Covid picnic season is well and truly upon us.
For those of us who’ve already secured two jabs, the late-arvo pastime offers the only wiggle room in Gladys’ unfolding roadmap out of lockdown. What was once a recreational activity reserved only for soccer mums and their five o’clock somewhere spiel has since become an absolute social necessity.
But if you’re like me and you’ve all-but forgotten how to socialise (at least the weather’s been nice!), then an alfresco party might seem daunting. What exactly does a picnic entail? Do I need to bring a checkered rug? And how the fuck am I meant to day-drink alongside middle-aged men in bike shorts?
View this post on Instagram
Check out some tips below for you and your double-vaxxed friends to throw the ultimate Covid picnic party:
Check your booze tolerance.
My first Covid picnic started with an empty stomach and ended with a bedside bucket (and then an even emptier stomach). If you haven’t been drinking during lockdown, then it’d be wise to pregame with an entire loaf of bread or, perhaps less realistically, try and take it easy on the piss.
Better yet, do what I did and pace yourself with picnic treats like a dairy farm’s worth of cheese. Even if your farts end up smelling like a hellish mix of brie and Fireball, you’ve at least avoided all the morning-after hang-xiety (did I make out with a tree?).
No cliffs.
See tip one. In theory, securing a headland spot with coastal views sounds like a good idea- the vistas! The ocean breeze! The immaculate vibes! But in reality, dangling on a cliff’s edge while three-drinks deep is the sort of thing that’d bring Healthy Harold out of retirement. Take it from one of my friends, who after taking in the view (among other things), got all-too-close to kissing a rockbed. His windblown hat was never seen again.
Location, location, location.
With cliffs a no-go-zone, it’s time to move inland. Whether it’s a park, beach or any other area within your 5km radius, try to plant your rug someplace close to a public restroom (again, see tip one). Unless you find a bush big enough to pop a squat, or a friend brave enough to shield you from inevitable side-eyes, it’s handy to have a toilet nearby for that bellyful of booze and bread. Hot tip, brush up on your bow and arrow skills- it’s magpie season after all.
Define what ‘recreation’ means to you.
On top of the five kilometre limit, the Covid picnic must also follow the government rule of being ‘recreational’. For some, the term ‘recreational’ involves activities that directly oppose public health orders (medicinal as though they may be), so it’s best to define exactly what recreation means to you. Is your picnic going to be a soft reentry into society, with picturesque moments and a few social drinks? Or is it a bulldozing, kamikaze arrival back on the beers? Choose your fighters and plan accordingly.
Interacting with other people.
Pre-picnic, the slight eyebrow raise to the postman who’s delivering your sixth consecutive pandemic purchase is probably the only form of social interaction you’ve had, so it’s best to come prepared. Google ‘hobbies’ beforehand so that when someone asks what you’ve been up to, you have something to say other than the more accurate ‘masturbation.’ Pottery is a good choice that won’t produce any follow-up questions, because no one gives a shit about pottery. If all else fails, try the Covid exit strategy and start violently coughing and sneezing on people. Works a treat.
