How to Plan a Picnic You'll Actually Remember

Most picnic advice will tell you to pack a cooler and choose somewhere with parking. That's not wrong. It's just not the point.

Here is the thing about the picnics you remember.

They're never the ones where everything went to plan. They're the ones where someone said something worth keeping. Where the children did something you're still telling people about three years later. Where the light went golden at exactly the right moment and nobody could quite bring themselves to leave, so you stayed until the sky told you it was time.

Most picnic planning advice will not help you have that picnic. It will help you remember the cool bag. It will remind you to check the forecast and bring napkins and locate the nearest parking. All useful. None of it the point.

I've been picnicking across Somerset my whole life — through four children, a completely unreasonable number of blankets, and more cold flasks of tea than I care to count. What I've learned is this: the memorable picnic isn't the perfect one. It's the one you actually went on. And there are a handful of things — none of them complicated — that reliably turn an ordinary afternoon outside into one of those days.

Let me show you what they are.

1. Start with the why, not the what

(The most important thing you pack isn't in your basket)

Before you think about what to bring or where to go, it's worth pausing for a moment on why you're doing this at all. Not in a grand, life-examined way. Just a small, honest question: what do you actually want from this afternoon?

Because the answer changes everything. A picnic with a friend you haven't seen properly in months is a different animal to a family Sunday with tired children and no agenda. A solo picnic with a book and a flask is different again. Each one is worth doing. Each one needs planning slightly differently.

“The best gatherings have a clear purpose. Not a theme, not a plan — a purpose. Ask yourself: what do I want everyone to feel when they leave?”

Priya Parker — whose book The Art of Gathering is the definitive guide to why bringing people together matters — makes the point that most gatherings fail not because of bad food or bad weather, but because nobody was clear on what they were actually for. Even a picnic. Even a simple Tuesday afternoon on a blanket in the garden.

The picnics I remember most clearly had a shape to them, even if I couldn't have named it at the time. A reunion picnic. A first-day-of-the-holidays picnic. A we-need-to-get-outside-before-someone-says-something-they'll-regret picnic. The purpose doesn't need to be grand. It just needs to be real.

The science: Harvard researcher Matt Killingsworth found we are least happy when our minds are wandering — and most joyful when we're fully present, even during ordinary activities. A picnic with intention — with a reason to be there — gives everyone present something to anchor to.

So before you open the cool bag, ask yourself the small question. Who is this for? What do you want it to feel like? That answer is the most important thing you'll pack.

2. Invite fewer people than you think

(Counterintuitive. Completely true.)

There is a version of the picnic that tries to be everything to everyone — the big group, the family with all the cousins, the neighbourhood gathering on the village green. Those picnics are wonderful and they absolutely have their place.

But the picnics that become the ones you remember? More often than not, they're small. Three or four people, or two, or sometimes just you.

There's a reason for this. The smaller the group, the easier it is for everyone to actually be present — to have the conversation rather than circling it, to notice the light rather than managing the logistics. The best picnics I've ever had have felt almost private, even when they've been in a public place. A small circle of people, a blanket, a reason to be there together. That's it.

“Intimacy isn't about how many people are there. It's about how present everyone is.”

This doesn't mean you should never do the big picnic. It means: when you're planning the one that matters, resist the instinct to keep adding to the list. Some of the most meaningful afternoons I've spent outside have been with one other person and a flask of something warm.

The Duchess rule: If the guest list is longer than seven, it becomes a party. Parties are wonderful. But they need a different plan.

3. The spot — and the philosophy of finding one

(The best one is never the obvious one)

Most picnic advice tells you to choose somewhere with good views, easy parking, and facilities nearby. This is fine advice. It will also lead you directly to every other person who read the same article.

The best spots are almost always the ones that require a small act of commitment to reach. Not a mountain — just a ten-minute walk further than you planned, or a lane you've never turned down, or the same familiar park but arriving two hours later than usual, when the families have gone home and the light has gone golden and low.

Here's what I've learned about finding a good spot after a lifetime of looking:

Arrive late afternoon. This is the single most reliable upgrade available to any picnic. The crowds thin. The light changes everything. The car parks empty. Suddenly you're somewhere that feels almost private, even if you've been there a hundred times before.

