brolly dolly

Well today is a barrel of laughs, the sky is battleship grey with water coming out of it, everyone is walking about with faces as long as horses in fact, London has become one huge misery cloud. It’s fucking July

Due to a work function this evening, essentially, colleagues shuffling to and fro trying to engage in banter over cheap sparkling Rose, I was required to arrive by bus. The moment I stepped out of my front door it began raining, I already been awoken by a downpour at 6am so I wasn’t in the least surprised.

It suddenly occurred to me, why don’t I own an umbrella? To this date in my life such a thought has never crossed my mind, I’ve always thought them ridiculous, things that weaklings use with eye-poking spokes, to me, right up until that point they were an anathema. Suddenly I was obsessed, mental images of 1940’s MovieTone footage of Londoners traipsing over Waterloo bridge under a black silk canopy, Caillebotte’s well heeled citizens strolling through the Parisian rain, the object I’d once regarded with contempt, a symbol of the business classes transformed in my minds eye as something decadent, surreal, romantic, an object of desire, I had to own one.

Where the fuck do I buy an umbrella? I sat upstairs on the bus in pole position trying to think if my route to work would offer an opportunity to resolve my obsession. I wanted it to rain hard, and I wanted to be under the canopy of a black brolly, I had the rain at least.

I alighted at my stop in bastard Wimbledon, I’m sure one of the department stores could assist me but I was late for work, tempted as I was I made my way to the station. Surely here, if you were going to buy a brolly then a communal church for the business types would be the place. But I was to be disappointed; I’d given up hope when the last shop prior to the tube presented an opportunity, a heel bar of all places.

Like a bunch of wonderful bananas they sat, hooked over a large stand in a variety of colours but to my delight, a choice of 3 different black ones. I made my selection and it become mine. I was fucking thrilled. I got off the tube and it had stopped raining. What a twat.

Last night Myfwt eventually arrived, 9-ish, she was on the phone to her brother so it wasn’t until half an hour later I managed to say hello properly. What is it with woman and phones? I’m a fan of each item as a separate entity but the morphed combination is creature that Sir David Attenborough would poke with a stick. After a couple of homemade burgers and some wine we settled back for the evening, TV, a few laughs, light row, some more wine then bed. A jolly evening indeed, though we could’ve left the light row out of the equation. It was probably my fault, I think a phone was responsible.

I have a nice weekend planned ahead, spending a good deal of time of it with Myfwt, the rest with friends and plenty of scope to get some more of the book nailed. Just got to get tonight under the belt first. So long as it rains on my journey home, I’ll be happy.

Do have good weekends won’t you.

This band used to be the subhumanz, possibly the most underated (and genuine) punk band of their generation. Turn it up