Have you ever noticed...?

... how we all like a bit of crazy

2011-05-12T01:32:00.002-07:00

It's just before 9am. I'm buying breakfast. I'm on my way to work. Nothing dramatic about that, right? But wait, there is a drama unfolding in the cafe, and it's grabbed everybody's undivided attention.

A customer has taken it upon himself to defend the cafe. The gentleman is shouting at those daring to…, well…those simply occupying the tables lining the pavement outside the premises.

His problem? Well, these people shouldn’t be allowed to sit there because they haven’t purchased anything from the cafe. “If they want to sit there, they should either buy a coffee, or (censored version) go away”

I look at the row of tables. Is this man annoyed because there is no space for him to sit down? No, this isn’t the case.

No, the reason this gentleman is getting hot under the collar at 5 to 9 in the morning is that he can’t help himself: He simply must highlight this petty injustice.

Other customers look at one another and chuckle. “Must be having a bad day…although, it’s not even 9am yet”.

We have a chuckle about it later in the office too.

Because a secret part of us supports him, salutes him for attempting to combat one of life’s little annoyances that most of us just ignore.

And the fact that he is well-spoken and smartly dressed , and therefore, surely has other important things to do, makes it all the more delicious.

He’s our crazy hero.

... that the mirror is pointless

2010-02-09T05:52:00.000-08:00

You arrive here wearing a hat. But you don't want to be wearing it on your way out, oh no... Why?
Because you leave here, almost certainly, looking your best.
Where? The hairdresser's.

Funny place, the hairdresser's. Hot and stuffy, full of stylists, all with perfect hair, who walk like they think the middle aisle of the salon is a catwalk. I might try the same walk back and forth to the photocopier at the office... and maybe not.
And the wash basins. No doubt originally a Dark Ages' torture method; then one day, someone evidently thought that it would be a good idea to wash a paying client's hair this way, leaning back at an excruciatingly uncomfortable angle, struggling to allow your torturer to fully rinse the back of your head whilst trying to prevent the inevitable (gravity induced) torrent of water dripping down your back and ruining whatever you're wearing.

So the chair has a built in massage feature. So I'd enjoy a slap in the face from a silk-gloved hand? You get my point.

We close our eyes during this part, half pretending we're comfortable and relaxed, half pretending that we're somewhere else ("If I can't see anything, then officially, I'm not here, right...? Ouch...") No really, I'd rather have my hair washed sitting up nude in a bath, positioned in the middle of the salon if the need be. No, really...

But the torture session is all but a distant memory when we're back sat in front of the mirror where we can fall in love with life, and hopefully, ourselves again. Because, this is the moment we're styled to strut down our own catwalk for the rest of the day. So the stylist does his or her thing, laying the final touches like an artist filling in the last few gaps on a canvas.

And then it's finished. And they produce a wide mirror. And they place it one side. And then on the other. And we nod, smile, and make noises that confirm a positive reaction.

Yes, that's what we do... even if we don't like it! It's simply a reflex compliment. So here's my point: that wide-mirror-on-both-sides-routine is undoubtedly a waste of time. Because, by this stage, it's too late. What would happen if you said "No, don't really like it, actually..."?

Not a lot, is my guess. because we all know there is absolutely an unspoken disclaimer. Meaning that effectively, you get what you're given. Meaning, a polite "thank you" is all you really can say. Meaning, maybe you'll discreetly put your hat on again when you've gone round the corner; the catwalk will have to wait!

... that management love the babbling

2009-09-14T13:45:00.000-07:00

"I'd like a ballpark figure, please".
"Could you action that before 1 o'clock?"
"We'll take a look at how things have developed at the end of play".

Why (oh why) do otherwise articulate individuals resort to this strange language when at work? Is it the stress? Is it an attempt at being funny? Or is there something in the water? (Is it time to inspect the office kettle?) Because quite frankly, in plain and simple terms, it is SO annoying.

