AN INVENTION OF THE DEVIL

They come in many sizes and all colours, some black, some striped, even some with dogs or flowers on, but they all have one thing in common. They are more nuisance than boon. They are a hazard to passers-by, a possible cause of death and almost guaranteed to get lost or mislaid.
I am, of course, talking about the ubiquitous umbrella, reputed to have been invented by one Samuel Fox, although it was an employee of his, Joseph Hayward, who was the actual perpetrator. The man should have been sacked and I am surprised his boss claimed responsibility for such a perilous creation.
Let me show you what I mean. Mr Smith, ready to go to work, glances out of the window and sees it is raining. “Aha” he thinks, “Brolly weather.” As he steps out of his front door he opens out the umbrella. Here luck is with us: he hasn’t got one of those automatic ones, which snap open sharply, and his front door does not abut the street. He has not, therefore, impaled anyone unfortunate enough to be walking past at the time. Yet. However, as it is raining heavily he holds the umbrella lower over his person and thus cannot properly see where he is going. Nevertheless, he reaches the station safely and, on entering the building, collapses his brolly and gives it a good shake. He has now showered everyone in the vicinity, so even those who have arrived by car are now wet through.
Mr Smith catches his train and as it is crowded he has to stand. He now has a problem. What to do with the brolly? He can either hook it over his arm while he strap-hangs, which means it is flapping about damply in the faces of other travellers, or he can use it as a walking stick and lean on it. Doing this on a jolting train can lead to the point stabbing either his own or other people’s feet.
Arriving at the terminus he joins the throng leaving the station. Up goes the umbrella and Mr Smith strides off to work, ignoring the fact that the spokes of the brolly are at eye level of people smaller than himself. He comes to a busy junction, and has to wait to cross the road. A sudden gust of wind fills the cover and, acting like a sail, the brolly tries to drag Mr. Smith under a passing bus. He is saved only by the quick action of a burly man who grabs hold of his arm and pulls him back. A much shaken Mr Smith continues on his way to the office.It is not raining when our hero leaves work but by the time he gets off the train it has started again. It is then he realises that, true to form, the damn thing has got lost. Pulling his collar up round his ears he hurries home and vows to buy a hat instead.

As you can no doubt gather, I hate the damn things.