Oh dear. This prolonged recent spell of hot dry weather has lulled me into a sense of false security and I’ve been heading to work these days without a jacket – or at least without a jacket that wasn’t my cycling jacket. At quarter past five this evening I looked out the office window and realised the rain was settled in for the duration and if I wanted to get home more or less dry I was either going to have to follow my colleague’s suggestion and steal an umbrella (this is what happens when you hire scousers) or wear my cycling jacket in public and – crucially – on foot. The problem with the jacket is that while it is more or less waterproof it is also (I may have mentioned this before) very, very yellow and, if recent encounters with the drunks of Vauxhall station are anything to go by (I had another unwanted exchange of pleasantries this morning), gives off powerful dosser-attracting pheromones*. It also has a hood which is pretty useless on a bike, unless you prefer not to know what’s about to mow you down, and risked attracting hoodie-hugging Tories out to show they were part of Cameron’s new caring Conservative party Still, you know, it was raining, and I was just in a t-shirt, and it can be a bit chilly on the train if you’re soaked to the skin and it’s silly to risk pneumonia when you’ve got a perfectly good waterproof in your bag just because it’s not a very nice colour …
Reader, I wore it.
Looking back I shall probably pinpoint this decision as the moment my youth ended and the long slow descent into middle-age began.
* I think it may a combination of a long wet winter and a short hot summer and my policy of never remembering to take it out of the bag except to wear it. Nice. It did seem to act as an effective Tory repellent though.