Umbrellas

It has rained all day. Fantastic.

But...

It has also brought one of my pet hates squelching home to roost. Umbrellas. Or more specifically...maybe a bit of back ground before I leap into my whinge.

I don't own an umbrella, only have once and I promptly lost it. I'm a take a chance kind of guy, kind of have to be with my level of organisation.

Most days it don't rain, and if it does well we spend most of our time in air-conditioned comfort anyways, and if not we can always run, and if you can't run then you've probably got bigger problems then getting wet. Things are tough all over.

So... specifically my problem is with the overfed, mouth-breathing product of expensive private schools for boys who, upon waking, views the low-hanging firmament and decides he might get his Italian leather shoes wet on the stroll from the car park to the office. He decides he better grab the brolly. Oh no, the little woman has already left for pilates and I don't know where she keeps them. Conundrum!

Then something like a primordial neuron fires deep down in our heroes cerebellum. 'Huzzah', he cries 'my golf umbrella.' and off he lumbers to transfer it from the back of the Jeep to the beamer.

Later that morning he happily strolls down the crowded city streets, resplendent under his brightly coloured, oversize, umbrella. He whistles a jaunty number as the tips rip eyeballs from passing pedestrians and force others out onto the road into the paths of oncoming trucks.

Gah.