Well, he wears a red hat, obviously.  And he wears one all the time, even in bed.  The one he wears in bed is one of those Victorian sleeping caps; it's made of shot silk and has a tassel on the end.  He has a plastic one with little white polka-dots for the shower, and a handknitted Tibetan one with an intricate pattern in different shades of red, ranging from palest pink to bloody crimson, in finest alpaca wool, for cold weather, and he's sad that he doesn't get to wear it very often.  He swims in a head-hugging cerise latex swimcap emblazoned with rubber roses.

He has a huge redwood trunk in his bedroom, which holds all his headgear, the majority of which is intended for wear when he writes.  When he's writing comic poetry, he wears a bobble-cap.  For rap, it's a baseball cap, which he wears with the bill on the lucky side, of course.  For more serious poetry, it's his bespoke scarlet deerstalker, and for prose, a felt trilby.  When he's taking part in a competition, the only thing that will do is the carmine sequined bowler.  (That's a Derby, for those of you who don't live this side of the pond.)

How did I do, Dave?


The End

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