because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

The Repurposing Picnic


So what if I have several guy friends who are single, and looking, and for whatever reason we’re not doing the deed. Y’know- I’ve known ‘em too long or I once shagged their mate or the one time we did make out it was just too weird. Imagine that. Imagine also, then, that once upon a time I had five strangers over to my house for dinner, all of who were girls, and kick-ass, and some of whom are looking for love.

Those two groups of people should meet each other, right?

Further theorise that if I know incredible, engaging, handsome, single men, then perhaps those other laydeez might too. And that if we were bonkers enough to meet as strangers and become friends, then maybe- just maybe- the men in our lives would be up for it as well.

Okay, enough with the theory then, because I’m totally putting this into practice. 

‘WHO HAS A SINGLE FRIEND FOR ME?’ I bellowed obnoxiously as we settled down for an aqua frizzante (me) and 2-4-1 cocktails (them) in a Brick Lane dive.
‘Who has a friend for ME,’ someone else said.
I reeled off a list of names I thought might suit and then repeated my question.
‘Woah, woah, woah,’ one of the Supper Club Six said, as, apparently, we will henceforth be known. Says me. ‘Hold on- if those guys are so great then why isn’t one of them your boyfriend?’
I thought about it. ‘Because you’re a more perfect fit for ‘em then I am,’ I reasoned. ‘I should introduce you, and when you live happily ever after you can name your first kitten after me.’

Discussion ensued about how, exactly, a “set up” should be executed, except then I suddenly doubted my friends’ blind date enthusiasm, and we all agreed that the pressure of it might just be far. too. much. (all evidence to the contrary.)

Then somebody said, ‘Well… if we all had a dinner party and got on, maybe we should do something like that.’

I told everyone about my friend Marina who throws lavish dinners and impromptu lunches where each of her guests has to bring somebody nobody else at the table has met before. She makes everyone mix up, lest you saddle up to the person who brought you and not fully socialise, and it makes no difference if everyone swaps numbers and cabs home and spittle so as not to feel lonely, or never sees anyone ever again. It’s just nice to bring people together.

So that’s what we’re going to do.

We’ve established that it should be low-key. No pressure, just a bunch of conveniently single people hanging out in the same place. Seldom will Londoners surrender their Saturday night for the gamble of people they don’t know, though, so that’s out, and weekday nights are tricky when everyone lives everywhere and there’s that little thing called work tomorrow. Then came the conundrum, drinks or food? Day or night? Should we wear name tags?

That last bit might have been my idea.

I don’t know who finally suggested it, but we all went quiet in genius agreement. ‘We should do a Sunday picnic.’

HOW PERFECT. Come and go as you please, the commune that comes with passing around homemade food and helping each other with the plastic cups that fall over if you try to pour directly from lemonade bottle to precariously balanced thigh. At a picnic, there can be games, to help with the talking points, and a little cheeky booze, if necessary, to help with the touching points.

WHY IS THE WORLD NOT HAVING MORE SINGLES PEOPLE’S PICNICS?

It sounds perfect.

‘Except, we can’t call it a single people’s picnic because that makes me want to be sick in my mouth in a bit,’ one said. ‘It’s needs a name.’
‘Yup!’
‘Agreed.’

We thought about it for a moment.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘It’s like… we’re taking something we know and love, and deciding that although it doesn’t serve a particular purpose for us, it might be helpful for somebody else. So essentially, we’re sort of… you know. Repurposing.’
‘YOU CAN’T TELL YOUR FRIENDS YOU’RE REPURPOSING THEM!’ another squealed, horrified.
‘Like, oh hi, yeah, you’re not good enough for me but have you met this girl?’
I was quite adamant. ‘Guys, this is blatantly a repurposing picnic. Let’s just call a spade a spade. We’re making something useful out of something currently…’
‘… not?’

But you see, this whole thing, this whole idea about “repurposing”- I don’t mean it in an offensive way. I mean it in the best possible way. Like Hey! I’d recommend you highly enough to let you poke my friends! HOW BOUT IT?!

And like, I don’t know if compliments come much higher.

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