Go ten minutes further. The viewpoint at the top of the car park is always full. The field ten minutes down the lane is almost never occupied. The effort is minimal. The reward is disproportionate.

Follow the locals. The best spots in any county are the ones that don't have a sign pointing to them. Ask someone who lives there. Look for the unmarked lay-by with a well-worn footpath leading away from it. Those paths go somewhere worth finding.

“The perfect spot isn't on a map. It's the one you discover by going a little further than you planned.”

For anyone looking for somewhere specific in Somerset — across every season, in every mood — I've put together a full seasonal guide that covers my favourite spots from January to December. Everything from Glastonbury Tor in winter mist to Stourhead at golden hour in July.

→ The Best Picnic Spots in Somerset: A Complete Seasonal Guide  (/best-picnic-spots-in-somerset)

4. The weather — a love letter to British acceptance

(The forecast is a suggestion, not a commitment)

I want to talk about the weather, because everyone else's picnic advice gets this completely wrong.

The standard advice is: check the forecast. Have a backup plan. Reschedule if it looks uncertain. This is the advice of someone who has never lived in Somerset, never picnicked in Britain, and does not understand what they're asking you to give up.

If you wait for a guaranteed British summer day, you will picnic approximately twice before September and spend the rest of the year rescheduling. The weather is not your enemy. It is part of the story.

The best picnics I've ever had have started under a cloud. One particular October afternoon at Ham Hill — we'd planned a walk, the sky was the colour of an old pewter mug, the wind had opinions. We pulled out the flask and the scones anyway. By the time we'd eaten, the sky had turned the most extraordinary pink and orange, the kind that makes you stop talking mid-sentence. The boys were asleep in the car before we reached the main road. We still talk about it.

“The British weather is not a problem to solve. It's part of what makes being outside here feel like an achievement. Pack a layer, pack a groundsheet, pack the ability to find a cloud formation funny.”

There is, of course, a practical version of this. If the forecast is thunderstorms, stay home. If it's merely overcast, uncertain, or optimistically described as 'sunny intervals,' go. The intervals will come. And if they don't — you've still been outside, which is almost always better than not.

The one thing that changes everything: A good groundsheet under your blanket. Not glamorous. Completely essential. Cold, damp ground seeps through even the best blanket within twenty minutes. A waterproof layer underneath means you can stay as long as you like, in almost any conditions.

5. What to actually pack

(The edit, not the list)

Most picnic packing lists are the problem, not the solution. They tell you to bring everything, which means you bring too much, which means the basket weighs twelve kilograms and someone has a bad back before you've left the car park.

Here is a different approach. Instead of a list, think in three categories.

The thing most people forget: A corkscrew. A proper knife. A small cutting board. These are the items that always seem obvious until you're sitting on a blanket in a beautiful field holding an unopened bottle and staring at each other.

Also: wet wipes. Always wet wipes. This is non-negotiable and I say this as someone who has learned it the hard way more times than I'd like to admit.

The thing that turns a picnic into an occasion: This is the category nobody talks about and it's the most important one. The good glasses, not the plastic ones — because drinking something nice from a proper glass in a field is a specific pleasure that cannot be replicated any other way. A small jar of flowers from the garden. A playlist made in advance, something warm and unhurried that nobody has to argue about. A candle if you're going into the evening.

None of these things are expensive. All of them signal that this afternoon matters. That signal changes how everyone shows up to it.

The thing you always over-pack: Food. Specifically: too much of it. The best picnics are lighter than you think. One thing done really well — a proper cheese, good bread, something seasonal — will always beat a spread of mediocre things that nobody quite finishes.

“You don't need a charcuterie board. You need one thing done really well and the time to eat it slowly.”

The Duchess edit for a picnic that works in any season: Something to share - a whole cheese, a loaf of good bread, something from a local farm shop that you'd feel pleased to put on the blanket. Something sweet - one excellent thing, not six mediocre ones. A brownie from a proper bakery. A jar of something homemade. And something cold to drink — always better than you think it needs to be, because the right drink in the right setting is one of life's reliable small joys.

Somerset note: Godminster cheddar. Always Godminster cheddar. A wedge of it on a blanket in a Somerset field is close to perfect.

