The weather in London is (as usual) being most unseasonable. May having been largely like June for a while; June has been more like April.
As I speak the garden is being battered by gusting wind, and some sort of precipitation (from light drizzle to heavy downpours) is standard this week. Leaves and branches are coming off the trees and loose items get blown away.
Which leads to the story of the hat. When I walk I use some sort of bilateral support (crutches, or as today, the wheelie-walker). This means I have no hands left for an umbrella. I remember when we were small children my mother struggling with us in the double buggy and some shopping expressed the wish for a prehensile tail; I can see where she was coming from. So, to keep dry I wear a water repellent (no not waterproof) mac and a rain hat.
Today as I walked along the road towards home after my morning of errands and appointments I paused to admire the ubiquitous purple flowers of Charlton. They particularly thrived growing out of walls, paths and other places you would think flowers wouldn't like. I noticed the flowers because I was taking a rest and sitting on the wheelie-walker.
Suddenly a gust of wind sprung from a new angle and snatched the hat from my head. The wheelie-walker and I gave chase (although not at enough speed) as the hat blew down the pavement and into the road. "Hat, hat, come back" I called, pointlessly. Happily we were just by the junction of a road and a waiting motorist (may good karma be his) got of his car and retrieved the hat from the centre of the rod for me. 
The hat was anchored firmly back onto my head and I made my way home without further incident.
I now have kitten-cat and the bed beckoning for a peaceful afternoon.