Mad as a Hatter

I was most gratified to learn that Prince Harry is doing his bit in support of the beleaguered British bowler hat industry.

Nobody, apart from Orangemen and (for some inexplicable reason) Nigerians, favours the outmoded headgear in this day and age. Personally, I think it is a far more distinguished cranial sunshield than the hoodie and the baseball cap worn backwards. I am convinced that the moral fibre of the nation would be augmented if such headwear were to be declared compulsory for all school pupils. It would certainly solve the truancy problem, and would ensure that chip van vendors did not inadvertently sell saturated fat laden chunks of potato to chain smoking adolescents.

Harry may be educationally subnormal (like the rest of the Windsors), but he has had the added struggle of overcoming the inheritance of his maternal ancestor, the late Lady Di (thicky) Spencer. Cracking looking bird she may have been, but she wasn’t exactly Simone de Beauvoir.

Let’s face it, Harry is a chav. No amount of time spent in the Blues and Royals, or devotion to ceremonial duties can alter this fact.

I quite like him. At least he enjoys a chuff on a fag and has been known to punch photographers.

I raise my hat to him.