But. At the age of
seventy plus, my life has changed. I have come to live in glorious Yamba. And I
have somehow, somewhen, mislaid my hair. The temperatures in Yamba this year
have ranged from 44 degrees down. Not far down, either. And the Yambanic sun,
pounding on my pate … there was nothing for it, I needed some sort of protection
before I got sunstroke.
Turkish beanie,
hmm. Rod’s golfing hat. Hahahaha! I looked and felt like a dessicated mushroom.
Hanky knotted at the corners? Well, at least that’s comfy. Silk scarf? At 70? I’d
look like an antique Joanna Depp. So I just shoved the whole thing in the
too-complicated basket.
Friday 14 April.
11.30, lovely massage (ow!!!!) from the impeccable Amanda. Then a gangly 12.30 lunch
at the Beachwood Café with Renée, Rachel and Harry. Harry went off to save
lives on Pippi Beach, and the girls went to have a wander round the shops. So I
went too. Rachel wanted a new sunhat. She didn’t find one. But, while she was
looking, I waited by the hat stand. And idly picked one up and put it on. Well,
blow me down. I quite liked it…
And it was comfy.
And … what! $50? After massage and lunch, the wallet was kinda leaky. Eftpos?
I’ll have it. Rachel immortalised the moment on camera.
So I am now the
owner of A Hat. Perhaps I shall wear it to this year’s Grafton Cup. Mostly, I
think, I will wear it when the sun shines at its superbest. If I can get the
habit after half a century.
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