Hats

Red hat, blue hat, green hat. Felt hats, fur hats, wedding hats. Mad hatter hats – that’s actually a place called that near where I used to stay. No Red Queen, but down a leafy lane and, yes, you could probably see a March hare there if you were paying attention.

I never used to like hats. Why? Because when I was young I was made to wear one to church every Sunday. Those days of white gloves. Trouble was they always fell off my head – was it the shape? of the hat? and /or of my head? I reckon it was because my hair was so fine and everything slid off it – bows, ribbons, hair clips. Result, my mum fixed elastic to the hat to try and keep it on and I hated that elastic. It cut into my throat from ear to ear. As soon as I could I always took the hat off.

It wasn’t until I was on a winter’s holiday in a very frozen Hamburg that I bought another hat, sometime in my thirties. One third of your heat is lost through your head. Lately its been more of a case of keeping the heat off my head. But I still prefer to ‘let the wind blow back my hair’. My love hate relationship with hats.