I got caught in the rain last Thursday.

Not like me, as I normally have my umbrella.

It’s the one thing that cheers me up when it’s raining. Not because it keeps me dry – which it does admirably – but because it reminds me of Little Boots.

Last year, after I’d expressed some vague admiration for an umbrella featured in a magazine, the OH ordered one in time for Christmas.

Fortuitously it arrived when I was out and was duly wrapped by OH & LB.

From a child’s perspective this was clearly a rather crap present and, with some kind of pre-school kind of “do unto others…” thing troubling the conscience, said little mite marched up to the sofa where I was sat.

“Do you want an umbrella for Christmas?”

“That would be great,” I replied with a grin.

“OK,“ said shortstuff, clearly puzzled by an adult pleased with what was to the younger mind a really rubbish present, but also happy that it was a good gift.

“Don’t go in my wardrobe!“ warned the munchkin and marched off.

“Hmmm,” I thought. “So I’ve got an umbrella. Now how do I persuade the little beggar to inadvertently spill on the rest?”

Nothing worked.