Dances with Wolves

The day started a lot like any other… well, maybe not. It was Tuesday – the only day I had morning lessons so the only day I got up early. 8.30am and it’s for 45 minutes. Bugger! Following the normal Tuesday pattern, with the lesson finished, I was off to the internet café.

Let me take you back further. I took a Lincoln City hat with me. It was a black ski-hat with the team name in red italics. I'd lost it about three months ago – I even knew when… the night we all went to Igor’s workplace to see how he makes neon signs. After that, never seen again until…

There I was on the number 8 bus. Having to stand because there’s never enough seats at this particular time of day (9.45am). As you sometimes do on public transport, I was looking around seeing what was going on (ok, I was being nosy) and sure enough – here in the middle of Siberia – a guy in a black Lincoln City ski-hat. Not even any old ski-hat – it surely had to be my hat.

I did a double-take: I’m in Siberia and there’s a guy on a bus wearing a Lincoln hat. Like most Monday nights I hadn’t had enough sleep. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me… maybe I was so tired I was going mad. I took another look, it can’t be? Another look… I gawped… it was some big, burly version of John Belushi wearing my hat.

I wanted to go up and say, “It’s my hat.” Not because I wanted it back – just because. I was wearing my Lincoln scarf, I could’ve pointed to that too. Then I thought of a scene in Dances With Wolves, the one when the Kevin Costner character has been hunting buffalo and lost his hat. On his return he is in a wigwam with the members of the tribe and spots one wearing it. He points and says, “It’s my hat... it’s my hat” and a couple of minutes of awkwardness ensues. It would’ve been funny but very, very tense.