23. Picnic in the Dining-Room

Isn't it rather odd to have one's picnic in the dining room? Read this funny story to find out how it did happen.

"We shall be having a picnic tomorrow afternoon," said my hostess, Mrs. Brown. "It will be quite simple and we shan't make any fuss. I think an afternoon in the open air will do us good, don't you? Would you like to come with us?"

I had already made an appointment with the hairdresser but I weakly agreed to cancel it. Mrs. Brown smiled graciously.

"I shall be making some cakes this afternoon," she explained, "so I shan't have any free time. I wonder whether you would mind doing some shopping for me during your lunch hour, that is, if you can fit it in."

She handed me a typewritten list made up of twenty-four separate items, from shrimps to sugared almonds, and including an order for a chicken, four sliced loaves, a half-litre of fresh cream and some Camembert, all to be delivered at the house before five o'clock. That still left me with plenty to carry myself, and it seemed that if only I could manage to stagger home with my load, there would be no danger of starving the next afternoon.

That evening a violent thunderstorm broke. Rain poured down; the sky was split by terrifying flashes of forked lightning while peals of thunder drowned conversation. But Mrs. Brown was not upset.

"It will have cleared up before morning," she prophesied. "When this storm has passed we'll have ideal weather, you'll see. The BBC weather forecast has promised sunshine, and they don't often make mistakes." She was right. The following morning was glorious. Early in the morning I could hear her moving about in the kitchen. Breakfast was late and consisted of corn flakes and toast.

"I must apologise for neglecting you," said Mrs. Brown. "So much to do! You won't mind making your bed this morning, will you? I'm so busy. I'm afraid we shall have to make do with cold meat and potatoes for lunch."

The whole morning seemed to be spent in loading the car with a variety of bags, baskets and mysterious parcels. After a lunch of cold mutton, boiled potatoes, and limp damp lettuce, we took our rain jackets and umbrellas and fitted ourselves into the car. I was in the back seat, squeezed uncomfortably in the midst of a mountain of equipment.

We crawled for the next two hours along a main road where a line of traffic was wedged so tightly together that it was almost stationary. Mr. Brown was in charge of the steering wheel but Mrs. Brown controlled the driving. At last we turned down a narrow lane and started looking for a suitable place for tea. Each one that we saw had its drawbacks: too sunny, too shady, too exposed, too sheltered. "If we were to picnic there, we should be too hot, cold, conspicuous, shut in," declared Mrs. Brown as she inspected each in turn.

At last she decided that a certain meadow (in reality no different from any other meadow we had examined) would do. Mr. Brown opened the gate and drove the car inside. We started to unload.

I had never in my life realised that so much stuff could be required for a simple picnic. A folding table was produced together with a clean glossy tablecloth, folding chairs (with cushions), enough crockery and cutlery for a banquet and more than enough food for six courses, paper napkins, a transistor radio, half a dozen illustrated magazines and even soap, a towel, water and a bowl for washing our hands after the meal. I half expected a crimson carpet, possibly footstools for our feet, with red candles as tasteful table decorations. I did discover a tin of fly killer, a bottle of ammonia for the treatment of stings and even some indigestion tablets.

For a whole hour we made our preparations and at last everything that we needed was ready. As we were enjoying our first mouthful of thermos-flask soup, a stout man opened the gate and came towards us.

"Sorry to make a nuisance of myself, but in five minutes we shall have finished milking the cows," he announced. "They'll be coming back here directly after."

Mrs. Brown gazed at him speechless for a moment. At last she found words. "But you can see we've only just started eating," she protested indignantly. "Surely you can delay sending them in for an hour or so?"

"Sorry ma'am, we've other jobs to do. We'll give you time to clear up: that's the most that we can allow. Say twenty minutes. You know you've trespassing, of course?"

Mrs. Brown seemed to collapse in her chair. I wished I were fifty miles off. Mr. Brown was the only one that accepted the situation philosophically.

"It seems to be high time we departed," was his only comment.

Half an hour after we moved off as the cows were wandering down the lane and as the first drops of rain were falling. We joined the traffic jam in the main road. Three hours later we unpacked again and had our picnic in Mrs. Brown's dining room—with a carpet underfoot but still no candles. We were strangely silent but our deep sense of grievance did not in any way prevent us from eating a great deal.

From First Certificate in English Course for Foreign Students,

ed., Ona Low, 1974.