New hat

Hats used to be worn by absolutely everyone, for every occasion, indoors or out, but during the last century, and particularly after 1950, most people gradually gave up wearing them. They remained part of every type of uniform, of course. But well-heated homes and offices, and a shift to more informal styles of fashion, made them superfluous or unsuitable for everyday wear. I suppose women kept their fondness for wearing hats longer than men - I have pictures of my Mum donning a fancy hat for weddings and similar events until well into the 1970s; but there is no picture of Dad ever wearing a hat, although I do know he owned a black fedora that made him look like a gangster. Perhaps that was a look he (or Mum) disliked.

Or perhaps another thing: hats could be inconvenient. What on earth could you do with them if you took them off? And they were always being blown off in the wind. It didn't need a hurricane. 

So hats became confined to special circumstances, such as Ladies' Day at Ascot. Or were the headwear of specific types of person. For instance, many musicians - male or female - might sport a hat, often something vaguely old-fashioned but nevertheless cool. It was a badge of their profession. Outdoor types like ramblers might wear a waterproof version of a 'Crocodile Dundee' hat. And so on. 

All this said, I'd say that 'proper' hats (as opposed to very casual woolly ones) are not a mass-market item in 2024. And if one does wear one, it's a deliberate and self-conscious choice. Possibly it's the mark of the extrovert, although I would personally deny that I'm like that. 

Hats don't suit everyone, even if they want to wear one, and for a very long time I was persuaded that I should avoid wearing a hat. Looking back, I'm not sure why I let myself be convinced of this. Perhaps some people close to me, who felt awkward in hats themselves, were minded to discourage me, and I listened. 

Well, it's different nowadays. Mind you, I fully agree that some hats don't look good on me. And I would scorn to wear some others. For instance, you'll never see me in a baseball cap, whichever way worn, although I admit that this aversion has its roots in personal prejudice.

What I do like are neat, simple practical hats that suit the time of year, and the weather, and go with my clothes and shoes. I also hope they add to my appearance. In the winter I am - like everyone else - quite fond of woolly hats with bobbles on them, or faux-fur hats for really cold conditions. In the summer - like everyone else - I favour wide-brimmed lightweight sun hats in various materials and styles. I have a foldable waxed cloche-style hat with a warm lining for wet conditions at any time of the year - and I can stuff it into a jacket pocket. 

What I haven't had - until very recently - was a smart hat I could wear most of the year round. Something distinctive, and not merely practical. 

Then I saw some natty burgundy-coloured fedoras on sale in the National Trust shop at Standen, near East Grinstead. They were all wool, with a leather band, and very attractive. The lining inside was cotton. So all the materials used were natural, nothing synthetic. I tried several on, to get the right size. 

It was clear that each hat was individual, fractionally larger or smaller than the others. I also found that sizewise I was in between 'Small' and 'Medium'. (So far as I can judge, I have a 56cm head measurement - so neither a pinhead nor an egghead) I chose the best-fitting 'Medium' hat, on the basis that once exposed to rain or damp air, the hat (being made of wool and leather) might shrink a little, and then fit me exactly. Not that I intended to spoil it by deliberately getting it soaked. But light wetting in a gentle shower was inevitable. 

The price was very reasonable: £35. I had the labels snipped off and wore it immediately. I wowed the folk in the National Trust Cafe, then strolled around the grounds. I was very pleased with my new hat!

Next day, out of interest, I looked this hat up in the National Trust's online shop. There it was, at the same price; with a picture of an eager Adventure Girl wearing it, which gave a clue as to what it should look like on me.

In fact the National Trust actually called it their 'Adventurer Hat'. It came in blue as well, although I thought burgundy was much the better colour. Let the men have the blue ones.

