A Phalanx of Fascinators

What is the collective noun for fascinators?

A flotilla, a flirtation, a fluttering?

Not a word I have ever needed before the Royal Garden Party last week. 

When Nigel and I boast loudly and shamelessly about our invitation, people ask three questions:

1)      Why were YOU invited? (Tone varying from the incredulous to the mildly aggressive.)

I was there as Nigel’s plus one.  Nigel was there because, as chair of his industry trade association, he helped DEFRA solve a problem with electricals recycling. The invitation was their way of saying thank you.

2)      Was the tea good?

It was very nice indeed thank you.  My fave was the cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off and the innovation of an added mint leaf.

3)      Did you get to shake hands with the Queen?

No – nobody does.  I don’t know why not. Possibly she has a fake hand which comes off if you shake it?  However, we did set eyes on her trundling around elegantly in pale blue. 

There seems to be more hat and less Queen with each passing year. 

But to return to fascinators, (and who wouldn’t wish to), headgear was a requirement of the day.  I tried on only one fascinator and declared, “This makes me look like a complete pillock.  I’ll take it!” I felt sure that no other fascinator would look any better, so why waste time? 

During the course of the afternoon I caught my fascinator on tree boughs, Nigel’s jacket and the flap of the marquee. 

Looking about me, I regretted our collective fashion choice.  Women of substance who had achieved accolades in their careers or in charity work were bobbing along looking as if they had sexually-aroused tropical birds on their heads.

As one fellow guest said, “This is a very sad day for the man who invented the hat.”

In Royal loos