Actually, while I'm on the subject of picnics, let's quote Elizabeth David:
"Picnic addicts seem to be roughly divided between those who frankly make elaborate preparations and leave nothing to chance, and those others whose organisation is no less complicated but who are more deceitful and pretend that everything will be obtained on the spot and cooked over a woodcutter's fire, conveniently to hand; and there are even those, according to Richard Jefferies, who wisely take the precaution of visiting the site of their intended picnic some days beforehand and there burying the champagne."
It might be time to read Of Pageants and Picnics again - today's was good (chicken, potatoes and salad, followed by chewy banana flapjacks), but there was definitely no buried champagne. Maybe next week.
I do tend towards the leaving-nothing-to-chance school of thought (don't ever go camping with me - it needs a pantechnicon to shift the equipment). I can't bear the idea of being in the middle of nowhere with nothing to eat. Partly that's a consequence of carting around a toddler and usually requiring a bagful of pacifying snacks, but there must be an inbuilt fear of famine somewhere. Blame the Eastern European genes.