They don't give you time to open or shut your umbrella in an English
April, especially if it is an "automaton" one--the umbrella, I mean,
not the April.

I bought an "automaton" once in April, and I did have a time with it!
I wanted an umbrella, and I went into a shop in the Strand and told
them so, and they said:

"Yes, sir. What sort of an umbrella would you like?"

I said I should like one that would keep the rain off, and that would
not allow itself to be left behind in a railway carriage.

"Try an 'automaton,'" said the shopman.

"What's an 'automaton'?" said I.

"Oh, it's a beautiful arrangement," replied the man, with a touch of
enthusiasm. "It opens and shuts itself."

I bought one and found that he was quite correct. It did open and
shut itself. I had no control over it whatever. When it began to
rain, which it did that season every alternate five minutes, I used to
try and get the machine to open, but it would not budge; and then I
used to stand and struggle with the wretched thing, and shake it, and
swear at it, while the rain poured down in torrents. Then the moment
the rain ceased the absurd thing would go up suddenly with a jerk and
would not come down again; and I had to walk about under a bright blue
sky, with an umbrella over my head, wishing that it would come on to
rain again, so that it might not seem that I was insane.