Caught In The Act (and the hat)

Many a true word is spoken in jest: a little while back, writing about the hysteria over hoodies and baseball caps, I said:
"As it happens, I wore a baseball cap this morning because it was raining - a cheeky little number in virginal white. I was most disappointed that the woman in the Co-op didn't press the panic button and have me escorted from the premises."

Well, would you Adam and Eve it? Yesterday I found that the Co-op have banned baseball caps. According to the sign, this is for 'security reasons'.
It's clearly not because people wearing them are more likely to be criminals. A large number of the middle-aged and elderly men in this village wear them, as do many women.
Presumably it's because they can conceal people's faces from the CCTV. But so can many other items of headwear.
To prove the point I had a good poke around in my tallboy and found what I think is called a fisherman's hat. Not that I've ever been fishing although I once attracted the attentions of a drunken old trout in the saloon of the Rod and Mullet.
But as this still from the Co-op's security camera - showing me weighing up how many Scotch eggs I can stuff down my trousers - proves, the hat conceals as much of my upper face as a baseball cap.
"My client was adjusting his surgical support when a number of Scotch eggs rolled off the top shelf and fell into his trousers. I shall be calling as a witness Darren Spinks who will confirm that he had overfilled the said shelf after the manager told him, and I quote, "we need to shift those Scotch eggs before the bloody things start hatching."

I think I shall write to the Co-op and ask them if they will also be banning Muslim women in burkas, the nuns from the local convent and old Mrs Kelly who is sometimes wearing a black veil after attending the Stations of the Cross at St Judes.
This isn't just nonsense on stilts. It's nonsense doing an Irish jig on the top of Canary Wharf Tower.

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I've read many strange things about the Royal Family but none stranger than what Alexander Chancellor wrote in Saturday's Guardian.

When he arrived at the Palace for a dinner, a footman insisted that he went immediately to the lavatory, even though he didn't want to. The reason was that some guests in the presence of the Queen lose control of their bladders which makes a terrible mess on the expensive carpets.

One is left wondering what the Queen does or says when this happens.
"Oh come on, Philip's jokes aren't that funny"?
I suppose you could always blame it on one of the corgis.

Another strange thing that Chancellor says is that the Queen is a 'gay icon' like Judy Garland or Marlene Dietrich. Really?
Admittedly, I have problems with the whole concept of gay icons. If you like men why would you turn women into icons? It doesn't make sense. Do lesbians have male icons? I've never heard that they do. Certainly those I've met who were on the provisional wing of the feminist/lesbian movement would knee you in the balls at the very suggestion.

Anway, if Chancellor is right it does mean that when we republicans have kicked the whole dysfunctional bunch of in-bred spongers into touch and turned Buck House into a museum of the history of the working class, Elizabeth Windsor can supplement her old age pension by sticking on some slap and singing I Will Survive down at The Black Cap in Camden on Friday nights.