I love hats. All my life I’ve wanted to own and wear hats and have spent countless hours in front of shop mirrors trying berets, caps, trilbys, cowboy hats, top hats and beanies. But the sad fact is I really don’t suit hats. So when I find one that looks okay, I tend to stick to it.
And that’s why the cap I wear when I go hiking which was once velvety black is now faded to grey, scruffy and dirty (despite its intimate knowledge with the inside of the washing machine) and has travelled much of the world with me over the countless years that I’ve owned it.
Last week I was rummaging through the various boxes of goodies in the ‘Todo a Euro’ sale at the local Al Campo supermarket and distractedly pulled a khaki coloured baseball cap from a box and put it on.
“My God,” said Jack. “That actually looks good on you.”
With a grin of delight I threw the cap into the shopping basket and went back to get one in a different colour for Jack.
When I got home I took the old caps off the rucksack handle where they permanently live and replaced them with the clean, shiny new ones.
I felt a twinge of regret as I threw the old ones into the back of the wardrobe and a slight worry that the newness of the cap would only serve to emphasise the age of the rest of the outfit.
Hmm, I fear this could end up costing me a lot more than the one euro I paid for the cap.