Soggy

Friday. The journey home.

My one line weather report for this post reads, too effing wet.

Since I complained about the overly hot weather, the british summer has been whispering under its breath ‘be careful what you wish for’ and smirking.

It may have reached the laughing out loud stage.

I’ve taken to carrying a brolly, plain black, foldable, but I hadn’t got it for the walk to the bus stop. Lost I think. Umbrellas, in my experience, are bought on rainy day emergencies and are therefore often less attractive than I’d hope for an accessory. Kept in a corner in the studio, naff best describes todays brolly, it was bought on Oxford street years ago on a very rainy day. It has London tourist type promotional text printed all over it. It’s a sad truth that the only umbrellas I can hang on to are the tragically unstylish ones.

Naff or not, this one does the job it was bought for, apart from leaking a little down the handle. This usually results in a wet hand, today I rested the handle awkwardly resulting in a wet tit. Undignified.

Meanwhile city workers protected themselves from the rain best they could with what came to hand. Without comment on the produce supplied by these stores, I too would definitely choose a Waitrose bag for life over a flimsy Tesco carrier for wet weather protection.

On the bus a French couple sat behind me. I could pick up some of what Monsieur was talking loudly about. I could have understood more if he had limited the conversation to vacances with his aunt and siblings of either or both genders. Anyhow, he was complaining about the weather, the traffic, the cost of things. Issues that fall under the heading ‘life in London’. Dont ask for details, they were beyond me. His tirade reminded me that the French are super good at complaining and I wish we in Britain could be more French in that respect. Not the weather, we here in England know that’s of no practical use. We moan conversationally but are resigned poor weather wise. When it comes to fighting for better pay, pensions and conditions, let’s get a bit Gailic. Obviously they’ve got centuries of rioting and revolting experience, but now seems as good a time as any to start getting some practice in this side of the channel.

I was glad when he and Madame left for the train at St Pancras, he was exhausting. I do hope he was in better spirits on reaching the sunnier, less expensive, less busy, warmer, drier but distinctly more riotous land of his fathers.