A summer's day,
anywhere

The best British days happen out of doors: the rug unrolled, the hamper opened, an afternoon with nowhere better to be.

This is the collection of the airfield picnic and the point-to-point; of festival lawns, harbour walls and the tailgate lunch halfway to the coast. A wicker hamper packed with the Pantry’s best. The flask that keeps its promise on a cold morning. The rug that has seen twenty summers and fully intends to see twenty more.

Hampers and baskets lead, as they should: filled or empty, given or kept. Around them gathers the complete equipment of outdoor pleasure: picnic crockery and thermal jugs, coolers and ice buckets, bottles for the walk and blankets for the evening. It is a destination range for a department store’s summer window, and the natural flagship of an outdoor-living maker.

No name comes to the open air more honestly. Sopwith lived outdoors: machines wheeled from their hangars at dawn, tea taken on the grass between flights, the whole enterprise conducted under an English sky. The romance is in the story; the business is in the basket.