Hats

I really should be blogging about the Cambridge Green Party EGM yesterday... but aside from me and Peter Cranie indulging in mutual appreciation of the new internal comms officer and the pleasantness of the mince pies I can't for the life of me work up the enthusiasm - so let's talk hats!

Saturday night is, naturally, the D-Spoke Christmas rumble, and all week I've have been approached by all and sundry asking about what hat I'll be wearing this year. You see, last year the pink cowboy number went down rather well (probably a little *too* well in fact) particularly as it was stolen goods, sinner that I am. I would post the infamous picture - but I don't have it, thank goodness.

Now my options have been to a) steal another hat, more flamboyant than the last, b) buy a hat, of equal or greater peacockitude or c) disappoint the expectant public and come in the usual drab Jim Jay daywear. Whilst browsing for hats today I did, for all of two minutes, seriously consider going in drag, after seeing a large, but foxy, frock in shocking scarlet. I regret to inform you I had a change of heart and that will *not* be on the menu!

There is a particular problem regarding myself and any chapeau I'd like to adorn my noggin, and that involves the rather embarressing fact of my abnormally large cranium. It is a curse that marks you out for ridicule the moment head gear becomes necessary. When I worked as a conservationist I was always sorting through hard hats trying to find one that would actually go over my bulbous head-bone. This is not always a satisfactory position to be in whilst your workmates look on, sympathising and offering helpful advice.

The hours of hat shopping today (well, hour) were fruitless, there was a delightful bright orange kind of ladies' race day number, but the chances of a woman's hat fitting my extraordinarily masculine pate... they're slim my friends, they're slim. I'd like to go in some sort of forage cap, ala Richard from Big Brother (pictured) but people quite wrongly mistake these for Nazi paraphernalia so I'd best steer clear - suggestions please (or Cambridge based offers of hat loaning)!

I did ask Prince William but I thought his suggestion of KKK hood plus Mussolini T-shirt would have left me rather too hot for comfort in the rumble room.

Of course, the second consideration is exactly how drunk to get. I'm not the drinker I once was and whilst I'm tempted to drink a bottle of cheap sherry beforehand - just to ensure that I'm either crazy and reckless or at least wont remember disgracing myself - I may simply confine myself to a demure half bottle of pre-rumble courage. We shall see. After all whilst Halloween drinks did involve me coming out about the new fetish I seem to have invented this wasn't in fact *all* *bad* as they say.

I remember someone telling me they once went to a party as a piece of wood (ie dressed in a box) and had the best time of their life. This was the dubious claim. But I'm not sure I have any boxes big enough - ha - a recurring problem it seems.

So whilst Christmas festivities are always an opportunity for a new topper, they are also fraught with the tight rope of social convention and propriety. I wonder if any of my readers are celebrating Christmas this year - and if so are you faced with the same dilemmas (although not necessarily pertaining to hats, specifically) that I am.

Actually, you might not be able to answer anyway as it's been reported to me that since going over to the damned beta blogger (craven whore of google that I am) some users of the older version have been unable to leave comments. I pity you comrades, I genuinely pity you.