Pete Hindle

It is now officially summer. And with summer, there comes the dreaded “Countryside Invite”. That’s my term for those parties that are held in the middle of nowhere, but that you have to attend. It’s usually a not-too-interesting event – a relatives birthday, an engagement party, or some sort of art event – but it’s the sort of invite that it’s very hard to turn down owing to emotional blackmailing.

It’ll usually be somewhere really hard to get to, making it doubly unappetising because you don’t really want to be there in the first place, but you have to go somewhere that the Daily Mail is regarded as being too liberal. Maybe you can cadge a lift, or perhaps there will be some sort of rudimentary public transport system that will take you to the village hall you need to be at, but don’t expect to be able to rely on that transportation in order to get home.

The event itself isn’t usually fun, because you are far from home, with people who you hardly know, and that’s a recipe for awkwardness. And then, at the end of the party, you’ll have to leave.

It’s at this point the true horror of the Countryside Invite makes itself known. Your reason for being in the countryside is now over, and you now face a journey back to civilisation that will form the backbone of your conversations with friends for the next few weeks.

I personally have jumped over rivers, slept on air-beds in the middle of nowhere, and walked home through fields of sleeping cows after these events. But this year, finding myself single and about 250 miles away from my friends, I think I’ll be able to dodge any of this seasons Countryside Invites. Thankfully.