Let’s have a bit of fun today and consider hats, which, like cats, have to be taken extremely seriously.
I’ve been a devotee of hats ever since I can remember, and was quite happy about wearing a hat like a petalled plate at a wedding or as part of a stage show. I thought I looked quite the style. You can be vain at four.
But now I come to think of it, you can be vain about your headgear at forty-four, or sixty-four or eighty-five. Dear, dear!
Here I am at forty-four showing off my finery before heading off to give a talk. By this time I was an author and a well paid one and could indulge my taste for hats whenever I wanted to, summer or winter. I could pretend that some of the summer hats were just to keep the sun out of my eyes and the winter ones were to keep my head warm of course, hence the fur.
The giggling picture taken in the church was at a book launch but any excuse will do. The ones below are on a cruise, posing for a publicity shot and at the wedding of my second granddaughter and amanuensis, Charlotte who writes these blogs with me and without whom they wouldn’t exist at all.
But perhaps my favourite hat of all is the one I’m wearing in this line up. It was made of cardboard and so were the gauntlets, painted blue to match our romper suits. We thought we were absolute dogs, I’m not sure what kind of song we sang when we were dressed up like this but it should have been:
‘Where did you get that hat? Where did you get that tile?
Isn’t it a nobby one and just the proper style.
I should like to have one just the same as that.’
Wherever I go they shout ‘Hello, where did you get that hat?’