In May I had a minor operation on an ear to cut out a basal carcinoma (rodent ulcer). This was first spotted by my Dentist and she said that unless removed, it would nibble away until my glasses fell off. These little skin cancers are a result of over-exposure to sunshine and so during our September holiday I was nonplussed to find that I had not packed my Australian bush hat.
And so it was that on Monday morning we started out from the docks in Falmouth right by Trago Mills. We soon spotted the perfect hat in an up-market gentleman’s shop, however I was confident the price could be beaten, and so we continued from shop to shop up the hill to the archway at top of town. Disappointed we turned around and meandered down the other side stopping only to make a detour around the market square. With sinking hearts we then continued our long traipse to the bottom.
The Sun was high in the heavens as we again entered the Gentlemen’s outfitter. I looked first at a white panama that could be rolled up for convenience. But whilst it fitted nicely I just couldn’t believe the thing would survive more than a few weeks of tractor work. There was only one thing for it. I had to bite the bullet and try on the prix d’or of headgear. A Tilly Hat. The price was however exorbitant.
Regular readers may recall my recollections of war-time shopping with mother. She was the scourge of Mansfield market traders and I do not recall a single transaction that did not involve negotiations. I have inherited her apparent impecunious nature and so although resolved to purchase; I affected only a passing interest in the hat under observation.
According to the label, Tilly hats are manufactured with “True Canadian Pernicketedness” and are warranted for life. (Whether that is the life of the purchaser or the life of the hat is not stated) However, the hat will be replaced at half price should it be lost or stolen. It is washable, will float and is specially made to allow the free flow of cooling air. This latter feature being vital during Saharan conditions or a Cornish summer.
As we discussed the hat’s design and its multiple features I interjected the thought that maybe the price was flexible, but the shop keeper was adamant and so forced my ultimate negotiating ploy. “Look” I said, “I’m a countryman and sheep farmer, and if it got out that I had paid full price for this hat I would lose all credibility among the community. ‘I simply can’t let that happen and so reluctantly it is impossible to purchase your excellent product.”
Pausing only for a quick glance at a wristwatch he spoke! “I have thoroughly enjoyed this past twenty minutes and have no hesitation in allowing you a full £2 off the price”. Instantly I grasped his hand and the deal was done. On emerging from the shop and before my wife could contrast the cost of one hat against her entire summer wardrobe, I pointed out that a £2 saving in twenty minutes scaled up to £6 per hour which was almost the national minimum wage. “Therefore,” I said, “You see, I was earning money even whilst spending it”…. She was not convinced!
We are both convinced however that although our slow trudge up the Falmouth hill led to a deal on a hat; the slope of Advent up to Christmas will lead to something much more important. Whereas a Tilly Hat covers one’s head and is insured for theft, the deal on Christmas day covers one’s life and is fully comprehensive. And, if I can push the analogy a bit further; the Christmas deal is about life abundant not just discounts and money.
December is the time for carolling and so I remind readers once again that singers live an average 8 years longer than non-singers, which makes carol services fantastic opportunities to blow the dust out of one’s lungs. Furthermore, any reader who wants to join me carolling around the lanes of Pauntley (or Bob May around the village of Dymock,) will be as welcome on earth as churchgoers will be in heaven when, on Christmas morning, we expand our lungs again to sing Adeste Fidelis. ‘O Come all ye faithful.’
Who knows: Stale air blown out of lungs might also mean stale ideas blown out of minds.
Mind you. I can’t see anyone at a local Carol Service posing the question put to Kentucky Sunday School pupils by a teacher who asked why they thought they should be quiet in church.
Quick as a flash a hand shot up, “Please Miss, is it because everybody is asleep”?
View from the Pew 