Because the universe just keeps on having a great sense of humour and nobody appreciates it, today Hatboy’s Hatstand is proud to present a blog post actually about hats for once. And it’s nothing to do with me, but rather Mrs. Hatboy.
My talented and slightly crazy wife has gone into business upcycling hats.
A while ago, she began collecting hats from the local recycling centre, and collecting assorted decorations and vintage buttons from people selling them online. Then things escalated when she invited a lovely quadruple amputee named Mabel to come and live with us as a hatmaker’s model.
Mabel now lives in the attic, where presumably she spends her days between photoshoots looking after the reject children I’ve told Wump and Toop live up there.
“Orange Octopus” can be yours for the modest sum of €40.
This is about a week early but makes good practice for our anniversary speech: I am constantly amazed and proud of the just absolute madness and creativity that is encapsulated in such an adorable little package. In between the hats, she is also making an approximately one-quintillion-stitch cross-stitch of Khal Drogo, working as a beloved and invaluable educator for special needs kids, carrying the entire village of Sotunki kicking and screaming into the 21st Century, and wrangling two impossibly goony daughters and a massive hairy misery-guts of a husband from one crisis to the next with all the skill and tenacity of a circus lion-tamer.
Buy a hat, then doff it in absolute respect.