Friday, 29 April 2011


A few year ago a company called 'Angels' (provides costume and clothes for film and tv) had an insane 'get-rid-of-everything-you-can-have-anything' warehouse sale. It was literally the most exciting day of my life (excitement levels equal to those Willy-and-Kate-babes lovers camping outside Buckingham Palace tonight. Extreme.) I woke up at 5am and cruised along to Wembley where the queues outside the warehouse were going mentalist. Once inside I thought I was still asleep and having propaa trippy dreams (quite possible) - a wonderland of room after room piled high with clothes glorious clothes. Accessories. Shoes. Wigs. Everything bright, colourful and magical. I paid for a massive plastic bag into which I could pop ANYTHING that tickled ooh lala my fancy. Phwoar. A pair of green trousers, black pointed boots, lots of jackets, white floaty shirt, colourful jumpers, necklaces, etc, etc.

One of my many items was a bowler hat. I love it. I wear it out & about.

I subsequently read Milan Kundera's book 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' in which the bowler hat is a symbol of sexual degradation and a reminder that such degradation is voluntary and longed for by women.

Well, that's not quite why I wear it. I just rather like the thing.

These are some snaps from dinner in Kensington to a bar in Piccadilly to the club Maddox. In a bowler hat. Rockin out.

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