V for Victoria sponge

A victorious time was had at our summer picnic party on 5th July, this time celebrating the recent 80th anniversary of VE Day. Like last year, it was an outdoor picnic event, which added a few challenges when it came to the games. The first event was an attempt to recreate the famous Dambuster raids when Lancaster bombers dropped innovative bouncing bombs that skimmed along the surface of reservoirs to attack the dams that held them in. Our version had the player launch a small rubber ball, which had to bounce at least once off the reservoir (played here by a piece of blue felt) before striking a stunningly realistic model of the Ruhr damn fashioned from colourful wooden toy blocks. One strategy might be to lob the ball, aiming to hit the felt a couple of inches before the damn so that the rebound hit the blocks; another approach was to come in low, so the rebound was low, or even to aim for multiple bounces so the ball’s trajectory was low by the time it reached the dam. It was harder than it looked, and setting up the blocks each time was made harder too by both the wind, which was unexpectedly strong, and the fact that the ground was not terribly level for standing blocks on one another three stories high. Congratulations to Valeria, who was champion Dambuster.

Our second game looked to the darker side of liberation from the Nazi menace: our long-suffering Action Man had been denounced as a collaborator. Shaving his head was not an option, as Action Man has famously short fuzzy hair anyway, so he was blindfolded and shot at dawn (well, around 3.30pm). Regulars at our parties will know that our games regularly involve shooting something with the ancestral nerf gun and James Rigby’s son Edward had brought along a fancy gun with a revolver-style chamber that flips out. Nevertheless, despite having a longer barrel than the club’s gun, it was still wildly inaccurate—from my position behind the target I could see how the darts veered off in unpredictable directions. Nevertheless both Robert Beckwith and Giles Culpepper did their duty. To find an outright winner we had a shoot-off between the two of them, which was won by “Dead-Eye” Beckwith, though Giles was unlucky enough to hit Action Man twice without knocking him over.

Our final game was something Scarheart called “The Race for Production”. Players were issued with packets containing a simple model fighter plane kit made from expanded polystyrene with a clip-on propeller. They were called up in groups of four or five and had to place the packet on a convenient grassy ridge then retreat about 30 feet way. When Scarheart gave the order to scramble they had to run up to the ridge, find their plane, open the packet, assemble the plane then launch it. The children were perfectly able to follow these instructions, but every adult arrived at the ridge having already assembled their planes. In any case, the emphasis on speed was somewhat of a distraction, as the winner of each heat was decided solely on how far their plane flew (which was just as well, as younger combatants, such as Edward, were able to assemble and launch their planes before older players had even puffed their way up the ridge). Like the nerf rounds, the planes were highly unpredictable in their flight plans, but there was an element of skill in how they were assembled.

Another unpredictable element was whether people would find us. We do have a traditional spot near the Serpentine Bar and Grill, but as the day approached we learned first that the London Pride march would be taking place that same afternoon, starting from Hyde Park Corner, and then that there would be a Sabrina Carpenter concert in a venue erected on the Parade Ground, which is adjacent to our normal pitch. So to avoid trouble we formally relocated to a site between the Italian Garden and the Italian Garden Café—which is technically in Kensington Gardens, though on the ground there is no obvious division between this and the park. Sadly I know of at least two people—Curé Michael Silver and Sophia Hoedl—who made it to the Park but were unable to find us. I think we may make this spot our regular haunt, as it is right next to a tube station and right next to the café and toilets, as well as far away from the BST concerts, so we’ll have to come up with a way to make it clearer where we are.

Yet another unpredictable element, of course, is the British weather: in the days before the event, panicked punters were wanting to know the wet weather plans were, as the forecast was showing a 20% chance, then a 30% chance of rain. This is no trivial matter, as at least once we have had to postpone one of our picnics because of rain. In the end the Committee decided that if Britain could defeat Hitler then it could defeat a bit of drizzle, and in fact the weather was fine. It was spitting a little in the morning but during the event it was a pleasant 21 or so degrees—I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be out there in the 32 degree temperatures we’ve been having of late.

The final thrill of the afternoon was our famous Grand Raffle. In addition to various books, CDs and DVDs, prizes included a tin of spam, a photograph of Winston Churchill, a cuddly spitfire toy, a stick of chewing gum from the Yanks and an orange.

Aside from that food and drink were taken, as everyone had brought along picnic fare. The pigeons and squirrels did well out of it too, as they are clearly used to scavenging from human picnickers. In fact while we were over enjoying the Race for Productions, these animals fell upon exposed picnic food, most of which then had to be discarded (which in practice meant devoured by the furred and feathered hordes that surged, piranha-like, around food item tossed to them). I even caught one squirrel going through Mrs H’s handbag (see photo).

Many thanks to all who came. You can find a host of photos from the event on Flickr at https://www.flickr.com/photos/sheridanclub/albums/72177720327422254.