The Lap of Luxury

My favourite meal is about a simple as it gets, and hasn't changed much over the past ten years: a few slices of top-quality cheese, a chunk of baguette and a glass of rosé.
Best eaten outside, picnic-style, by the sea if at all possible.
And - though I don't often mention this bit, lest I seem strange - this exquisite meal is actually enhanced if the meteorological conditions are less than perfect.
There's just something about picnic-ing in the wind, wrapped up in a big jumper, trying to keep strands of hair from blowing into your plastic wine glass that sends little ripples of contentment through me.
I suppose this must be a throwback from my British childhood: a latent stoicism that rejoices in "making the best" of trying circumstances...

Or nostalgia for that "voyage of discovery" through Italy with Ingrid and Anita... travelling on a tight budget that didn't include a real bar or even proper wine glasses (but, isn't it funny, the things you remember? Even now, I can feel the anticipation as Anita hacked away at the cork with her penknife, willing the bottle to open... I can recall the mouth-watering taste of cheap wine drunk from an improvised plastic cup...).

In any case, whatever the complex mix of memories and nostalgia underlying my penchant for simple, blustery picnics, it seems to me that what I really enjoy most is "non perfection".
I would truly, honestly, sincerely choose a seaside picnic in the wind over a 5-star restaurant any day (not that I often have the option... or indeed ever, but you reap what you sow, n'est-ce pas?).

Unfortunately, BB does not have this nostalgic baggage to help him appreciate the joys of outdoor eating.
So yesterday at the beach, Mr Spotty sat alone in the car while the rest of us picnicked with friends.
This is not as heartless as it sounds: he had an ample stock of books and CDs, and seemed to quite enjoy being temporarily in charge of Megane. And, you know, we checked in on him from time to time.

And whatever his current aversion to the wind and cold, who knows? Time being time and memory being selective, one day these blustery weekends by the sea might just be the stuff of happy memories.

Photo taken last October. Different season... same face.