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My elderly cousin came to stay with us just before our youngest daughter's birthday. We were a little apprehensive whether we ought to arrange the usual picnic celebration because my cousin loathes meals in the open air. However she was determined not to spoil our plans and said she did not mind being left at home. On the day itself, seized by some sudden impulse, she elected to come with us, much to our surprise. It was certainly a day to tempt anyone out, even the most inveterate anti-picnicker: a clear blue sky, glorious sunshine and a gentle breeze.
We duly arrived at our favourite picnic site, a field beside a river, and everybody, except my cousin, had a lovely and most refreshing bathe before we settled ourselves for our meal under the willow trees. While we were eating, a herd of cows from the adjoining field began to amble through the open gateway, unnoticed by my cousin. We like cows but guessed that they would be as little to her fancy as picnics and so hoped that they would go quietly back, satisfied that we were harmless. But one by one they gradually advanced nearer and nearer. When my cousin chanced to look up, their eyes confronted hers. With one shriek of horror she leapt into the air and ran, not to the car, where she might have taken refuge, but towards a gap in the hedge, so small that she could not possibly have crawled through it. The cows, full of curiosity, gave chase. We were convulsed with laughter but my husband, managed to pull himself together, rounded up the cows, drove them back through the gateway and shut the gate. We thought that disaster had been averted but our shaken guest, walking unsteadily back to us through a marshy bit of the field that the cows had trampled into mud, lost her balance and fell on her face. A hot cup of coffee did nothing to restore her composure, so we had no alternative but to pack up and go home. Never again, my cousin vowed bitterly, would she be so foolish as to go out on a picnic.
