thats hats

At the end of the day, at least as much as at the beginning, it all comes down to who you can live with. Guy Richie can live with Madonna. Elton John can live with aptly named David Furnish.* And Victoria can live on the same planet as the wonderfully talented David 'Poor Sod' Beckham.

But there are those for whom one is not enough. Me for example. And now is the time to come clean. So bear with me gentle reader As I reveal that to satisfy my own personal cravings for multiple experience I promiscuously share my living space with not one, not two, or even three but with a whole diminutive posse of cranial adornments.

I suppose number one chapeau would have to be 'Bright Eyes', a rabbit-fur-with-lots-of-flaps job. 'Bright' as I call her, carries the cosy memory of a pre-glasnost university trip to Moscow in 1984. It was then that I fell in love, discovered Stalinist Gothic and, when I was surprised at my surprise that Russians didn't actually have horns and tails after all, understood that the press can make a big difference to how I think.

Maintaining covert surveillance on that Rusky dame my compadre ‘Tex’ flies the flag for good ol’ down home capitalism. A straw Stetson from my time in Frisco, the eponymous country and western band that is, ‘Tex’ came on board following a New Year’s Eve weekend gig wedged with scouser apaches in Prestatyn. ‘Tex’ is one ornery hat. There ain’t many around tough enough to square up to his kind of raisin'.

'Tex' would be followed, although not alphabetically obviously, by 'Tensing' a Nepalese peasant hat with an ornamented padded strip on the brow. ‘Tensing’ was brought back from the Himalayas by my boss when I was working as a gardener at Eltham palace. Although glad to get the present I wasn't so sure on the subtext.

Apparently the padded strip is where, if you are a Nepalese rural worker (in the Maoist bit, or peasant in the other), you put the strap for the sack of rocks you are hauling up the mountain. You will appreciate that, as a gardener a boss with these sorts of ideas rattling around between the ears can be a source of significant long term low level anxiety.

Then there are my invisible hats. To name any of these feels like it might risk blowing their cover. So I haven’t. All I will say is that I have these in several styles. You know what I’m talking about? The woolly zenith of the car crim/junkie uniform?

Oh I can see them clear enough. Its just that people I know quite well walk straight past me when I am wearing one. They either don't, or don't want to, recognise anyone dressed like that. As a result I’m very fond of these. They have saved me, and possibly my friends, from countless unwelcome conversations. Such a blessing.

Before you try this at home it is well to be aware that not all woolly hats of this genre guarantee invisibility. I do have a bright red one which seems to work in the opposite way. Especially with the fair sex.

When wearing this it is not unusual for me to be on the receiving end of subtle glances, even the occasional shy smile from a comely damsel. I like to interpret these as signals of amour. Although it has been suggested, unkindly in my view, that they are more likely to be stifled sniggers of amusement. Whatever. I’m sure the response has nothing to do with the old adage about those with red hats enjoying reduced underwear status**.

On the subject of covering up I usually draw a veil (what a vision) over Garry the barbecue chef's hat. Garry has no backbone. Well actually Garry has no back. He is pure facade, held in place by elastic and as such can't really be considered a proper hat. Even if he does yearn to sit on my head. I’m worried about Garry.

Conversely, even though at 59 cms he is a little on the tight side and makes me sweat a bit, I am proud to possess Paco de Panama. And I have respect for Reginald my working person's flat cap with t'pop-stud peak, full segmented crown and apical button. The trouble here though is that he can be a little intimidating. Sometimes I even get the feeling that 'Edgy Reggie' as I have come to think of him, may be borderline schizophrenic.

As far as I can remember at the time of purchase in York he felt normal enough, well adjusted even. From Marks & Spencers no less. And you can’t get more well behaved than that. We started out with a mature bourgeois rapport. Until the hit-and-run incident.

Out of the blue as I was rushing across a busy road a gust whisked Reggie off my head and onto the carriageway. I turned, and stood helpless on the pavement, as a truck went right over him.

Did the driver stop? Did he fairy cakes. After a moment of almost parental anguish I rushed to the rescue. To my relief despite being a slightly flatter flat cap than previous, Reggie seemed ok. But with hindsight I don't think he was ever the same.

Whether it was the physical knock or the post traumatic stress I don’t know. But now that hat has two distinct personalities. When the crown is firmly pop studded to the peak hard Reggie exudes an air of psychotic authority. But with his stud un-popped, so to speak, and the crown swept back effete Ronnie has a much more artsy and, if I am going to be honest, unnervingly camp air.

