Strolling briskly along at Bradgate Park this week, I managed to miss my footing at the edge of the very broad tarmacadam path which gave way to uneven grass and stones. I pitched forward at high speed, propelled by the weight of a haversack containing a whole cooked chicken, a carton of orange juice, a tub of coleslaw, half a pound of butter, two frozen ice packs, a jar of caramelized onion relish, knives, forks, spoons, plates, a large flask of boiling water, a packet of chocolate brownies, some shortbread biscuits, four bananas, two jars of coffee and two French sticks. As I skidded along the ground in an ungainly manner, I quite enjoyed the gasps from the crowd of people I had tried to pass as I rushed to take the food to the picnic spot. A very kind couple helped me to my feet and sympathised with me as I limped to join my family, relieved that the only thing I had broken was a french stick.
