We put on our Wellingtons (Anna put on her flip flops) and we tried on our backpacks. We put up our umbrellas and we laced and knotted our lifejackets, adjusted our snorkels and fastened the safety harness. We put on our make up and tied back our hair. Laden, we trampled through the house. Joe wore Army surplus. Anna, a knitted pink t-shirt, black thermal leggings, fag in mouth, in fingers, sunglasses. We tramped around the houses and through the car park. Finally, we climbed a hill. It was humid and cloudy. We walked to the fields. We laid out our spread in the sun and gorged ourselves. What a picnic. We built a fort. There was a plague. There was a storm. We gathered under a blue tarpaulin and giggled and we were safe. We drank Earl Grey tea. It was so blue under our tarpaulin. When the rain stopped, out our heads stuck and the sky was yellow and the grass was yellow and the sky was grey and the grass pink and the clouds pink and the grass blue. I chased a butterfly. Anna wandered around, smoking. We walked home.