Let's take the first one. A ballpark figure (I'm getting annoyed just typing it).
I asked myself "What is a ballpark?" I did some research.
Aah, it all makes sense: They don't mean ballpark. They mean baseball park.
...
I asked myself "But why a baseball park?" I did some research.
Aah, it all makes sense: A baseball field is always an enclosed range. So we use it to mean estimate (something within a reasonable range).
...
I'm sorry (I'm not sorry at all) but how can anyone bring themselves to use such a stupid term when the perfectly acceptable estimate exists? A baseball field is always in an enclosed range, true... But so is a bath. And a swimming pool. And a toilet.

Grrrrrr.....

As for transforming 'action' into a verb when 'do', 'complete' and 'work on', among others, are grammatically correct and easily pronounceable options to choose from... well, it's just beyond me. And do some people really view work as playtime? Well that's just plain SAD.

And then, to apparently appease miserable so-and-sos like myself, there are certain members of the management level who resort to a coaxing, soothing version of management speak... no, it's simply called patronizing.

"By golly, we will achieve this"
Translation follows:
"This is what I want to do so I'm pretending you're also in agreement by using the slightly emotive but excruciatingly irritating by golly".

"We’ll cross that bridge when we get there"
The Translation? Well:
"I haven't really thought about the outcome of my stupid plans, but we'll all have to face up to it in the future, so there"

- Particularly reassuring, this one...

And an old favourite of mine:
"This is definitely an issue that needs some looking at."
Looking at? Looking at? It's simple.
"You do the work. I can't be bothered!"

No no, maybe I've gone to far. Maybe I'm too negative...
Going forward, it's perhaps time for me to think outside of the box. By golly, me and my boss will find a way for me to incentivize.

... that the course of true love involves losing a few toes

2009-09-08T05:40:00.000-07:00

Agony! Torture! Despair! Not words you would usually associate with love. But, my friends, sometimes these are the terms that are all too woefully appropriate.

I'm talking shoes! No sane individual would buy unless if they'd fallen in love. That's what happens, right? They catch your eye, you feel drawn to them from across the room, you make your move, the price fits, and so does the left, and so does the right, it's TRUE LOVE!!! A commitment is made to continue life together from this moment on, one foot infront of the other, be it in sickness (unfortunate misfooting on pavement leading to smelly consequences, perhaps) and in health (moonwalking on the dancefloor infront of several jealous onlookers).

But it has recently come to my attention that the honeymoon period can be rather shortlived. Or should I say, that not far beyond the love-at-first-sight moment is where the hard work begins. Because maybe they don't fit as well as you thought. I don't remember the right toe squeezing like that in the shop? And the left heel seems to be getting a real bashing - ouch!

Plasters to the rescue, but it'll take more than a few band aids to completely solve the problem. It has now become an Endurance Situation. Speedwalking is temporarily suspended. The once successful pedestrian must now be content to hobble... to occasionally stumble... to feel like they're learning to walk again (was it this painful the first time round?)

You try to style it out but you can't bear the pain - you're slow, you're hunched... you're hurting.

But then, one day, it arrives. That beautiful moment when you suddenly notice it. Yes. The sun is shining. The rain is gone. And so is the pain. But no, better than that. These shoes have only just now become the most COMFORTABLE pair that I posses - is it a dream?!

I have a question for shoe-shopkeepers : would it be possible to employ some, well, what would you call them... shoe-breaker-inners? Because in my mind, you're selling us half-finished goods.

It sure would give us (and our toes) a break.

... that these days everyone's the DJ

2009-03-24T09:57:00.000-07:00

Less of a have you ever noticed, more of a have you RECENTLY noticed.

So, have you heard the adverts too?
"Come to such-and-such a central London bar on such-and-such a date. And dance the night away. On the decks will be..."
And there they are, listed among the usual (and rightly expected) suspects, those being radio djs and one-hit-wonder dance producers:

Such-and-such an OK actor from an OK film

... dj-ing while essentially, you dance to their favourite music.
One question... formed of one word:

WHY?

This is apparently a selling point(?) Sure, we can all appreciate OK actors for what they are (and here, freely substitute actor with model, popstar, reality tv 'celeb' - hate that word - because they're all at it.) Sure, they're on the big screen, they're part of that glitzy media world ...AND ALL THAT JAZZ (...mmm).

