After having been here for one week, I feel reasonably qualified to make two generalizations about England. In the spirit of Dr. Seuss, (a former Oxford student...), Thing 1: There is no one on this island named Joe Smith. Everyone here is called something like Charlie Templeton Hawardan Walker III. No joke. Tiny children are running around with these behemoth names trailing along behind them like kite tails. Thing 2: England loves a picnic, and they consider virtually anywhere to be the perfect spot to make one. Beneath a tree, along the riverbank, in the botanic garden, obviously. I looked down from my bedroom window today just in time to see a group picnicking on top of the double decker bus passing by below. The english could fit a blanket, a couple of wine glasses, some apples and a wedge of sharp cheddar onto the head of a pin if they needed to.
Today I put on my best dress and went to the Henley Royal Regatta in Henley-on-Thames, just a half hour downriver from me in Oxfordshire. While officially a boat race, I quickly learned that the main event was picnicking. Gentlemen dressed in blazers, shirts and striped ties and women in pale pastels and florals and bonnets brought their picnic baskets, complete with china and embroidered napkins, and dined along the river. A jazz combo played, and I didn't see a single grilled meat- not a burger, hot dog, steak, or turkey leg all day. On the menu? Baguettes with brie and goat cheese and dried cranberries, cucumber finger sandwiches, baby quiche, fresh fruit, and of course champagne or maybe some Pimm's. England, I think we might be soulmates.
Picnics Pimm's and hemlines: Henley Royal Regatta basks in the sun- Telegraph
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