I'd bought it on 9th December, and checked the NT's online shop on 10th December. Two days later, checking again, I discovered that it had sold out, at least online. So the hat had been a runaway Christmas Success for the National Trust. I wasn't surprised. A casual look at online prices generally for this kind of fedora revealed nothing cheaper than £45, and you could easily pay a lot more. It even undercut the street market price. When in Chichester with Glenda (my sister-in-law) on 10th December, there had been a hat-seller in the Christmas Market. He'd asked to examine my hat, and seemed impressed at the £35 I'd paid for it. His own precisely-equivalent burgundy hat cost £40, and the only real difference was that his had an integral tightener in the lining, for an absolutely perfect fit.   

Needless to say, I've worn my new hat a lot since then. Despite its NT description, I haven't yet raided any jungle temples. But my friends haven't laughed at it, and it's generated approving remarks from passers by. It's also good for my posture: when you wear a hat like this, you tend to walk tall. Strange but true. 

I can wear it while driving along. So I sit tall in Sophie.

I really like how it keeps my head cosy without messing up my hair. Some hats pinch your hair out of shape.

No, it hasn't yet been blown off my head in a gust, nor have I got tired of holding the brim on windy corners. I do however put another hat on if that's the best thing.

No, I haven't been mistaken for a musician.

What about the future? For me personally, I am sure I will be wearing hats more and more as the weather gets more extreme, both for the protection and shade they afford in strong sunshine, and for welcome head-warmth in cold weather. And it may be that fashion turns again to universal hat-wearing. Perhaps gangster hats for the men, and Audrey Hepburn hats for the women. Unless the wind gets so turbulent and violent that hat wearing becomes impossible.

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New sunglasses

I haven't in the past been one of those people who are always wearing sunglasses, as part of their standard 'look' perhaps, like Anna Wintour, the Editor in-Chief of Vogue fashion magazine. Here she is, in screenshots taken on my phone off the BBC News app:

 

Anna Wintour is in her mid-seventies now, and I must say she looks great for her age, although her sense of style is part of that. Apparently her always-on sunglasses not only make a personal statement, but protect her eyes from glare (the glare of publicity as much as anything else, perhaps), which I think is sensible, if you have deteriorating eyesight (and haven't we all). 

I am not a slave to fashion. When, in 1975, Foster Grant ran an amusing TV advert in which the entire crew of HMS Victory, plus lady passengers, simultaneously donned trendy sunglasses at the order of Horatio Nelson, I admit I was tempted to invest in a pair. See the video at this YouTube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdSJNCkmkdg. But the cost restrained me. 

In more recent times since Nelson's day, I have worn large polarising sunglasses for driving that fit over my normal specs. These work very well, but they do make me look like a welder on a big job. They are great in the car, less so when walking about in the sun. 

That said, I haven't until recently felt the need to get another pair that will look better on a sunny promenade, or around town. Instead I've used a hat to shade my eyes, although that doesn't block every type of glare.

Well, earlier this month I had my eyes tested at Specsavers. The OCT scan and everything. Basically, all was well, although I was advised that (a) both eyes contained floaters (representing normal wear and tear and not something serious), but (b) both eyes showed signs of developing cataracts (though presently this was only at an early stage). Pretty standard for somebody in their seventies, surely: asking around, it seems that everyone who is older has cataracts in their eyes, that sooner or later will require treatment. How soon in my case? The optician said it was different for each person. It could take months or years. But I could slow down the development of them by shielding my eyes from strong light sources, sunshine especially. 

That advice made me think about wearing sunglasses more, not just in the car when driving along. The eye test had revealed (as expected) that I needed a fresh lens prescription for my ordinary specs. I could order prescription sunglasses too, at a discount. But I didn't, for the same reason that I didn't have ordinary specs with lenses that lightened or darkened according to the ambient light. Such lenses would compromise my photography. I needed to see things in their natural colours and tones. Better to have sunglasses that - like the 'welder' ones I already had for the car - had frames that fitted over my smaller ordinary specs, and could be momentarily removed while I composed the shot. Specsavers would still do a half-price deal for me, polarising lenses included. 

