Outside Bates Gentlemen's Hatters ...

On my way to the Royal Academy, I passed shops which were like opulent marble palaces - behind sleek glass were displayed splendid shoes, worth a pasha's ransom, stylish tweed coats meant for the toned torso of a lean oligarch, splendid fedoras made for the shining heads of hedge fund managers -

I lingered for a while staring into the windows of Bates Gentlemen's Hatter - there before me was a flock of hats - I had a sudden desire to buy a landau trilby - 

I remembered the days when I'd worn a fedora - I'd worn the fedora when entering the silent rooms of The Institute of Historical Research - I got acquainted with a man who was researching one of the Zulu Wars - one day he showed me his great grandfather's gold full hunter - that dent was made by an assagai he said - 

I tore myself away from the window, and continued on my way - a hundred yards or so along Jermyn Street, I saw a homeless man, cocooned in his sleeping bag, his dreams like withered birds - 

The ghost of my fedora was perched upon my head - from time to time it whispered names to me - 

13.15

January 17 2014

Jermyn Street