Never seeming to have a spare moment to focus on anything, or having ten letters in various stages of completion over the last 18 months but nothing to show for it... that doesn't make sense.
Whisky. That makes sense. I like whisky.
Not to be all chauvinistic (never sure whether that's an actual word or a degree of constipation) but a picnic is something to be grouped with root canal treatment, Beverly Hills 90210, being eaten by a shark, and typhoid.
I think I’d prefer being eaten by a shark (and I DO apologise to anyone ever being eaten by a shark, but there is a strong possibility that I might choose that been given the choice). It’s not that I’m not romantic. I think it’s got more to do with the fact that I am more practical (to the 'n'th degree) than romantic............ OK, I’m not romantic.
I have a home. With a kitchen. And kitchen counters.
Look, I’m as ready for a picnic as the next guy. It’s fun. It’s quirky. It’s romantic. But where's the sense in lugging it outside?
Once convinced, my very practical mind quickly did the calculus: I’m gonna have to neatly pack up half my fridge – from where it is, securely installed in its custom made cupboard – into 40 little Tupperware… tuppers (?), and drag it off to a place nestled in a "meadow", somewhere. Far far away. With ants.
And I say calculus, because just like calculus, this doesn’t make any sense.
And just as I think we're ready to go, I have to remember the blanket. Maybe a pillow or two. What about that fancy picnic basket we bought... for one day... should we ever feel the need to have a picnic... the one I said was a waste of money... but ended up buying anyway because if I didn’t you were going to cry, because you were pregnant... The one with half a battalion’s crockery and cutlery in it? Yip, the one with the romantic red and white pseudo-Italian peasant motive…
No, no, don't get ahead of yourself - I DID remember the red wine... in case of rain... remember? I packed it because judogirl said "pack it!"
The lightning strikes so close that I cream the cheese and curdle my custard! The strawberry water goes flat!
My arms and legs are going in all directions at once. I'm packing it in - everything! Apart from the watermelon, of course - that's heading for the hills on its thousand little legs!
I'm out of here - back to my couch! There it's safe and things make sense...