So which frames to choose?  They would have to be big ones that could conceal the ordinary specs underneath. And they would certainly need to be less utilitarian, much more fashionable. I'd looked in a sunglasses shop in Canterbury shortly before, and had been shocked at how much I could pay for designer-name frames with only plain lenses fitted - £300 did not seem out of the way - and polarising lenses would be extra on top of that. Yikes! But Specsavers had a range of designer frames too, and after trying several likely ones on, I settled on a pair made by Marc Jacobs. No, this wasn't my pet brand. In fact I'd not really been aware of Marc Jacobs stuff before. But they were nice sunglasses, and met my personal specifications, polarising lenses included. 

I picked them up a week later. The price was a reasonable £105. I'd got a 50% discount, linking these new sunglasses with my order for new lenses on my ordinary specs. I also got a yellow hard Marc Jacobs case to put the sunglasses in. 

So here they are, examined closely back at home.

And next with them on, over my ordinary specs.

I thought they looked pretty good indoors, even when doing household chores like washing the dishes!

Almost immediately it was time to test them in a social situation. They still looked good, although I think my friends wore them as if they were lifelong fashionistas, unlike myself.

The big irony is that ever since purchasing them, the weather outside has been rubbish, with the sun hardly ever peeping through the dull moody cloud cover. So nobody else has seen me wearing my new sunglasses! I've only on occasion worn the old 'welder' ones, when driving here and there. 

But their moment will come. I keep them in the car, ready for action. Ready for my fashion call. Anna Wintour wore hers when talking with the late Queen. I shall wear mine when talking with the King. If, that is, I bump into him. 

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An encounter with AI on misty Stanton Moor

Another Peak District tale from last September. 

I had parked Sophie, and was looking for the entrance pathway onto Stanton Moor, an area of high rough heathland north-west of Matlock. I was on the western edge of the Moor, where the remains of old quarries were much in evidence. There were still a couple of stone companies operating here. You could tell from the noise! 

But I soon left the screech of stone-cutting behind. The mist on the Moor quickly deadened the sound. It was a very damp day, though not actually raining. I was dressed for rain though, had put on my Dubarry boots, and was carrying my stick to keep me upright if the paths proved slippery. Actually, they were fine. The main concern was the mist that cloaked the Moor, and made it a rather eerie place to be, even though it was full daylight. I wasn't the only person there. I saw for instance a man with a dog returning to his car just as I arrived, and I met another person later on (more about that soon). Otherwise I seemed to have the place to myself. 

Not that you could be quite certain that nobody was lurking: the mist hid all but my immediate surroundings. But I told myself it was foolish to suppose that every bush hid a man intent on mayhem. Besides, I was no lightweight, had a stick, and could if necessary deploy a hefty metal camera with sharp edges - one good clunk in the face from that, and any perpetrator of harm would need a hospital visit. Even so, I questioned the wisdom of venturing unaccompanied onto a misty moor, and what I would actually do if I had an unpleasant encounter. But should a woman on her own always keep away from lonely spots? No, it was too restricting. But I stayed very alert. 

I found the path. It began in an old quarry full of stone blocks, green with moss, and dramatically-leaning trees.

There was an information panel. My first objective was the Cork Stone shown on it. (Click on these pictures to see more detail)

Best foot forward, then. You can see my boots and stick in the next shot.

It was really quite hard to see what lay ahead. Would I end up taking the wrong path? Surely I wouldn't miss the highly distinctive shape of the Cork Stone? As I walked on, I began to wonder. Then it gradually emerged from the mist, a stumpy and rather other-worldly presence. Like a mysterious waiting sentinel.

No doubt it was a perfectly useful and friendly landmark in bright sunshine, and the footholds carved up one side suggested that on a clear day the view from the top was worth the climb. But today it was just a lump of wet rock. Nevertheless, I had to touch it. I generally touch all solitary standing stones. It's the mystic in me.

On I went. The Cork Stone quickly faded from view in the mist. 

I felt assured that I was on the right path, at least for the moment, although there was no distant object in view to aim at. The vegetation consisted mostly of ferns, colourful even on such a dull day. 