But really, what is the appeal of listening to them play their top ten? I may as well pop over the road one weekday evening and see what's on my opposite neighbour's playlist.

Shorter journey, that's for sure.
And most probably no entrance fee:
- I could bake a cake.

... that beauty isn't always in the eye of the beholder

2009-03-10T15:02:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed the way we substitute the word "see" with "like"... when all we're really doing is seeing?

Let me explain. Lies are bad. Plus, didn't Mum always say "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all"? Ok. Simple enough.

So why have I, among many others that I've noticed, been the culprit of the "Oh, I like your [here insert bag, shirt, hair, other]" comment when what I really mean is "I've noticed the aforementioned item, I've noticed it because it stands out for a reason, and that reason would be that it's... well... hideous".

It's as if the brain goes into panic-mode and the mouth tries to cover it up. Unfortunately, halfway through uttering a reflex compliment, the rest of the face gives it away.

Your eyes can get you into all sorts of trouble.

... that 4 corners make a world of difference

2009-02-24T03:59:00.000-08:00

On the *big screen*. Glamour. Fame. Significance.

And... there's a big screen at the train station I use every day. No, not the screen showing arrivals and departures, destinations and times. The big screen I'm talking about is even bigger than that one. It's on the left hand side.

This big screen has images moving in slow motion. It has headlines underneath. This is the news. And we, the commuters, are hypnotised by the big screen. We look up in awe. There we all are in a trance-like state, staring up at it, our lives temporarily on hold. Whatever is happening around us is currently of lesser importance. What's happened today? What's happened today?...

*Actress takes daughter to the park
*Soap star dances in club with wife
*Musician seen with new haircut

Ten seconds of our lives. We won't get them back. And for all we know, some extraordinary event might be taking place around us while we're all staring upwards like puppy-dogs eager for the next biscuit (and we've missed it).

Oh well, be it pigs flying or aliens landing, as long as someone has caught it on camera, we'll take the time to watch it later.

... how we love to play stupid?

2009-01-23T14:42:00.000-08:00

Stating the obvious. No-one wants to do that, right? Because that would be a waste of breath, time and energy, not to mention the listening time of others, I'm sure you'll agree. That's why I must just make a short mention of something quite strange. A scenario in which we all find ourselves deliberately stating the obvious.

Restaurants. We arrive. We stand patiently by the door. The waiter arrives. And here it begins: "Table for...?" He looks at us intently for the answer. Whether we're 2 or whether we're 10, we'll answer obediently as if the waiter cannot see for himself. And we won't even worry about insulting his intelligence as we turn round and count everyone... just to be sure... yes, just to be sure to have included both of us on this dinner date... as if we didn't know!! In the past, I've even mischievously paused before providing them with a headcount figure. But it's no use. They really do want us to do the counting.

Maybe it's a legal issue. We enter into a contract with them to cater for a specific number? Or maybe they just want to save up their counting mental energy for the forthcoming tips.

...that no-one cares about green anymore

2008-12-30T12:14:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I think you have to be a good driver to be a successful pedestrian. Successful meaning moving at a suitably progressive pace, even speedwalking where circumstances dictate. Successful meaning anticipating people-traffic up ahead, planning and executing any overtaking manoeuvres as required...

Successful also meaning safely crossing the road. You see, in this bustling city where I live, I have noticed that the best way to cross a busy street is to focus on what the drivers are doing. Better still, do what the drivers are doing: read their signals! Long gone are the days of "look right, look left, look right again" or "wait for the green man". Things have moved on.

What does the green man know anyway? From where he's standing, he can't see what the successful pedestrian can see, oh no... Sometimes it seems to be more practical to look at the drivers' traffic lights, to gauge whether that speeding car will have to stop soon anyhow. The green man can't tell me any of that. Ever cautious, those cars will have been stationary for a good 5-10 seconds before he'll give you the go-ahead. 5-10 seconds: valuable time, perhaps the difference between catching the train or not, arriving at that meeting on time or late, etc.

Here's the disclaimer:
1 - Sure, the green man will always get you across safely
2- However successful a pedestrian may think him or herself to be, they cannot account for unexpected or unnoticed traffic emerging from perhaps hidden places... dangerous
3- Near-misses experienced by all successful pedestrians at one time or another would have been avoided if the aforementioned pedestrians would just be less successful and more patient. Near-misses are not amusing or exhilarating in any way. They really aren't.

