The New Hat

It was raining outside so Rodney Ducklebury, who wanted to go and buy his morning newspaper, put on his hat. 

Or, he went to. 

But his hat was not on the kitchen door, where he normally left it. With his wellies. He looked around the kitchen, he looked under the sofa (because he found it there last Tuesday). 

No hat. 

Connie Ducklebury, his wife, saw his concern. She rolled her eyes in a manner not dissimilar to one armed bandit. She got lemons. And a grape. 

“What have you lost now?”

“My hat, dear. Have you seen it?”

“No, but you could wear this.”

She handed him the tea cosy. 

“That’s the tea cosy.”

“I declare it a hat.” 

The pigeon that landed on the windowsill outside coo’ed its agreement. 

“It won’t fit me.”

Connie put her hands inside the tea cosy and pushed outwards. It got wider. She handed it to Rodney.

“Put it on, it’ll be fine.”

So, he did. The pigeon coo’ed again. 

Rodney went to get his paper. The rain fell, but Rodney’s head stayed dry. In the newsagents, Mr Ruddick the greengrocer stared at Rodney’s headwear. 

“Rodney, why are you wearing a tea cosy?”

“It’s not a tea cosy. It is an anti-rain head warmer.”

Mr Ruddick handed Rodney his newspaper and a packet of mints. 

“It’s a bloody tea cosy,” he muttered. 

Rodney walked home. Proud of the hat and sucked a mint. It tasted of tea. He walked back into the kitchen to find Connie making tea. His left hiking sock was sitting on the teapot. 

“That’s my hiking sock!”

“No. It’s an elongated tea cosy.”

Rodney took off his hat. Put it on the kitchen door. It had been a good day for trying new things. He vowed to use the colander as a tea strainer. 

Because it had been that sort of day.