6. The food — simple, seasonal, worth eating

(The picnic that tastes of somewhere)

The best picnic food has a sense of place. Not in a precious way — not deconstructed anything or artisanal everything — just food that tastes of the season you're in and the county you're sitting in.

This is one of the things I love most about picnicking in Somerset. The county is extraordinarily good at producing exactly the kind of food that belongs on a blanket outdoors. Local apple juice. Proper farmhouse cheddar. Bread from a bakery that's been there since your grandmother was young. Strawberries in June that taste like strawberries actually should.

The rule I come back to every time: buy less, buy better, buy local. One excellent thing from a farm shop will do more for the experience than a boot full of supermarket options. It also means you're supporting the kind of food culture that makes Somerset worth picnicking in.

A few things that reliably work, in any season:

A whole loaf of good sourdough and a knife to tear it with. A wedge of something excellent from a local cheese maker. Seasonal fruit — strawberries in summer, apples in autumn, the first forced rhubarb in early spring. A jar of good chutney. Something homemade, even if it's just a handful of biscuits you made the night before — it changes the feeling of the whole thing.

And always, always something warm in a flask. Even in July. The moment the sun goes behind a cloud you'll be grateful for it.

→ Simple picnic recipes from the Duchess kitchen  (/recipes)

7. The moment you can't plan for — and how to plan for it anyway

(This is what all of it is actually for)

Here's the thing about memorable picnics that nobody tells you.

The moment that makes it — the thing you'll still be talking about in five years — is never the food, never the location, never whether the weather behaved. It's something that happened that you couldn't have scripted. Someone said something that made everyone laugh until they cried. A child did something unexpectedly kind. A stranger walked past and said something perfect. The light did something extraordinary at exactly the moment everyone went quiet.

You cannot plan that moment. What you can do is plan the conditions for it to happen.

Which means: phones away, or at least face-down. Enough time so nobody feels rushed. A small enough group that everyone is actually present. Food good enough that eating it is a pleasure rather than a task. A spot beautiful enough that people look up from it.

The science: Daniel Gilbert's research (Stumbling on Happiness) found that we dramatically overestimate how much the external conditions — weather, location, perfection — affect our happiness. We dramatically underestimate the impact of presence: being genuinely here, with the people we're with, paying attention. The conditions matter less than you think. The presence matters more than you know.

The picnics you remember are the ones where everyone was actually there. Not scrolling, not managing the to-do list in the back of their mind, not half-thinking about getting home. Just: there. On a blanket, in the afternoon, with good people and something worth eating.

That's the whole thing. That's what the planning is for.

“The perfect picnic doesn't exist. The memorable one does. And it's the one you actually went on.”

The Duchess Quick Guide — before you leave the house

(Everything that actually matters, on one page)

Know your why. Who is this for and what do you want everyone to feel when they leave?

Go smaller than you think. The best picnics are intimate. Seven people maximum before it becomes a party.

Arrive late afternoon. The light is better, the crowds are thinner, the whole thing feels more yours.

Go ten minutes further. The obvious spot is full. The field down the lane is waiting for you.

Check the forecast — then go anyway unless it says thunderstorms. The British weather is part of the story, not a reason to stay home.

Pack a groundsheet under the blanket. This is the upgrade nobody tells you about and everyone needs.

Bring one thing done really well. Local cheese, good bread, seasonal fruit. Edit ruthlessly.

Bring the good glasses. Not the plastic ones. This matters more than you think.

Put your phone face-down. That's the whole secret, really. The memorable moment is waiting on the other side of the screen.

“You don't need the perfect weather, the perfect basket, or the perfect occasion. You just need the blanket and the decision to go.”

Go. Today if you can.

I've been asked a lot, since becoming The Duchess of Picnics, what the secret is. What makes a picnic truly worth having. Whether there's a formula.

The honest answer is: yes. But it's simpler than any list of tips. The secret is going. The picnic you keep planning for a better weather window, a less busy weekend, a time when the children are older and easier, the house is tidier, life has calmed down a little — that's the picnic you never have.

The one you have today, or this weekend, or next Tuesday after school on the way home with a bag of crisps and a flask of tea and nowhere particular to sit — that one is real. That one is the one you'll remember.

Somerset is waiting. The blanket is in the cupboard. The flask needs two minutes.

Go.

Love Gemma x

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