It gets worse. I am concerned that Reggie/Ronnie harbours aspirations to grandeur well beyond his/their station and may be aiming to sit on a head that leads nations. Or at least a criminal gang in east London. This quirk of personality may have been dormant only to manifest following the RTA. Whatever the reason, although I would never abandon an old hat just because its ..... er .... old hat, or maybe gone a bit weird, I no longer feel at ease with either of these new personas. So I don't wear them anymore.

Does every hat carry a tale I wonder? My latest acquisition does. Another straw job, this time made by Blue Seahorse and a Thai holiday gift from a recovering alcoholic friend. 'Nang' was still covered in flowers when I got him, and soaking from a last dip in the Malacca strait.

For why my pal went I don't know. Why do boys go to Thailand? My friend is a very, very, very keen diver. So for him it was the blue sea, the coral, the gaudy fish, the beach life, the unspoilt jungle ....... and the women.

The country really got him. Well something did. Eventually it turned out that he had found a girlfriend. Before you could say chilli-fried-grasshopper he was as deeply and bluely in love as the gulf of Thailand itself. A basket case in no time flat.

When he came back he was determined he was going to chuck his job and move out there. To settle down in a bamboo cabin on the shore. With his beautiful Thai lady, and possibly some of her mates if they were all up for it, to live off bananas and coconut milk. He's a veggie by the way. We all remonstrated until we realised that he had made his mind up. After that we just wished him well.

He started to put the plan into practice. But this was no spur of the moment decision. It was a calculated move and was going to take a while. He was going at Christmas he said. Once he had sold all his gear.

At Christmas he still had stuff to sell so he revised his time scale. Now he would be going at Easter.

Just before Easter departure date shifted to 'the end of the summer'.

Then to 'definitely by next Christmas'.

A month ago they got married here in UK. They had already cut the deal in Thailand but wanted a British ceremony too. Weirdly she hadn't been so keen on the bamboo cabin by the shore. Or sharing him with her pals. She fancied something different. And thought they might try to make a go of it in Blighty. Where he's got a job and there's a relatively good health service.

So now it looks like he's going to be sticking around. With his whole new bunch of in-laws. Not to mention the kids. She has one of her own by a previous but also got pregnant on the wedding night. Earning him the title One-Shot-Thomas.

What is left but to wish them all well and look forward to their greater future happiness. But I still think I got the best out of the deal.

Because why?

Obvious really ... I GOT THE HAT.

After all now that I’ve come clean about my co-habitees of choice, it can only be onwards and upwards from here on in.

Bring on the pork pie

..... hat that is.

© Patrick Ellis March 2006

* A person so sartorially challenged that he has his threads created out of fabric more appropriate for a three-piece-suite than for a three-piece-suit. Gives a whole new take on stuffing the sofa.

** You know what they say. ‘Red hat - no drawers’.

the trouble with john humphries

i am very sorry to hear that john humphries has once again upset a strident element of the bbc radio 4 listening public. how could he be so impertinent to that nice mr cameron on the today program? especially when the latter was wriggling like a worm on a hook, desperate to oil his way out of the inconvenient contradictions in his position on income tax. it's high time that young humphries was hauled up before the beak for more smacked legs and public humiliation.

if nothing else it will give mr grade the opportunity to further ingratiate himself with the compilers of the honours lists. although hopefully thats a side issue, the question of how many troublesome welshmen you need to bully before you can claim your title remains. whatever, its got to be cheaper than cash up front.

but then humphries isn't quite so young is he? despite his youthful enthusiasm as he duffed cameron up in an exchange worthy of a first term at public school when the new bug gets his head shoved down the lavatory, he's been treading those radio boards for quite a while now.

i wonder how far back his career stretches. back to the brief intermission in deferential wireless that followed the 1960s perhaps. back even to the age of integrity in public life where peccadilloes and improper conduct could actually lead to a principled resignation. (cf. john profumo. although i don't suggest that there is any issue of resignation here. ) back in fact to when our media sleuths were not afraid of losing their jobs if they rattled the bars of westminster. or those that populate them.

perhaps that's the trouble with john humphries. maybe his understanding of the function of a radio journalist is too old-fashioned for modern listeners. perhaps in this virtual age, ferreting after uncomfortable truth is too clearly unacceptable and an indication that it's time to hang up the mike. as is the innocent belief that being in the right is its own validation.

well all i can say is long live john humphries. long may he sink his teeth into our deserving pillars of public life and shake them like a terrier shakes a rat. they do get quite handsomely paid after all.

we need more voices of his calibre on the airwaves. especially on massively bourgeois radio 4. but i fear that in these post- gilligan days of polite media the likes of jh are becoming an increasingly endangered species. who knows when the poison dart is going to find its target between his shoulder blades? much as i'd like to i can't protect him from those who obviously wish to god he'd shut up. but i can admire him. and his stance.

and i do.

patrick ellis