The Great British Picnic - May 2nd

Due to work constraints, final preparations and lugging a big, heavy hamper up to and across London, Altaa and I, eventually pitched up in Hyde Park at the Diana Memorial just after 4 pm. As the noshing was scheduled to start at 12 noon, this seemed unconscionably late, but in the last few years I have forgotten the benefits of being fashionably delayed in arrival. The great organiser, Simon Savory, with Gemma Winter, only settled down at 2 pm with many of those I knew such as Ronnie and Henrietta getting there not much before us. I had decided it was best to go as the upper-crust rather than the salt of the earth, but it takes so much effort to look sophisticated. Casual cream jacket and slacks are fine, but my work shoes started to pinch after so mnay hours of continuous use and tramping around. Moreover, I took Simon's instrcution to bring a hamper at his word, borrowing a Christmas present my parents had. This was finely interwoven wood, whcih opened up to display flute glasses on the underside of the lid and space not only to place robust goodies, but also a cool bag where sherry and lemonade glass bottles could be laid without clinking ominously together. Furthermore, there was a drawer underneath storing plates and metal cutlery, the latter of which resided in a cloth bag. But fully laden it's something better transported by car than by foot (though in London where would one park?). The closest anyone at the picnic bash came to it, though, was a wicker basket overlaid with a blanket, so the kudos went to us.
I also rather zealously followed Simon's prescriptions for the food and drink suited to toffs. He provided a list of what we could bring; I tried to bring as much as possible off that list. This entailed: sherry, (pink) lemonade, satsumas, cherry tomatoes, Mr Kipling Battenburg cakes, (Lyons French) sponge cake, salmon sandwiches, macaroons; though I did skip on the Pimms, cucumber sandwiches and foies gras (among several items), but off my own bat, I brought strawberries in tupperware (but no cream - it's not Wimbledon yet!).
The Pincess of Wales Memorial wasn't as bad as the all the naysayers at its opening had suggested, but it was as aesthetically unchallenging as the People's Princess had been intellectually unchallenging, which isn't necessarily a negative - simple pleasures can be the most effective. However, the satisfaction derived more from the flowing water (nature's bounty, if artificially motivated) rather than the uninspired concrete canal created from the architect's mind. A functional grey concourse may be appropriate for cutting through Panama, but doesn't qualify so much as a beauty spot in a London park. Saying that, concrete is apposite to describe the person this site is remembering - to borrow a phrase from Suralan (Sugar) - thoroughly mixed but set in its ways.
It was pleasant to see Kersten, Natalia, Danni and, for the first time since uni, Naz Erten, along with Simon et al. Mr Goff, unsuprisingly, failed to make an appearance, Miriam and Mel too, but less expectedly. On both sides, sartorial efforts were impressive, though when a park attendant came around with bin bags, the chavs most ungraciously declined to place themselves inside. Picture fun and games occupied our attention amidst the general chat, including speaking silly accents while each reading a sentence from a Sherlock Holmes mystery, but the food fight was the best part as class war erupted, with Battenburg particularly an effective missile. With my cherry tomatoes, I had a ready source of ammo.
Around eight, as the sun drew in, a consensus emerged that the gatheirng needed a change of direction - some headed to clubs or betting shops. Altaa and I chose home, with a much more easier to carry hamper.