The Story of Hatsoff Dave

Way back in the crazy, hazy summer of '05, I attended the Glade Festival. I'd recently returned from a trip around the bottom-right corner of the globe, and I was still riding that high. The festival was a gloriously sunny orgy of hedonism, with umpteen thousand loonies running around on drugs, dancing to loud, excellent, repetitive music. A wonderful reintroduction to my homeland!

I'd gone to the festival with no-one inparticular but knowing several gangs/posses/crews in attendance. One of these gangs contained my friend Tommy - a tall, fabulously moustachioed gentleman with a whimsical air, photos of whom lurk somewhere here. I bumped into him during Aphex Twin's set (as far as anyone can bump into a figure who looms hairly above at all times) and so ensued my aqauintence with his lovely friends and the wasting away of sunday's wee hours until home time.

Whilst time had become something of an abstract, I estimate the first mention of hats occured at around 4am. It was high summer, and sunrise was imminent. The night had been chilly, so a beanie was a must. Beanies, as festy-goers are testimony to, are also essential to contain ones head when under the influence, for fear of it floating away. So anyway, on this particular day, the approaching sunrise meant the night chill being replaced by that rare thing - scorching English summer sunshine! Glory be. As such, the beanie had to go.

"Ooh, it's nearly hats off time!" said I, perhaps with an air of mystery and suspense I didn't fully intend.

"What happens at hats off time?" Asked Erica, looking at me with the perplexed confoundment that comes only with a complicated postmodern narrative or healthy dose of hallucinogenics. The others seemed equally interested, and I wished my response could be slightly more inspiring than:

"er, I take my hat off..."

Now, the reason this event merited mention was that, at a festival, especially a sunny one, the hats off window is a relatively short one. Think about it. Night time = cold, hence beanie. Daytime = sunny, hence sunhat. I'd say the hats off window at your average summer festival is approximately 3-4 hours post sunrise, tops. As the sun tentitively tests the water with its first few rays, it's warm enough to allow a naked head, so off comes the beanie. After that, when the sun's decided for the billion-millionth time, "enough dilly dallying, it's time for me to do my thang", the heat and light become too hardcore and the real world too bizarre to leave your addled cranium uncovered, so on with the sunhat. Add to that the shock of removing the safety barrier of a toasty comfort-beanie, and you'll perhaps see why hats off time was an issue.

Of course, before 4am on that sunday, I hadn't actually thought through of any of that. It was only Erica's questioning that led me to consider why I'd seen it necessary to draw attention to my hat doffing, which upon utterance was merely a statement of immintent intent. I deem it an act of impressive mental cohesion that I got anywhere beyond "uhhh.... what?" in response to her enquiry.

Well, after a good old laugh and an elaboration of the joint phenomena of hatson and hatsoff time, I forgot all about it. Hat-time would no doubt come lumbering back into the excuse for my concious next festival, but for now it was gone. Luckily, my new found friends remained present in my life after the Glade. I saw them in the following weeks and even met some more of their gang.

"Hi, I'm Dave, nice to meet you". That's generally how I introduce myself to new people.

"Hi, I'm X, how do you do", might be the response.

In the case of Tommy's mates, the response was more like:

"Dave? Hatsoff Dave? HATSOFF DAAAAAVE!", proceeded by hugs, and shouts for other people to witness the spectacle of a now somewhat bemused 'Hatsoff Dave'. It appeared I had attained absent infamy through the simple act of removing a hat. Which was great, and very amusing! I don't consider myself especially memorable or forgettable, so to have my reputation proceed me like that, especially amongst such a lovely bunch of people, brought a smile to the face and made me feel welcome.

So there you have it. Hatsoff, incidentally, is also the most original nickname i've ever been assigned, most others being puns on my surname. (House, if you're interested. Message me with an original House pun and win a prize).