Umbrellas

In Denmark they have an old line that goes there is no bad weather, just bad clothes for weather. In Denmark they have an old line that goes there is no bad weather, just bad clothes for weather. In England, they take it a step further with the perfect addition to any outfit. They can serve as a status symbol, a weapon, a walking stick and, every now and then, keep the wet off. A sturdy, properly made umbrella is one of the cornerstones of psychological well being. The best can be found at Swaine Adney Brigg in London, best known as the whip maker (and other equestrian pursuits) to the Queen. Solid, thick wooden sticks surrounded by the perfect nylon taffeta, always black -- why be flashy, or a walking billboard, on a grey rainy day? Once you own one of these you long for miserable weather. I've gone through dozens of the collapsable kinds sold on the street, the sturdy ones hotels lend to you forever, or the garish ones that have a bookstore name on them -- those are the disposable ones, the reason that everybody forgets their umbrella in the back of a cab, or in a bar when the rain stops. The Swaine Adney Brigg umbrellas cost around $400, give or take a conversion rate, just enough money to keep most sane people mindful of their property. They come in a range of styles, starting with a choice of wood -- my favorite being the cherrywood and the maple. After the mild trickiness of transporting such an item back to the US (big sticks don't work so well in airplane cabins anymore), the umbrella has become one of those cornerstones, like sturdy boots, or mild physical fitness -- it almost makes one long for miserable weather -- those perfect days when everyone is ably hiding from everyone else on the streets, and when the most reasonably sized, professionally made umbrella makes mincemeat of all the goofy oversized numbers, and rinky dink throwaways dotting the streets.