There is no country on earth that picnics quite like Britain.

We do it in the rain. We do it on a Thursday. We do it on a patch of sparse grass between a bandstand and a litter bin, and we make it feel like the most civilised afternoon imaginable.

But there is a spectrum to the British picnic, a glorious range that runs from the spontaneous (blanket from the boot, emergency cheese from the corner shop) to the genuinely spectacular. And this summer, I want to make sure you experience as much of that spectrum as possible.

Because the summer British picnic season is short, and it is precious, and it deserves to be used.