Wet Wednesday

So its lunchtime in London and I'm walking from the Downside Fischer Boys Club along Tooley Street past the building sites next to the London Assembly Buildings, through crowds of builders standing around in hard hats and waterproofs, past cafes full of smart suits power lunching, cursing that I failed to take heed of the weather forecast and left the umbrella at the office becuase it was only spitting when I left. My hair is wet through, not really a problem, apart from the fact that it is dyed red at the front with a non-permanent dye that I am now worried is running down my face in red streaks. How come I'm the least cool fool to get caught in the rain? I duck into a Cafe Nero and order a panini and a cup of tea. The strains of MC Solaar are playing and the server pretends not to notice my rain spattered glasses, dripping hair and sodden coat, or the smell of wet wool that I'm emitting, or the fact that I am mopping red dye off my brow on a number of paper napkins.