I see her weekday mornings waiting at
The station for her train to Waterloo.
She either stands with coffee or is sat
Across from me, on platform number two.
I can’t not look at her, and nor could you.
Though neither pretty nor grotesquely fat
She makes for quite a mesmerising view,
That woman in the fucking stupid hat.
Her headgear makes her look like such a prat;
It’s furry and (I kid you not) bright blue
With little pointy ears just like a cat-
The sort of thing that most of us outgrew
Along with Stickle Bricks and ‘peek-a-boo’.
If braver I would go and tell her flat
Her millinery's pros are very few,
That woman in the fucking stupid hat.
But would she care I thought it horrid tat?
Would giving her a thorough talking to
Do much except provoke a nasty spat?
I doubt I'd have a chance of getting through,
And so this poor, misguided ingénue
Will have to keep on going out like that.
I pity her. She doesn't have a clue,
That woman in the fucking stupid hat.
Envoi
Prince Charming, are you likely to pursue
A Cinderella titfered like a twat?
Would any self-respecting geezer screw
That woman in the fucking stupid hat?
The Ballade of the Woman in the Fucking Stupid Hat