My hat
My trusty Panama hat is beginning to fray a little. It's no surprise; I've had it for about five years now. I bought it during Covid times, from a shop whose proprietor had not seen a customer in ages and who was more than happy to talk.
In truth the signs of wear don't bother me; rather they are satisfying evidence of extensive use. I wasn't sure I would use it much when I bought it, but it has gradually become part of me.
It's been with me to the other side of the world twice, which is the purpose I originally bought it for, but I've found that the antipodean sun really calls for a wider brim, so where it has seen the most use is out on my roof terrace.
I have the good fortune to live in a penthouse apartment with a ridiculously oversized roof terrace -- in fact its square footage rivals that of my entire first flat. I have no real use for all that space, but it is a wonderful place to be. My building is the tallest for miles around and so offers an uninterrupted view of the world and especially the sky.
Looking up, the sky fills my entire field of view, a dramatic blue backdrop against which airplanes paint their trails, flocks of swans and geese whoosh overhead, and swallows dance and chase each other around. There is never a dull moment.
Today has been a fine sunny day and I was just enoying one of our local breweries' more potent dark ales when a bright flash from above caught my eye. With the naked eye, it looked a little like one of those shiny weather balloons you see in documentaries about UFO's. I got out my binoculars and sure enough, they were two brightly coloured mylar balloons carrying some kind of round object.
Without any reference point, it was impossible to judge the scale, so they could have been as large as hot-air balloons, or more likely, a couple of children's birthday balloons carrying a postcard to see how far it can go.