As a kid, few things rivalled the pure joy of a picnic. They usually involved friends, there was almost always a treat, and eating while rolling around on the grass or between cartwheels was accepted – nay, encouraged – by tired, often slightly tipsy adult applause.

My favourite picnic experience was on my fifth birthday, which involved a picnic in a (no longer active) volcano, an impromptu sit atop a horse (thanks to the kindly horse rider passing by), cake and presents galore. When I grew tired and grouchy, I was sent to the car for a little post-picnic snooze while the adults packed up. Life was good.

But picnics have been on a slow decline ever since. While early-adulthood gatherings had their charm – long boozy lunches and leisurely catch-ups with friends – they inevitably left me feeling sick, sunburnt, or some delightful combination of the two. And having to tidy up the sticky, gooey mess left behind was a wake-up call.

Now, as a parent, picnics have hit rock bottom. Sure, they’re the lesser of two eating-out evils – cafés being a no-go thanks to one child’s dramatic meltdowns and the other’s relentless urge to escape – but that doesn’t make them any less of a chaos-filled ordeal.

Gone are the days of lying down, gazing dreamily at the clouds and indulging in a wee nap whenever the mood strikes. Now, constant vigilance is the name of the game. Whether I’m preventing a toddler from plunging head-first into the lake or thwarting my big kid’s attempt to turn the pristine rose garden into a “fairy village” (read: total floral destruction), it’s about as relaxing as a manual driving test.  

Having to be fully alert means sitting upright for the entire picnic. If you, like me, raw-dog the experience without a fancy little camp chair, then you’ll know the pain of trying to stay erect for hours on end. I’ve never had great posture, but being over the age of 35 means I’m not cut out for this kind of extreme sport, so by the end of the picnic, my whole body is on fire and my posture resembles a prawn’s.

Not only are picnics incredibly uncomfortable but pulling off a decent spread also practically requires a second job. Showing up with a single dip and a few carrot sticks just isn’t up to scratch. A picnic demands at least two dips, a cheese and an array of crackers – and that’s just the warm-up. Then comes the main course, dessert, and the crushing realisation that half of it will end up in the bin anyway after the cheese spends the afternoon melting onto the sweet biscuits.

Of course, nature inevitably becomes part of the equation. I can respect a few tiny ants joining the party; their famous dedication to picnics is honourable, and I won’t get in the way of their incredible strength as they carry a piece of cake 50 times their body weight. But when bull ants and wasps try to join, I think we have to draw the line.

I recently attempted a low-maintenance picnic with my family – no fancy dips, no treats, just some sushi and a picnic rug. What could go wrong? We arrived at the park and while my husband wrangled the baby and pram, my seven-year-old daughter and I set up. I laid out the rug, prepped the sushi and dashed over to help my daughter hold the button down on the bubbler. In the 30 seconds I was gone, a magpie swooped in, took a nibble (a peck?) of each of our sushi rolls, and upon deciding she liked sushi, flew off with an entire roll between her talons. As I chased after her, yelling, “NO, NO, NO!” she tried to land in a tree over the lake and, unable to navigate the heavy sushi while needing to grab the branch with her claws, dropped it straight into the water. I could’ve accepted losing the sushi if the magpie had enjoyed a good lunch, but this was a lose-lose situation. One roll short and with the remaining sushi tainted by magpie germs, the mood was grim (yes, we still ate it. It’s a cost-of-living crisis, damn it!)

Maybe one day, picnics will reclaim their former magic for me. I’ll finally purchase a folding chair, my bank account will be robust enough to fund the affair, and my children will be sullen teenagers who quietly sulk by a tree and listen to angry music, allowing me a blissful nap in the sun without the need for constant vigilance. Until then, I’ll endure the chaos to gift my children the magic of a carefree picnic – posture pain and magpie heists included.

This rant comes straight from frankie issue 124. To nab a copy, swing past the frankie shop or visit one of our lovely stockists. For future issues, subscribe here.