I went out shopping with the Missus and the Boy on Sunday and I made two superb purchases. The first was a pair of black long-johns for cycling and I tried them out this morning and I have to say I am massively impressed with the whole concept of long-john-ery. To be fair they are essentially tights for blokes and they are not the most aesthetically appealing garment (and as a proud possessor of well-defined legs I was a tad upset to discover they may not be suitable for evening wear). But overall they’re a winner. No mistake.
The second and more joyful purchase, however, was a new hat.
Many years ago when I was a thrusting young community theatre writer and director I had a hat that was like a beanie hat with a small brim. Sadly it got lost one drunken night out in the People’s Republic of Goole and I was never been able to replace it, despite trawling through several Army & Navy Stores.
But yesterday my search ended and I found it. I genuinely didn’t realise a cheap hat could make me so happy. The Boy, however, was very embarrassed as I stopped before every mirror in every shop to admire my new purchase. He was even more embarrassed when I enacted my new hat joke in the middle of a crowded Kensington High Street.
I said ‘Who am I?’ took off my hat, pretended to poo in it then put it back on my had and said ‘Beam me up, Scotty!’ The Boy looked blank and walked away and the Missus looked perplexed then walked away too.
Left alone I said the punchline:
‘William Shat-hat-ner…’
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