I Hate Hats

I Hate Hats

When I was a baby
I wore a woollen bonnet.
My mother did embroidery
So she stitched my name upon it.

By the time I was four
I had progressed to a hat with a bobble.
And each time I nodded my head
It made my bobble wobble.

In winter I donned a black Balaclava
Or a Sherlock Holmes Dear-Stalker hat.
But they both made me look rather chubby.
And I’m not even the slightest bit fat.

One day I went to town, to buy a nice brown Trilby,
So I could pretend I was a spy, just like young Kim Philby.
But in the end I had to settle for a flat Beret, in red,
Which made me look more like a French onion seller instead.

I wanted to look suave and dashing and chic,
Just like the avenging John Steed.
But a Bowler Hat on my tiny head
Made me look very silly indeed.

I once tried on a high Stetson
To try and make myself look tall.
But the hat was two sizes too large
And I walked slap bang into the wall.

I have decided, at last, that hats aren’t for me.
So I shall shave my head smooth after dinner.
Then I’ll walk down the road to the pub
And pretend I’m a new-age Yul Brinner.