Brought to you by brutal reality

Here is something educational. A photograph of Squirrel, lying face down on a computer simulation model, crashing it into a canyon. (I particularly like the way my professional photography skills have captured the comatose Chinese guard, propped up in the corner, balancing industrial metalware on his head.)


Let's call that evidence of learning, provided today at the Hong Kong Science Museum. What about? I don't know. Forces and motion for her; endurance for me, since she has hogged that machine for an hour while I've stood here, holding her backpack, having stupidly promised to watch her.

Now I recommend we leave Squirrel well alone, in case she bites.

I can stand here until eternity gives up, and turn my memory to this instead.

(Please do not make that point about being a tad late. What is grit's day after all, except light years ahead and miles behind?)

Because it is odd, but true, that sometimes this list rolls into my mind, like a marble across an empty floor. I am amused to think of it, as I partake of another lunch-on-the-move, where I grit my teeth, try not to fall over, and throw tasty dried bread at my own face in our wonder-fuelled journey through our rich educational landscape.

So (while Squirrel crashes into the canyon for the 245th time), and I fumble in my handbag for the stale crackers covered in fluff, here are grit's top ten recommended picnic sites!

1. The M1, just past junction 34. At 80mph, where we can all enjoy our favourite jam sandwiches, packet of swiss rolls, and broken cream crackers from Lidl.

2. Any cheap-shit vending machine. With additional complaining about the price of a packet of crisps.

3. Covertly, quietly, under the table, in any upmarket Museum cafe, or indeed any place that charges a tenner for a half-pot of tea and a dog biscuit. They deserve it.

4. Demonstrably, loudly, over the table, anywhere. Okay, when I am surrounded by a bunch of other warrior women doing exactly the same thing, so there is safety in numbers. Anyway, the large numbers of feral home ed kids already intimidated the management.

5. In the street, ripping open the packet of raisin buns outside 7-11, CircleK, Tesco Express, or any corner shop or convenience store. Any street in the world.

6. The National Maritime Museum Cafe, London, England. Bang in front of the cashier, under the menacing sign which strictly prohibits consumption of any food not bought in the restaurant.

Say, Squirrel, you can recommend a Peasants Revolt themed lunch here! You can march over there, sit next to the blackboard promising orange confection at a fiver a slice, then rip the lid off your fairy picnic box, to enjoy your strawberry jam sandwich in plain unambiguous view, while the rest of the family hide round the corner, preparing outraged speeches on special diets and nonsense about teacup allergy and E-numbers.

7. On any public transport, including those that forbid eating and drinking. You would not like to see Tiger in a hunger-driven rage. Even the jobsworthy trying to nick us would pay the fifty quid fine himself rather than have his glasses punched down his throat.

8. Back of the car with the lid up. By the side of the road, layby, grass verge, car park, in a field, who cares, so long as there is a jam sandwich in the picnic basket.

9. Up trees.


10. In any museum, standing up, waiting for Squirrel to crash her forces and motion teaching device, while you are starving, because this morning you forgot to eat breakfast, what with the laundry to drop off and ferry to catch and frankly, if you do not eat this cracker now retrieved from the handbag floor covered in bits, then you might just as well lie down and die.