Thursday – “An Evening of Terror” at the Mitchell Library: an appropriate setting, I thought, for the George Zucco fez I found at the St Andrews market. This was its first public appearance and will probably be its last: by the time I reached town, I’d been subjected to smirks, guffaws and a variety of passing remarks – some jocular, others irrationally irate (“Rag week arsehole!”)
Matters deteriorated as I approached Sauchiehall Street where I was targeted by a succession of drunks, the most persistent of whom followed me as far as Charing Cross, pointing out my idiocy to passers-by and sporadically pausing to perform what, I eventually realised, was his notion of an Egyptian sand dance.
Crossing the road to the Mitchell (and hoping my tormentor might be run-over in pursuit) I finally consigned the wretched fez to my bag where it remained for the rest of the night.
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Fez should make a come back
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