If You Can't Fight...

One of the things I really like about Australia is that people wear hats here. I like hats. I suit them. Wifie looks good in hats too. I don't know if I'd love her quite so much if she didn't – or vice versa.

When I lived in the UK, I used to wear hats from time to time. People I passed in the street there used to think I was a pretentious git. Now I wear hats as often a I can and the only people who think I'm a pretentious git are the people who know me.

Actually, I do believe the Brits really, secretly want to wear hats but they're too inhibited. I know this not only because of the shouts of “Tosser!” I'd get as I walked about in my glorious headwear (don't let anyone ever try to kid you that the British are a well-mannered people) but because of the number of people who would sidle up to me on railway station platforms, look nervously around to make sure no-one was listening and say things like, “I like your hat. Where did you get it?” Of course, once they had the name of the shop, they'd have to move away shouting, “Bloody freak!” just so no-one suspected.

I suppose, to be fair, it isn't enlightenment, or a natural sense of style that makes Australians wear hats. It's the sun. You get a lot of it here and it's as vicious as a theatre critic at a kiddies' Christmas concert. But, hey, who cares what it is? I'm just making the most of it.

Living the dream.

(PS The title is from the old saying, 'If you can't fight, wear a big hat.')