[Chris O'Carroll]

No 4242
Set by Leonora Casement
We asked you to send in verses all about the horrors of picnics.

This week’s winners
A goodly effort by a surprising number of compers, who have all clearly been destroyed by the delights of a picnic en plein air. Each of the winners gets £25, with the Tesco vouchers going to George Simmers. Hon menshes go to: Jacqui Weatherburn, John Boaler, Lance Levens and Basil Ransome-Davies.

Just not cricket
(With apologies to Henry Reed)
Today we will go on our picnic. Yesterday,
We searched for the beach umbrella. And this morning,
We shall find the folding chairs and make sandwiches. And today,
Today we shall drive to the beach in the rain. At Lord’s,
CMJ reports bright sunshine for the last day of the Test.
But today we head for the beach.

The car park is half a mile from the sea. And
Everything must be carried. This is quite easy,
If you have any strength in your arms. Next you may erect the windbreak,
Which in our case we have not got. Airborne sand
Suffuses everything. At Lord’s, excitement rises in the sunshine,
Which in our case we have not got.

The children have found tar. And Susan
Has trodden on a bee. This requires the “sting-relief” cream,
Which we have not got. Together with the corkscrew and bottle-opener,
This is easy to do. The last match fails to light
The barbecue. At Lord’s, they are quoting “Vitaï Lampada”,
Then reception is lost and all I hear is static.

***

The lost car keys are discovered, eventually. Sand
Grates persistently between the teeth, on the long drive home.
Gordon Watson

Piece of mind
I invited her out for a picnic lunch:
I wanted to pick her brain.
It was mighty delicious
But I’m slightly suspicious –
Oh, it’s only a hunch
But when it came to the crunch
She might not be coming again.
But I’ll never forget that summer’s day
And the taste of Felicity-Jane.
If you’ve chewed hippocampus
Washed down with some champers;
Frontal lobe, basal ganglia
With tapas and sangria;
After upping the ante
With glia and Chianti,
Would you settle for sarnies
And Pringles again?
David Silverman

Model behaviour
Monsieur Manet, I must decline
Your kind suggestion I should dine
Al fresco upon bread and fruit
While wearing just my birthday suit.
You want me there au naturel
While blokes wear suits?
If they as well
Were stripped down to the pimply buff
I might well think it fair enough,
But nasty little wasps and ants
Would spot the one not wearing pants
And zero in on poor yours truly.
No thanks. Please don’t think I’m unduly
Philistine or being moral.
I’m fond of art and have no quarrel
With painters of the female form,
But can’t they do it in the warm?
Your plein air work’s just too damn chilly.
You’ll have to find some other filly.
George Simmers

Life’s a beach
Sand in your teeth, sand in your eyes,
Sand in your socks, sand up your arse.
Dog runs amok, gets stung by flies,
Yelps and shits, gets lost in the grass.
Kids scream and fight, kids sink their boat,
Kids stung by squids, kids want to leave.
Beer’s been drunk, you’re parched in the throat,
Boozy neighbours laugh up their sleeve.
Sandwiches crushed, cakes are all mashed,
Apples are bruised, crisps are soggy.
Towels are damp, towels are trashed,
Nowhere to kip when feeling groggy.
Football again, football for tea,
Castles in tide, castles implode.
Ice creams in car, spades bang your knee,
Ice cream down neck, spades in the road.
Buckets of weed, buckets of stones,
Buckets of mud, buckets of pee.
Buckets of shells, buckets of bones,
Buckets of tears, no bucket for me.
Josh Ekroy

George Simmers takes the Tesco vouchers this week with his "Le déjeuner sur l'herbe" poem. Hon menshes for Lance Levens and Basil Ransome-Davies.