Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced Bouquet, of course) had always dreamed of hosting the perfect outdoor dining experience. Not just any picnic, mind you—a classy, high-society, exquisite affair that would showcase her impeccable taste.

And what better occasion than a lovely countryside picnic for her dear Daddy?

With military precision, she planned every detail. The finest china (wrapped carefully in linen napkins), a handwoven wicker basket filled with gourmet delights, and a folding table covered in lace—because only commoners sat on the ground. She even instructed Richard to wear his best summer blazer, despite his protests about the impracticality of “formal picnic wear.”

“This,” she declared, “will be the picnic of the season!”

The location was carefully chosen: a picturesque riverside meadow, where the sun shimmered delicately on the water, and the birds sang melodiously. Hyacinth had spent all morning supervising Richard as he unloaded the picnic set, positioning everything just so. She adjusted the floral centerpiece three times before declaring it just right.

Daddy, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen. A minor setback, surely. He had a habit of wandering off, but Hyacinth was convinced he would miraculously appear just in time for her carefully orchestrated feast.

Richard, already exhausted from the effort, sighed. “Are you sure Daddy knows we’re having a picnic?”

“Of course, Richard! I left specific instructions with Daisy and Onslow.”

This, as anyone who knew Daisy and Onslow could predict, was mistake number one.

Just as Hyacinth was about to pour a glass of chilled elderflower cordial, a familiar sound rumbled through the countryside—the unmistakable clatter of Onslow’s beat-up car.

“Oh no,” Hyacinth whispered in horror.

Sure enough, Onslow and Daisy had arrived, dragging along Rose, who was dramatically sighing about her latest heartbreak. Not only that, but Onslow had brought a portable barbecue, a six-pack of beer, and a radio blasting rock music.

“Thought we’d make a day of it, Hyacinth,” Onslow said, plopping onto the grass with his beer.

Hyacinth turned bright red. “This is supposed to be an elegant picnic! Not a… a… a barbecue rave!”

“Oh, lighten up, Hyacinth,” Rose cooed, plopping down on one of Hyacinth’s lace tablecloths. “Isn’t this romantic? A lovely picnic, out in nature, surrounded by the sound of…” She gestured toward Onslow’s radio, which was now blasting heavy metal.

Hyacinth clenched her jaw. Mistake number two.

Determined to salvage what was left of the occasion, Hyacinth attempted to focus. “Where,” she asked through gritted teeth, “is Daddy?”

“Oh, he was with us earlier,” Daisy said. “Something about learning to drive a tractor.”

Hyacinth froze. “What… did… you… say?”

Before Daisy could explain, a loud mechanical roar filled the air. From over the hill came Daddy, gripping the wheel of an enormous tractor, careening down the slope at an alarming speed.

Behind him, a panicked farmer was waving his arms.

“Daddy!” Hyacinth shrieked.

The tractor barreled toward the picnic setup, plowing right into Hyacinth’s immaculately arranged table. Fine china shattered, sandwiches flew, and a bowl of trifle catapulted directly onto Richard’s head.

The table—her beautiful lace-covered table—collapsed in slow motion.

The scene was utter chaos. Onslow was still lounging as if nothing had happened. Daisy was giggling. Rose was fanning herself dramatically. And Daddy? He was grinning like a child, thrilled at his new tractor-driving skills.

Hyacinth trembled with rage. “Richard, do something!”

Richard, still dripping with trifle, wiped his face with a defeated sigh. “Would you like a sandwich, dear?”

The farmer finally caught up, breathless. “Your father just took off with my tractor!”

Hyacinth, in that moment, saw her dreams of the perfect picnic turn to dust. But before she could launch into a lecture about countryside manners, a sudden downpour of rain drenched everything—sealing her humiliation.

Onslow took another swig of beer and nodded approvingly. “Can’t beat a good British picnic.”

Hyacinth, still speechless, sat down on a soggy chair. Richard patted her shoulder. “I think the important thing is, at least we were all together.”

Hyacinth, for once, said nothing.