A morning at Mad Hatters
I am a lapsed hat wearer. I mentioned this to Mike a while ago and, appalled, he insisted on rectifying this situation.
Off to the Nia cafe for breakfast. Mike charming to a waitress, telling her that she had a lovely open face asking her name, and then singing a song with her name in it. Our choice of Nia was strategic, however, as it is next door to Mad Hatters, Brighton's premier hat shop on Trafalgar Street. It opens at 10:30 but this proved no barrier to Mike who simply knocked on the door 45 minutes early and we gained access from its owner Lucy who must have noticed the fanatical gleam in The Cat with the Hat's eye.
Then a masterclass in hat buying. Lucy, Mike and myself were busy passing hats between us like the Marx Brothers. Mike meticulous in his choices and there was much bobbing in front of mirrors, and discussions about hatbands and colours and sizes and squinty-eyed appraisals of hats, which he was buying left right and centre. Mike came away with four or five, and left Lucy with the specifications of several hats he'd like. I bought one too, a nice panamaish straw, and an agreement that I could come back soon and take a photo of myself with hats, particularly the large topper, as I have an idea for a publicity shot.
I must admit as soon as I put my hat on as we walked back up the hill, I felt very Peter Kennyish. Home again and some discussion of business for a couple of hours before Mike left, though, gallingly for him, without his keys.
Then happily pottering about for a few hours, until out of nowhere I suddenly felt violently nauseous, was sick, and then spent the rest of the day and night feeling decidedly unpleasant. I felt bad, because I was supposed to babysit for Anna and I had to cancel.
Lorraine came around in the evening, at the risk of me vomiting on her, and we had a lovely time chatting and sipping water and playing iPod randomiser, where you have to sit through whatever it randomly comes up with. Even, distressingly for Lorraine, early blues.
I am a lapsed hat wearer. I mentioned this to Mike a while ago and, appalled, he insisted on rectifying this situation.
Off to the Nia cafe for breakfast. Mike charming to a waitress, telling her that she had a lovely open face asking her name, and then singing a song with her name in it. Our choice of Nia was strategic, however, as it is next door to Mad Hatters, Brighton's premier hat shop on Trafalgar Street. It opens at 10:30 but this proved no barrier to Mike who simply knocked on the door 45 minutes early and we gained access from its owner Lucy who must have noticed the fanatical gleam in The Cat with the Hat's eye.
Then a masterclass in hat buying. Lucy, Mike and myself were busy passing hats between us like the Marx Brothers. Mike meticulous in his choices and there was much bobbing in front of mirrors, and discussions about hatbands and colours and sizes and squinty-eyed appraisals of hats, which he was buying left right and centre. Mike came away with four or five, and left Lucy with the specifications of several hats he'd like. I bought one too, a nice panamaish straw, and an agreement that I could come back soon and take a photo of myself with hats, particularly the large topper, as I have an idea for a publicity shot.
I must admit as soon as I put my hat on as we walked back up the hill, I felt very Peter Kennyish. Home again and some discussion of business for a couple of hours before Mike left, though, gallingly for him, without his keys.
Then happily pottering about for a few hours, until out of nowhere I suddenly felt violently nauseous, was sick, and then spent the rest of the day and night feeling decidedly unpleasant. I felt bad, because I was supposed to babysit for Anna and I had to cancel.
Lorraine came around in the evening, at the risk of me vomiting on her, and we had a lovely time chatting and sipping water and playing iPod randomiser, where you have to sit through whatever it randomly comes up with. Even, distressingly for Lorraine, early blues.
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