Although I can drive, I tend, for the most part, to be a pedestrian. Currently, I can walk to work and I live close to most of the amenities I need.

I like walking places. It gives me an opportunity to reflect on the world around me and on life in general. Plus, it’s good for you—a light cardio workout every day without ever having to set foot in a gym.

The only time when walking becomes a bit of a problem is when it rains. I don’t mind the actual rain itself; I have a perfectly good coat, and it’s rarely more than a persistent drizzle here in Reading anyway.

What genuinely stresses me out is puddles.

They can be surprisingly hard to navigate, and one single misstep means you’ve got wet socks. I don’t think I’m being overly dramatic when I say that having wet socks is the absolute worst thing that can happen to a human being.

If there is something that could arguably be worse, it is the specific breed of puddle that forms in the gutter between the pavement and the road. The ones that drivers maliciously hurtle through, leaving you entirely soaked. And not just soaked, but soaked in puddle water. Puddle water is exponentially more upsetting than ordinary rainwater.

It’s not the puddle’s fault, though. I’m a driver sometimes, and I know for a fact it is entirely possible to avoid those puddles. Because of this, I can’t help but feel deeply affronted when another driver doesn’t afford “pedestrian me” the same basic courtesy.

Every time I see one of those roadside traps, I find myself adopting an odd half-run, half-walk to get past them quickly.

(I can’t actually fully run, because that would elicit strange looks from other people, and being judged by complete strangers is possibly my greatest fear.)

I was actively lamenting this with my beloved as we tried to circumnavigate such a puddle the other day. Her response to the situation is quite different to mine. Whereas I take the passive, defensive approach of a natural-born victim, she goes for a touch more aggression:

“I just walk really close to the curb, so they have to drive around the puddle to avoid hitting me,” was her sage advice. “And I walk as if I’m a bit drunk, just to add an air of unpredictability. The drivers have to take extra care because they have no idea what I’m going to do next…”

Just one of the many reasons why I love my wife.

But maybe her heroic, confrontational stance is borne entirely from her Essex origins. Clearly, the people of Essex are far less tolerant of puddle-happy drivers than most.

As evidence, I recently came across a story about an incident in Colchester where a driver failed to slow down, creating a massive wave that absolutely drenched a group of parents and children walking to school.

Unluckily for the motorist, there was a police car driving right behind him. The driver was subsequently prosecuted and fined.

But my absolute favourite detail of the entire story? The arresting officer was called PC Mark Hercules.

He is, without a doubt, a true mythological hero to put-upon, puddle-soaked pedestrians everywhere.