Bowled Over

I fear that Marcus has been somewhat less than entirely forthcoming concerning the actuality of his deepening relationship with the bowler hatted community that has sprung up locally. I had formed the impression that he was a disinterested observer, retaining the degree of independence in his sartorial proclivities necessary for the proper discharge of that responsibility.

Alas, no longer. It seems that he has burst the bubble of objectivity. He has been outed, as I was able to verify for myself when recently glancing at the Ledbury Portal. There, as large as life, is a photograph of the man himself manhandling his bass guitar onstage with the Fylthe. I thought at first that a trick of the light must have been involved, but, on closer inspection, there is no mistaking the bowler hat he is wearing with such cavalier abandon. Indeed, if anything, it swallows light, producing a sort of anti-halo effect. It seems to fit well, which unavoidably leads me to speculate that perhaps he has been indulging in this perversion of headgear for many months, to the extent that the contours of his cranium have adjusted themselves for its accommodation, it being well-known that the human head is not naturally so disposed.

You see, a bowler hat is not constructed of a ‘giving’ material. It is of a ‘take, take, take’ disposition, all the way. No wonder Stanley Kubrick turned in its direction when signifying the nihilistic conformity of his little droogies.