Hats

02/22/2005

We still have a strong, bitterly cold east wind, but it keeps us mainly dry with only a few wintery showers about 4.00. However, the skies are cloudier and we only have a few glimpses of sun at midday. Again, we enjoy a dramatic sunset. We manage to spend most of the day outside, well wrapped up against the cold. Almost all my phone calls are returned today which must be some kind of record, but we fail on the wheelie bin front, no surprise there then! I notice that dearest Dotty continues to wear her woollen hat throughout luncheon, I politely refrain from comment, but she notices before we go out again, and is very annoyed with herself. Dotty is worried about daftness, but it sets me to thinking about hats. I believe that we should wear them much more often, perhaps if the baseball cap brigade adopted something with style and individuality the world would be a better place. I count up my own collection and find at least half a dozen styles and materials that can be used everyday, not including my more bizarre Top Hats and Pith Helmets which have rolled down the generations. One style missing from the collection is the Deer Stalker, this would suit me well, but I am afraid that friends from town would ridicule me during August and September, when this headgear is the preserve of the professional rather than the amateur. One is often warned that the use of Deer Stalker earflaps can be dangerous, for although very cosy, one can miss vital information, such as the offer of a large dram on the hill! I do know one very good story about two Irishmen and a hat, but in the interests of good taste, I will leave that for another day. On the home front, all is peace and tranquillity. The number two daughter phones from London to find out why she is alone in Highbury, the call is taken by Mhairi, much tutting and cooing follows before the eldest grabs the phone and disappears for an hour. I am hopeful that the eldest is going to stay for some R&R. The signs are good as she was up early with the dogs, dressed in good country wear, the London togs and those witches’s shoes seem to have been abandoned. She even joined me for a “very young” Ardbeg nightcap last night, and let us face it; it is not as though she has ever had a job that she needs to rush back too! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.