Stopped at the pub on the way home from work, and somebody must have nicked my hat from my table as I was at the bar. Didn't notice till it was time to leave. I'm not angry, just disappointed. And also angry. With a cold head, as well.
This just doesn't happen in a pub. Not in a proper pub. Well, maybe Friday or Saturday night, when the amateurs spoil everything. But certainly not on a Monday night. In a pub you show due respect to the dignity of other, older, balder, patrons.
I suppose this is what I get for moving to a gentrified area full of young Hooray Henrys with baroquely topiaried facial hair, all a-jangle with caffeine, piercings, testosterone, and other character-depleting vices.