But... I know I'm not the only successful pedestrian in town. Sometimes, during a slight lapse in success perhaps, I've found myself opposite another potential road-crosser who is also looking up and down the road, anticipating that sneaky speedy motorbike, checking on that almost-concealed side road a few yards along...

Yep, we're both completely oblivious to mister greeny smirking down at us... Success comes with its highs and lows.

... that parents forget their own existence

2008-12-10T05:39:00.000-08:00

"No, Emily. You'll have to wait until Mummy's finished the shopping, and then we can open the sweeties."

"Daddy's told you before: don't go running off!"

Nothing unusual about the above remarks. Teaching children good manners is a most noble priority to set. And on any given Saturday afternoon, you can be sure to hear these words (or a variation on the theme) uttered by the adults who, having become parents, are now obliged to utilise every hour of every day for training / education / discipline / desperate pleas for peace. What a joy.

But hang on a minute, there is something strange about this. This Mummy who was just mentioned... well, she is actually the one doing the talking. She's talking about herself! Agreed, Daddy did warn that child about running away. Who's the Daddy? He's the Daddy!

Joking aside, am I the only one who finds this a bit weird? This referring to yourself in the 3rd person? Now, reader, I've done my research, and the official term is illeism. Several individuals throughout history have been known for this habit, but it appears that approval of illeists is quite rare. Most psychologists would argue that illeism is a symptom of narcissism. Some would even go so far as to say that relentlessly referring to oneself in the 3rd person hints at insanity or even psychopathic tendencies.

Psychologists aside, why would anyone address their child in such a way? How does it possibly equip them for normal conversation? Will the next generation of doctors, lawyers and teachers be talking about themselves as if they're not even there?

M*ary thinks that could be interesting.

... that they never play on when you wish they would

2008-11-17T03:00:00.000-08:00

"Can I put you on hold for a moment please?" Ten little words. But oh, how powerful they can be. Either you're filled with rage, impatient to accomplish what you intended when initially making the telephone call. Or perhaps, like me, you welcome the pause from a busy working day, a moment to collect your thoughts, to day-dream for a little while. And what's more, there will probably be music to entertain you while you wait. So it's not all bad then.

Sometimes the music is a pleasant surprise, a real treat in fact. That rarely-played-on-radio-song that you haven't heard in ages, that classic tune bringing back memories of times gone by, even that cheesy chart-topper that reminds you of your embarrassing schoolday exploits. It makes you relax. You don't mind that you've been put on hold anymore. It's a perfect backdrop to your mini-break in the day.

But no sooner have you relaxed into your chair, looking forward to your favourite bit coming up in verse 2, than you're suddenly put through to the person you were calling. You're almost put out by this. "Hey! I was enjoying that", you think. But then the business-side of your brain reminds you of the task at hand.

However, there are times when the on-hold music most certainly is not welcome at all. Computer-generated versions of Greensleeves so tacky that even mobile phone companies wouldn't use them as ringtones. Versions of well-known songs by unknown singers sung along to nearly-authentic backing tracks in a nearly-reached-that-top-note-didn't-I style. Endless adverts. Uplifting anthems intended to rouse the listener, to convince you that, if you believe in yourself, anything is possible (but you only called about an invoice; pleeease!)

It's a gamble. You never know whether your ears will be caressed or assaulted.

But here's one thing of which you can be sure. If you happen to be enjoying the tune being played, the abrupt shift from music to conversation will arrive so swiftly, too swiftly. You'll feel unsettled for a moment, and then you won't even remember that you were enjoying yourself. On the other hand, when the music has rendered you insane, when you're reaching for your running shoes and eyeing up the hills, when you hear Mr Not-good-enough-for-karaoke miss that note for the 7th time, you can be sure that you'll be granted at least five more minutes of torture to enable you confirm to yourself that you would rather slam the phone down like the enraged maniac you've become than speak to whoever it was.

