The powerful bliss of wearing black mackintosh is hard to describe. Being encased in rubber mac and boots, hooded and masked in the same shiny Wigan, cuts me off from the cares of the world. My goggles allow me to see but the hood prevents me taking refreshment. The only sounds I hear properly are the rustles of rubber as my sou’wester rubs against my riding mac collar. I am warm, soon I shall be hot. In everyday dullness we dress to keep warm or cool, leaving off our overcoats in summer and putting on casual shirts and jeans. I dress in the same rubber clothing all the time. I may not choose. The rapid response of rubber to the surrounding temperature will take me with it. It will heat in the sun and cool in the shade and I am powerless to resists.

Only the sweet-sour scent of mackintosh can be in my nostrils, all I touch and see is rubber. The five senses are drenched in rubber, swamped in the overwhelming and compelling blackness. Dressing like me in rubber is a delicious surrender to my dominant mackintosh. For hours I must loosen nothing. When I look in the mirror there is only mac and boots to be seen. The late is strapped across my cheeks and the mask presses tight.

The first cold thrill of rubber warms rapidly into the long hours of submission, when I am hooked on the scented beauty of it all. I cannot possibly want to loosen even a strap. So I sit and index the newest photo album. I like to keep them up to date with entries like “Skirts, leather” and “Skirts, rubber mackintosh” all neatly paged. In these pages are the girls in macs and waders snapped in the sun shine with their rubber clothes glistening. On other pages the gas -masked girls in rubber catsuits and wellingtons group beautifully together. Scores of them wear leather suits, severely lovely outfits with useful D-rings all over them. One young woman in high waisted rubber trousers and a shiny black shirt has the sort of glare that suggests she would lock me into rubber for a long while if she stepped out of the photograph and took charge!

I’ll end with this exciting thought. The smiling blonde in my album has a riding mac like mine, boots like mine and a sou’wester as well. We are dressed alike, down to the tightened wrist straps and leg straps. And that is fun!