It’s raining. Again. That’s all I’m going to say on the subject. Actually no, much more must be said on this subject. Rain here does not come down from the sky in rivulets that cascade gently over your umbrella allowing you on arrival to resemble the person who left home. No. This is English rain. It comes in sideways, driven by the wind that renders your polka dot parapluie useless.
Our apartment is south of the river across Hammersmith Bridge which is currently closed. Built in 1827 for the occasional horse and cart it is rendered unsafe for traffic. I have to cross this bridge when I come to it. Last night I set out by foot for the Tim Walker exhibition at the V&A museum. Unlike Londoners who’ve got it down, I had to plan this trip like a White Water Raft expedition. It would involve not only the walk to and across the bridge, but also negotiating the underground tube.
I have dressy boots. Lots of them; Repetto’s in a beguiling shade of buttery-tan leather, YSL heels which hit at the calf, vintage knee boots, suede Isabel Marants and pointy-toed ankle Louboutins with the red sole not meant for walking. On closer examination I realized none of my boots are made for walking, except for a pair of lilac Hunter rainboots bought in a moment of madness in TK Maxx for no other reason than that they were discounted. You know how that goes if you’ve ever been to TK Maxx. If you have never been, go now, immediately. It will change your life. I digress.
“So did the rainboots solve your problem?” I hear you ask.
“Sadly not” I respond.
There are people, Kate Moss being one of them, who could turn up to the V&A in Hunter wellies and a bikini and be rushed to the VIP area. Tilda Swinton could wear them with a shroud and become an exhibit. I am not these people. I do not glamp.
I settled on a pair of boots designated for the charity shop then spent the next half hour staring at my array of winter coats wondering which one to sacrifice to the elements. Coats bought in LA are purchased in a state of nostalgia for weather. They are outer garments we drape over our shoulders or jauntily untie at the waist then throw over a chair in a restaurant to display a contrast lining. They are not designed for trudging over Hammersmith Bridge in the rain. That would be the mac. Again.
PS. I Ubered home.