Oh yeah, and of course that ghastly tune will stick in your head for the rest of the day.
"Do I mind being put on hold?... Don't worry, I'll email instead."

... that the timing is always (im)perfect

2008-10-16T03:07:00.000-07:00

Gumtree. Yes, I'm happy to endorse you - scrap the never-name-names-policy (http://www.gumtree.com/) After being advised by a friend, I have managed to sell some furniture on the site.

Advert was up at 3pm, sale confirmed around 10.05pm. I would say that's a pretty fast conversion rate (?) although here I must add that I am just trying to sound business savvy. I stated on the ad that I was happy to negotiate on the price for a quick sale. So when I received the phone call on my mobile, as I waited for my train, this is what the gentleman began to do (in an oh-so-polite manner... bless). Something like:

"I noticed that you are open to negotiation, and this is what I would like to do; so anything that you are willing to knock off the price would be much appreciated".

Talk about state the obvious! Good manners, though. And I can deal with this, I thought, in an equally polite, but nonetheless business-like manner.

"Well, how much are you willing to pay?" I asked. And just at that moment, a gentleman (actually, now I'm not so sure) walking past me on the platform turned round and gave me what can only be described as a saucy look: eyebrows raised, half smile, half dribble. Not nice.

I need not mention, reader, that I was of course dressed respectably - not provocative in any way. And yes, I concede that train platforms after dark are not where you would generally expect to find perfectly legitimate business agreements being made. But really - could the timing have been worse?

It's all Mr Saucy's fault (gutter-head). Yeah, perhaps because of people like him, business savvy individuals all over the world are feeling inhibited at moments like these, prevented from closing important life-changing deals!!!... Or ...maybe I should just not get embarrassed so easily.

Equal probability of each, I'd say, don't you agree? (Here, agreeing with me is non-negotiable.)

...that the slowest are the widest (somehow)

2008-09-30T14:27:00.000-07:00

No reader, I'm not being size-ist.

We've all been there. Time is limited. The appointment is fixed. Speed-walking down the road like an Olympic competitor. And happily, yes, we might just make it there on time. But wait. What do we have here?

OK - so not everyone is running (or speed-walking) to the same tight schedule as I am. But could you move any more SLOW - LY? My mind screams out these words, but I fear the answer is yes so won't express it verbally. Seriously, though, if someone is fortunate enough to have the luxury of engaging in slow-walking during rush hour, let it be known to them that they are in the minority, and therefore, they should...I don't know, "pull over" to the slow lane (?)

Time is passing quickly and all previous efforts to be speedy may now prove to be in vain. So we're left with no choice: overtake any-which-way! But here's my point. You try the left-hand side, slow-walker is there; you try the right-hand side, but incredibly, slow-walker is there too! They're everywhere...somehow. And oh-so-SLOW, seemingly decreasing the pace from dustbin truck to milk float - Nooo!

As I said, this is no size-ist tirade. Because whether the slow-walker be fat, thin, tall, short, well-built or slight, they somehow manage to own the lane. Because they are w-i-d-e... and did I mention, slow.

...that it takes courage to be the first

2008-09-24T02:07:00.001-07:00

How about some more umbrella talk? (Less obsessive - more preoccupied by choice, I like to think...) The clouds above begin to cast a dreary shadow across our paths. The temperature suddenly changes. Somehow, everything seems to become a little quieter.

And there it is, as expected. Right on cue. The first drop of rain. But the other drops do not always follow immediately. It may take some time.

Maybe it won't rain after all. But no, there's the second. The third however... well, it seems to have taken longer than...no, there's the third. It did take a while to arrive though, so I won't put the umbrella up quite yet. Don't want to look like I'm inviting the rain to fall. Plus, no-one else seems to have their umbrellas up yet.

Yes, the fourth, fifth and sixth have fallen, but I'm still not totally convinced. Plus, as I said, no-one else seems to have their umbrellas up yet.

OK, I'm sure at least seven to twelve have fallen now, I'm starting to feel a bit wet, but where are the other umbrellas? I cannot put mine up if they haven't. If I do, I'll look feeble... or pessimistic... or vain... or worse. I'd rather be brave ("Worried by the rain? - Not me"), positive ("It's only a sprinkle of rain and therefore does not warrant umbrella use"), self-effacingly attractive ("I know I'm getting wet, but I don't mind if it alters my appearance").