There were also small rocky outcrops scattered about. Were they natural, or deliberately put there long ago in neolithic times? It was hard to tell.

The path was turning. Glancing at the OS map on my phone, I was still pretty sure where I was, but began to look out for a tower that I should be able to see. It was in fact impossible to get lost, as I could fire up GPS on my phone, and discover precisely where I was on the map. But I wanted to test my map-reading skills without the crutch of GPS. Ah, there it was! I went up close for a good look.

The tower was built on the edge of the Moor by a past estate-owner to provide wide views of both the Moor and the valley of the River Derwent below, at least from the top. The windows were mere slits. It had become disused and partly ruinous. The entrance was blocked for safety's sake. Right then, back to the path and onwards to my main objective: the stone circle called the Nine Ladies. They came into view, in the centre of a wide glade of birch trees.

The map showed another stone, the King Stone, a little way off. It sounded big and important, but I couldn't immediately find it. I walked around, checking directions and distances, and eventually came across this puny lump in the grass. It was definitely the King Stone, but a very unimpressive monarch indeed:

I found another information panel, which said a lot about the Nine Ladies and the King Stone. 

It also explained that Stanton Moor was a 'Cairn Field', meaning that it was a neolithic burial-ground, containing a large number of stone cairns - dolmens, I suppose. I hadn't spotted many of them while walking along, but some of those rocky outcrops must certainly have been collapsed cairns. They were all plotted on the map shown on the panel. 

I had met nobody since the start of my walk, and heard no sounds except natural ones. Now I heard a steady whistling noise. What on earth was it? A stout bearded man, with a backpack and little dog on a lead, came into view, clearly seeking the Nine Ladies like me. And flying behind him, keeping to a fixed height and a fixed distance, was a little drone. That explained the whistling noise: it was the sound of the drone's propellers. I was however fascinated that it stayed the same distance from the man, as if it were a well-trained pet. Then something even stranger happened. He held out his hand, palm upward, and the little drone landed neatly on it, then fell silent. 

You can just make out the drone (right centre) in my shot above. It's coming in to land on the man's upturned palm.

I walked a bit closer and asked him how it was done. 'Oh, AI, ' he said. He clearly wasn't going to be talkative, so I didn't enquire further. I guessed that the drone could somehow be set up to follow at a fixed height and distance, and to recognise an upturned palm as a signal to approach and land on the palm. Impressive, at least to me!

I'd finished photographing the Nine Ladies and the King Stone, and stole off while this man was himself glancing at the stones, aided by his dog. He hadn't been a threat. In my experience, men encumbered with backpacks and small dogs do not waylay women. But who else was nearby? There were in fact a couple of tents on the edge of the glade, and there were waste bags stuffed with empty beer cans propped up against the information panel. Neatly stuffed, I was willing to grant; but I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that rough-living men with an appetite for alcohol were at large on the Moor. Time to get out of their vicinity. 

Besides, the light had subtly changed. The afternoon was wearing on. And the already-limited visibility would get worse as the light grew less. My way led through these trees, and then hopefully out onto the open Moor:

My right knee wasn't doing too badly, but I didn't want to over-stretch it. Even so, I kept up a good pace until I was sure that the glade had been left well behind, and that nobody was following me on the same path. Then it was just a matter of steadily walking until familiar ground came into view. But the mist and fading light made it hard to be sure when I really was back on my original path. I was very relieved when the Cork Stone came into sight, and beyond it the quarry and then the road. Soon I was sitting in Sophie with the doors locked and the engine fired up ready to go. 

You might ask why I venture into lonely places, if I'm at all nervous about being waylaid. But I can't let myself be fearful when the risk is - taken rationally - quite small, and when there is so much beautiful countryside to be seen. Even countryside shrouded by mist has its own allure. 

I'm sure at least one reader will explain to me how AI enabled that drone to behave as it did. It was a very cool thing to behold.

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