It rained today. One moment it was sunny and I was blithely walking out of the metro station, the next moment, I was dashing for cover under the metro rail, fumbling frantically for my umbrella. I don't like this umbrella; indeed it has all the elements I dislike most in umbrellas. It's one of those really compact ones with two bends in the spokes, which make it blow inside-out at the slightest gust of wind. It's also sparkly, purple, has a stubby little handle and has a translucent lace inset bordered by sequins. I like my umbrellas long, with curvy handles and coloured in all the hues of a rainbow. The sort that if you spin fast enough, will look white. The sort that you could use to pretend you were a combination of Captain Hook and Mister Fantastic. The sort you could use as a prop when tap dancing on the pavement. I've never had one of those. My umbrellas have either been boring and black, or inappropriately purple.
Still, an umbrella is an umbrella and I was one of the few people exiting the metro station who'd had the foresight to pack one. I dug mine out, opened it with a bit of a flourish and stepped out jauntily on the road. Then, a passing car raced through a puddle and splashed me from head to toe.