupperware. But I have also had a fair few picnic successes: a day-long birthday feast featuring an enviable array of biscuits, sandwiches, quiches, and jugs of punch; salads and slices of cake enjoyed alongside a small pile of books on Hampstead Heath with my dad; and regular picnics on a blanket in London Fields, with boxes of food from Broadway Market, and bottles of ice-cold cider from the shop.
These successes are worth celebrating. When the uncontrollable elements come together, a picnic can feel like perfection. It’s rare to happen across that dappled patch of shade, away from the crowds, on the gentlest of slopes so your glass doesn’t wobble, with no wasps or ants to carry off your lunch, and (most importantly) with a basket of something delicious to hand, so you can take advantage of your good fortune. Embrace your inner Sebastian or Julia Flyte, lie back on the blanket, place an ostentatious hat over your eyes, and breathe in the early-summer air.