The Great British Picnic

Finding we had a couple of hours to waste between reviewing an art exhibition in Halesworth and a poetry reading in Aldeburgh, I decided that a picnic would be a) a change and b) more economical than "eating out". So we (husband and I) could be seen yesterday teatime sitting on a bench over looking the seafront and the controversial "Scallop", eating sandwiches, dipping celery into dips and munching on some fruit.

(Some thoughts on Maggi Hamblings sculpture first... I cannot understand why some people hate it so much! It rises out of the shingle and, especially when the beach is deserted, looks as though a giant beachcomber has just dropped it there. It is fabulous and so right as a memorial for Benjamin Britten. We were there from around five o'clock until six thirty and there was only one five minute period when there was no-one either sitting by it, wandering around it, climbing on it or taking photographs).

Anyway ... picnics. As a child we were a big picnic-ing family. The full works... ham salad, rolls, proper puddings, and fresh tea made on a primas stove. With all that of course came plates, cups and saucers, knives and forks. The one thing that always stays in my mind is the Washing Up.

Mum always packed a washing up bowl, Fairy Liquid, teatowels etc and everyone was expected to take part in the ritual of Washing Up (using the hot water boiled on the stove, of course. I have teased her about it so much over the forty plus years since.

Last month, when the subject came up again, she finally admitted why she did it. It was because she knew that, once we got home, Dad would sit in front of the TV and doze, while my sister and I went off to do whatever, and she's be left with the unpacking. At least this way she didn't have dirty plates too!

What a logical way to tackle a problem.. no nagging, no sulks... just put up with the teasing while smiling to yourself that you are the winner all along! Nice one Mum!