Changing Gear, Briefly.

I went to the Autumn Fete at the village hall today, and did what I usually do at village hall events: observed the people. The adults were mostly tedious, the kids generally less so. Isn’t it ever the way? There was one man, however, who caught my attention. It was patently obvious that he was wearing a toupee, and he provided several minutes of pondering the psychology of wig-wearing. I speculated that it runs along the lines of:

‘I don’t want to be viewed as I am, but as I think is more attractive and/or acceptable, even though my habit is transparent and might encourage the suspicion that I am given to pretension.’

But of course, I might be jumping to unwarranted conclusions here. It might be that his pate has some embarrassing condition or marks of injury which he wishes, not unreasonably, to hide. And it’s none of my business anyway.

While I was there I encountered five people I knew – six if you count my landlord. I’m disinclined to count him because he’s the local bigwig, and comes from a substantial line of bigwigs who have owned, and continue to own, a sizeable proportion of the property in the Shire. Though I hold no major grudge against him, I still can’t help feeling a sense that he and I live in parallel universes, the only connection between the two being practical and pecuniary. Of the five people I do count, three attract enough of my interest to encourage a desire to communicate. Two left early and the third was busy, so that was that. The day was saved, however, by the two dogs which were tethered outside, both of which were most happy to have my undivided attention while their human was absent indoors.

I didn’t win a prize in the raffle – not even the voucher to be spent at one of the town butchers, which I assumed I was most likely to win since I’m vegetarian.

Life moved back to its accustomed gear at 4.15.