So that's me. I don't think I'm the only one. Brave. Positive. Self-effacingly attractive. And WET. In any case, no-one else seems to have their umbrellas up yet.

...that first-time tourists are a rare breed

2008-09-12T13:49:00.000-07:00

This theory may seem to be flawed, but please, hear me out. Whenever I see a group of tourists, there always seems to be at least one among the group who is wearing a t-shirt advertising another place, and often, a place quite different to the one they're currently visiting. It's almost as if the aforementioned tourist wants to declare to on-lookers that he or she has done this whole tourist thing before - a professional. And why not? I've nothing against advertising St. Lucia whilst sipping coffee in the middle of Paris, or New York whilst strolling in England's Lake District. I'm sure there's an uber-professional tourist out there whose entire suitcase consists of holiday destination t-shirts. A different continent for each day, or perhaps even a change for dinnertime (classy). It's a simple look, but it definitely sends out a strong message: I've travelled BEFORE, don't you know. This isn't my first holiday. Look at me. Nerr nerr.

Nonetheless, these people I keep seeing may well be just second-time tourists who grabbed the first place-name t-shirt they could find the first time around so that they appeared to be part of the elite. Well, in my book, it certainly worked. Respect to you, oh travelled one.

...the way they ALWAYS know

2008-09-08T09:01:00.001-07:00

Corner shops. Convenience stores. Exactly, they are convenient. And generally, they sell a little bit of everything which is, indeed, very helpful. It saves on the additional time and effort that perhaps would have been required to get to the supermarket. But there are sacrifices to be made.

You see, I don't know about you, but mostly, my reason for visiting such a shop is to buy snacks. Whether I'm in the centre of town, or just in my local area, it's quite handy to pop in and buy some sweets or crisps. I rummage in my bag to find my purse, and then estimate how far my spare change will take me. And of course, better over-estimate than under-estimate. Otherwise, that could be really embarrassing - corner shops generally don't advertise the price of small items.

But, hang on a minute. What's convenient about that? There's nothing convenient about potential humiliation with a queue behind you. Not in my book anyway. However, worry not. It appears that shop-keepers have undergone a special training to be able to identify the EXACT amount of money a customer has in their purse/pocket/hand.

Is it x-ray vision? That I don't know. What I do know is that most weeks, I find myself at the front of the queue, confident that I've estimated well, surprised that my over-estimation is in fact the current price, but then a little resentful as I grudgingly hand over every last coin in my possession. Nonetheless, relief soon follows on remembering the small queue forming behind me, the very reason for such an over-estimation.

Any former member of the cornershop-keeper inner circle is more than welcome to confirm or refute my claims, anonymously if preferred.

...that hatred is sometimes transient

2008-09-07T10:45:00.000-07:00

It used to make me want to vomit. Strong language I know, reader, but this is how it was. Even the mention of it made me feel beige all over. I remember upsetting one of my favourite teachers when I forgot how to be diplomatic and announced my hatred for it without any regard for her enthusiasm. Music has always been an important part of my life, and well... when music displeases me, I find it difficult to be forgiving.

Thankfully, I have a gift. And in certain circumstances, this gift is nothing short of a life-saver. My gift... My gift enables me to recognize a song playing on the radio within, on average, a 3-second-period, and to swiftly change stations, to suffer no more. It has, in fact, become quite an art, and made me very unpopular with my flatmates when we decided (well, I often made the suggestion) to play the guess-the-song-as-quickly-as-possible game. Great fun.

Anyway, I digress. It was always my intention to have a never-name-names policy on this blog, but today will be the exception. Because, reader, I must reveal to you how confused I was to recently find myself singing along cheerfully to the 'Lifted' by the Lighthouse Family... and I wouldn't be surprised if it happened again.

My intervention took place on 20th October 2008 on the XFM Breakfast Show (see audio link to the left of this post).

Thank you (Dr) Alex Zane. I guess now, I should seek therapy.

...that there are a lot of funny people about

2008-09-07T09:29:00.001-07:00

I'm not being funny, but...

