Friday, May 16, 2003
I love the rain. I love those full-blown storms, gales crashing against my window, the sky rolling through twenty changes in an hour. Or freak summer downpours, sending people skittering into shop doorways, clearing busy city streets in seconds, washing everything clean.
And I especially love the rain we've had today. A gentle pit-pitter-pattering on the pavement and leaves as I made my way to work. Enveloping me in its refreshing mist of moisture, waking me up for the day ahead.
Umbrellas, on the other hand, and especially golf umbrellas, are the invention of Satan himself, their size in inverse proportion to that of the brains of the people beneath them. Anyone caught wielding them in my direction shall be drawn and quartered, before having their heads removed to be rammed onto spikes fashioned from furled brollies, which will then line the narrow rush-hour streets of Holborn as dreadful warning for all to see.