On Needing to Cover Up.

Now that my good friend, the mirror, has persuaded me to feel embarrassed about being seen in public, I’ve decided I need a disguise. I thought about getting a Cousin Itt outfit, but felt that it might prove dangerous in a farming area for obvious reasons. I thought about getting a long cape and prosthetic fangs, but feared they might attract autograph hunters. I thought of getting a black Balaclava with eye and mouth holes and affecting a mincing walk, but decided that the attention of desperate women asking if they could be my wife now would be too much to handle.

I gave them all up and settled for sunglasses. I have a pair, you know. They’re blue. (They're also polarising so the glare shall not trouble me nor the water reflect a cruel world. That's what makes them posh.) The trouble is, I need a hat to go with them and none of the ones in my possession is suitable.

One is a woolly sort which makes me look like the guy who hangs around street corners because he was fired from his labouring job for being unable to handle a wheelbarrow.

One is a flat cap which makes me look like somebody pretending to be a county type even though I don’t have the matching tweed jacket.

One is a very old bush hat which makes me look like an Australian farmhand who hasn’t been paid for several years.

None of them goes with shades, so what does? I don’t know; that sort of thing lies well beyond my experience, not to mention my comfort zone. And since I have nobody who’s advice I might seek (and since I never take advice on principle anyway) suggestions would be welcome in writing.

In the meantime I will search diligently wherever inspiration might be found. But what do I do about the withering looks hurled in my direction by passing strangers and their dogs? Squirm, I suppose.