Never has another 5 word phrase indicated more reliably the imminent arrival of funny business. And of course, we're not talking funny-ha-ha, oh no. We're talking funny-complaining, funny-criticising, funny-being-deliberately-unreasonable-and-taking-great-pleasure-in-doing-so.

I'm not being funny, but those who insist on employing the phrase "I'm not being funny, but..." must recognize that painting their nose red, juggling pickled onions and indicating "NOT funny-ha-ha" with a huge comical sign spelt out with toe prints and complete with an attached mechanism spraying water at on-lookers would be a much more successfully inconspicuous method of appearing to be unfunny.

...that umbrellas can fast become an obsession

2008-09-04T14:27:00.000-07:00

A while back, I had 3 broken umbrellas at home. And I was on the look-out for number 4. You see, an umbrella is an absolutely essential item in London as I'm sure it is in any other city around the world where the weather forecast is intermittent rain in all 4 seasons. Oh, the frustration when that survival weapon ceases to function! I had tried to cope with this distressing situation, not by hurling it into the nearest bin (heavens, no), but by retaining it and storing at home. Because, as I have just mentioned, an umbrella is not an object to be rashly disregarded. And a broken umbrella is better than none at all. That became my mantra each time I packed my bag on rainy mornings. Now, I must admit, that on taking out my broken umbrella when the rain started to pour, I did feel a little embarrassed that others would notice that my umbrella was clearly broken BEFORE I opened it... but no, a broken umbrella is better than none at all. And that was that. My umbrella - even if its spokes were sticking out - was keeping me dry.

Very soon, confirmation that I had the right point of view arrived. There she was, Cherie Blair on the news, leaving her home, being photographed by the waiting press, sheltering herself from the rain under... but, were my eyes deceiving me?... it was evidently far from its former glory... with at least one spoke sticking out. Hurrah! Cherie Blair was obviously of the a-broken-umbrella-is-better-than-none-at-all school of thought - I was not alone! The next time I was caught in a downpour leaving the train station, the trendy commuters with their designer brollies did not put me off. If it's good enough for the former PM's wife, I thought, it's good enough for me.

Unfortunately, this new found broken-umbrella confidence did not last. Over time, I don't know how it happened, I started to lose faith. My resolve weakened and I began to feel disheartened by the trendies around me which prevented me from staying content. However, I didn't really see it coming. What I do know is that something snapped one Thursday when I saw the Big Issue seller I see each morning standing under a beautiful shiny perfectly formed and perfectly intact golf umbrella. It was over.

I justified the impending purchase by resolving to find the cheapest possible, a feat I think I probably achieved thanks to Poundland. And so the cycle began again... and I was soon in possession of yet another broken friend which joined the other on my shelf at home. After all, a broken umbrella is better than none at all and would undoubtedly come in handy for any visitor leaving my place and making a quick dash for the car or bus stop. The dream was still alive. And so the cycle repeated itself once more...

3 down and no sign of a drought... this was the only way. I went to the umbrella shop in town, the one that was established in the 19th century, the one that sells ONLY umbrellas, nothing but. The - umbrella - shop. The model I bought was one of the more modestly priced, but it was clear that this was a quality item. I was invited to open it up inside the shop and advised as to the best way to close it. And, here's the best bit, as the gentleman handed me the receipt, he uttered these words: "Any problems, just let us know".

So this meant that when an umbrella "had problems", its owner had the right to do something about it. There was nothing to be ashamed of. We didn't need to suffer in silence. There was support available. On arriving home, I rid myself of the 3 souvenirs of a misinformed past. I'm a one-umbrella woman now, I thought. Actually, that's a one-functioning-in-pristine-condition-umbrella woman.

Now reader, you may be forgiven for thinking that I have become a little obsessive over this whole umbrella matter. After all, I have discussed this at some length. Therefore, I fear that you may find the following detail hard to believe; that you will think that it simply reveals a certain psychosis that I need to work through.

***

I cannot tell you how many broken umbrellas I have seen since since my new purchase. They are quite literally EV-ER-Y-WHERE. Where were they when I needed them? The movement has obviously moved forward without me.