Horse racing boasts a long, sometimes dubious, never boring history. Across the globe, from the Kentucky Derby to the Melbourne Cup, there is one unifying element; one signature sight that has defined the track for generations: hats. The races would be little more than booze-laden gamblefests were it not for fancy hats. It's an undeniable fact, and one Jamie was all too aware of. Unfortunately, Jamie did not own a hat.
The panic set in early. Choosing the right suit was easy. He had a three-piece wool number he found at an op-shop (note to outsiders: "op-shop" is Kiwi for thrift store) a couple of years ago that set him back a mere $15. But it would all fall short if he was unable to tie it together.
Luckily, Wellington had a hatter. Not a hat shop or a clothing store with hats--a proper hatter complete with the little machine that stretches hats for the perfect fit. He had been inside for less than a minute when he saw it: on a high shelf, atop myriad versions of itself--his hat. It had to be.
"You after the 'pork pie,' mate?" called the hatter.
He even liked the name.
1 comment:
Et voilà! James buys a cool hat and now he's too cool for his own blog. So predictable.
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