Right — jacket. The one you keep in the bag and forget about until the sky changes. That is the honest use case and I am not going to dress it up, mostly because I have not slept and cannot be bothered.
So: the shell is a diamond taffeta woven from recycled polyester, with a water-repellent finish, so light rain sits on it and rolls off instead of soaking through. The lining is a breathable mesh, which is the part people skip past and should not — a shell with no lining traps everything you sweat and you end up wet from the inside, which is a very stupid way to get cold.
There is a hood. There are two side pockets. The panels are cut and sewn in colour blocks rather than printed, and the crocodile is placed on the right sleeve rather than the chest. One practical note the maker actually volunteers: if you are between two sizes, take the larger one, because you will be wearing this over your kit and possibly over a mid-layer.
Where was I. The hood. Yes.
Composition is 100 per cent polyester.
Lincoln is a city built for exactly this weather and it keeps odd hours too. High Bridge on the High Street is a row of timber-framed shops standing on a bridge from 1160 — shops, on a bridge, still trading, eight and a half centuries later — and at three in the morning when nothing else is open you can stand under it and hear the water.
Anyway, I lost the thread and found a better one. You will wear this everywhere from a cold pre-match warm-up to the walk back to the car in the drizzle, and it is also perfect for going up Steep Hill in November with a Lincolnshire sausage roll, which is the correct fuel for a climb that steep and that badly named, because it is not steep, it is nearly vertical.
A jacket is not for the rain. A jacket is for the twenty minutes before you know.
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