In this country a classic picnic is as much a family tradition as Sunday lunch.
I have such great memories of heading out to the weir opposite the theatre when I was growing up in Stratford-upon-Avon. We’d load a basket up with scotch eggs, pork pies, homemade coleslaw, strawberries, raspberries, perhaps a melon, plus of course a big blanket, bats, balls and suntan cream.
Then we’d sit and watch all the punts and boats going by from morning to tea-time, playing a bit of football or baseball and fighting to get the best place on the rug. Sometimes we’d go foraging for blackberries, to be eaten with the big block of shortbread that my mother always packed at the bottom of the basket.
There is something about eating alfresco that sharpens the tastebuds: everything tastes better, so it’s best to stick to simple flavours. Don’t be over-dependent on dishes that need to be served chilled - a lot of things taste better at an ambient temperature anyway.
Get some hams, summer berries, a baguette, and don’t worry about butter - use a runny brie instead. That’s the great thing about picnics: there’s no etiquette, no standing on ceremony.
You don’t have to worry about everyone having proper knives and plates, just let everyone tuck in. And to drink, I’d take a bottle of wine and plenty of soda for spritzers - you don’t want to be dehydrating yourself in the heat.