Dressing for rain

I'm happy to admit that I'm not one of the world's most practical people. Even so, I seem to have more sense than some. It's been a late winter's day in Manchester, with an icy wind blowing the rain into horizontal sheets.

Standing on the platform waiting for the train was me, in my suit and gaberdene raincoat; a huddle of people with heavy overcoats and bent umbrellas; and a bloke in his twenties in his shirtsleeves with a raincoat tucked under his arm. Why? I don't ask (we don't do that sort of thing round here), so I can only guess. Perhaps he's a Newcastle emigré who hasn't yet learned that in this parts it isn't always effeminate to feel the cold. More likely he's having the hot flushes, an uncomfortably early onset for the poor devil.

And then, sitting having a lunchtime coffee in Manchester, I noticed that there's a disproportionate number of Daniel Craig dress-alikes in town. Black suit, loosened tie, tousled hair, no coat. So many drowned rats trying to look cool.

I shall allow myself to be smug.