My bowler hat arrived today.
The walks needed a kick since the experience at Slidey Rock. So I thought I would get deeper into the skin of the Butter Mouse. See if his clothes unlock further visions.
This will be a test. I only wear hats in the coldest of winter months. And a bowler has not been standard dress for fifty years. Thank goodness this is Bristol. Most will assume I am a student in fancy dress, or pushing the latest style.
The brim hangs over the top of my eyebrows. The shade is not the black I ordered, but a dark chocolate. The Butter Mouse’s bowler was an inky shade. If that isn’t a false memory.
The Butter Mouse did not perform at night. To simulate his movements I have to wear this during daylight hours, especially now the shops are back open.
At least the weather was damp enough to justify a hat. The few brave people that ducked in an out what businesses were open gave me second glances.
As usual my walk had no particular agenda, but I popped into the charity shop to get out the rain. The air smelt mustier than usual, like the time shut had soaked into the brickwork. I scanned the clothes to keep the drizzle off for a few minutes more.
The minute my fingers touched the tweed suit I knew it was perfect. Unlike the best approximation of the hat, this was the right pattern, the correct mix of colours from my memory. The price matched the amount to take my bank balance to a whole even number and that did not surprise me.
I cut my journey short. This was the clear end point for the day.
Perhaps I should have got the suit dry cleaned.
It clashes with my t shirt. The sleeves of the jacket sit below my wrists, and the trousers hides the top of my trainers. But when combined with the hat, I world's only Butter Mouse cosplay.
And when I buttoned up the suit jacket, the pressure in the air released like a packet of cards tossed into the air.
Task follows next week. I've never seen anything like it.
