Umbrella Etiquette

Ah the great British summer, with sunny days and…what? It’s raining again? Oh. Good job I never put the umbrella in the loft. So, arming myself with my trusty rain shield I step out to brave the weather.  But it isn’t the weather that I should be worried about. Turns out that when the clouds declare war, so do Londoners.

Gone are the days when I skipped gaily down the street in a quiet suburb, rarely meeting another soul requiring me to engage in umbrella etiquette. And when I did? Why, what a sober affair! Dodging this way and that, ‘Oh silly me, I am sorry, after you!’ No, those days are long gone. Welcome to London in the rain. Welcome to the battlefield.

Three feet of pavement space is simply not enough for hundreds of commuters all armed to the teeth with lethal protrusions of their egos. Though I’ve seen a fair few tactics for navigating the crowds, none are particularly successful. There’s the ‘head down and charge’ technique, which inevitably ends in locked antlers when you bump into someone doing the same. Then there’s the ‘rain dance’, which involves dodging the oncomers whilst paying little heed to the destination of your own brolly. And my favourite, the ‘I’ll just get a ruddy huge umbrella and people will HAVE to move’ method. This one, I have to say, seems pretty successful.

But, as with any battle, there has to be losers. Sure there’ll be those who will get to work dry as a whistle, barely noticing the clumps of hair and stowaway scarves attached to their spines; yet that hair and excess skin has to belong to someone. And today, that someone was me. Arriving at work after a collision with a rain dancer, I showed my colleagues the angry looking scratch down my face and bravely told them my harrowing tale. I was just another victim of the umbrella related violence that’s sweeping the capital.

I propose an umbrella licensing system. You’re not allowed to brandish such a lethal weapon, unless you’ve navigated various assault courses complete with cardboard granny cut outs and traffic cones. Until you pass the test, I’ll let you wear a plastic onesy. That’s all you dangerous brolly drivers deserve! Take heed readers – it’s a rough world out there; be sure to watch your back. Or just get a fuck-off huge umbrella.

Image by Ed Yourdon courtesy of Flickr