One drop of drizzle and the humans are running as if the sky has started pissing acid. Mate, it's water! The same stuff you pour over your head in the shower. Except you pay for that, so apparently it's lovely.
We settle down beside the square to watch. Who needs a bloody theatre? The moment a paving stone gets damp, the show begins. Someone puts a handbag on their head. Someone else shrugs their shoulders right up over their ears. What are you hoping for, sunshine? Waterproofing through sheer tension?
Our favourite is the one shielding their phone with their entire body. They can arrive soaked, lose a shoe and tumble backwards into a bakery. But the phone must stay dry. That little bastard has a better life than you do, mate.
Fair enough if your glasses are covered in droplets or you've just had your hair done. You've got reasons. But you, the bloke in flip-flops coming from the swimming pool… what the hell are you escaping from? Your swimming trunks are still full of water!
The four-cheese umbrella
The other day we saw a man put an empty pizza box on his head. Off he ran, holding it with both hands, looking terribly serious and focused. We were behind a flowerpot, laughing ourselves silly. He wasn't keeping the rain off. He was getting himself ready for the takeaway counter.
He ducked under an awning, checked his hair and shook the box furiously. Hang on, genius. You've put greasy cardboard on your head. Coming out smelling of lavender would be the surprising bit.
The rain eased. He stuck a hand out to check, pulled it back and waited some more. One drop. One sodding drop had landed on him. Back he went, as though a cloud had taken a shot at him.
Then a woman in yellow wellies came along. Her umbrella was closed and her grin said she was having a bloody lovely time. She reached the puddle, glanced around and stamped so hard that our ears got a refreshing splash.
Good on your boots, love. Good on the whole glorious lot of you.
We adore those humans. The ones who laugh when their fringe sticks to their forehead. The ones who tilt their face up for a moment. The ones who splash through a puddle because they fancy it, without turning a walk into a motivational seminar. One splash, then on they go. Our kind of people.
We've already told you how much we enjoy getting wet. That afternoon, though, we stayed right there, applauding the woman and trying to tempt Pizza Man into the space beside the puddle.
He wasn't having it. Off he went with the box still on his head.
Well, everyone gets to wear whatever bloody hat they please. At least his smelled of oregano.
