A few years ago, perhaps many if one includes the hiatus of the last few, we returned to the boat to discover that my going-to-town hat had moved of its own accord. We’d forgotten to seal it in an airtight bag, and in the humid confines of the wintering boat it had grown so much greenish fuzzy fur that it could have been mistaken for a small animal. Since it no longer bore any resemblance to an actual hat, it was quickly caught and dispatched.
Through circumstance, which is to say a lengthy bout of laziness combined with an intense dislike for trying on hats, and an even greater dislike for wearing my sailing cap “out”, my head has remained as bare as the proverbial during subsequent jaunts into whichever town happen to be passing.
We are quite adept at skipping from one patch of shade to another as we navigate the streets, but the penny dropped today as a tour boat picked it’s way through the shadows as we watched, it’s skipper doing a remarkable job of gesticulating and steering with his left hand while his right attended to the more important task of providing him with shade.
Surely life would be simpler if he just got himself a hat.
That simple thought, ladies and gentleman, triggered something of a race to the nearest hat shop where one of Ecuador’s not-quite finest products was purchased for what was once the price of a small caravan, and we wandered about in new-found freedom for the rest of the day, to the tune of “Mad Dogs and Englishmen”.
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