Today I lost my hat.

My new hat –

lovingly hand knit

by my very good friend

warm, soft,

her hands protecting my head

from winter’s bitter chill,

left,

on a train

going fast to St Albans.

 

It was brown, you know.

The most amazing wool, with a

big wooden button at the top right hand side

(depending on how you wore it)

so as I walked down the street

I could tell people were thinking,

“Who is that man with the stylish hat?”

(or something like that anyway!)

 

It was found, of course,

by someone.

I hope it was found by

someone who would wear it;

who wouldn’t see it as a health hazard

who didn’t pick it up with a metal stick

and drop it into a plastic bag.

 

That’s what I thought.

Then, on the way back,

a most amazing thing…

 

I must have caught the exact same train!

Because there on the seat in front of me

just lying there – untouched –

was

a mirage.

Then when I got off at Tulse Hill

the place was swarming with cops!

They had obviously been scouring London for my hat;

They were lining up to greet me

and present me with it.

 

But no.

They simply moved out of my way

and carried on talking among themselves.

 

And so I had to walk home hatless

comforted only by a packet of

fruit pastilles from the

co-operative.

 

But now I have a ray of hope.

My friend, Sara, told me to tweet the train co.

And they told me to complete the lost property form.

Maybe we’ll all see our hats again someday.