The Ashes

On Tuesday I was on a 6-2 away win football high. I'd only slept for five hours and my legs were burning all day. I felt up to anything and started cleaning my flat. Lying in a corner were the remains of my PhD hat. I broke it when I first put it on; it was top heavy and fell off my head. Since then I broke the broken glass tube, and a miniature cricket bat and some charred remains representing The Ashes had also fallen off. I was faced with the choice: repair the hat to it's former glory, or burn it and put the ashes in an ornamental urn. I decided that I'd never make it as good as it once was, removed the electrical components and cremated the hat in a large cooking pot.

"It's alright, nobody's died." I tried to put the funeral director at ease and reassure him that I wasn't in grief. "I've cremated a hat and am looking for an urn. It's kind of symbolic." He showed me his collection of urns, but they were all so big that I could have put the whole hat in, which might have been kind of amusing, but I'd already burnt the hat and thought 80 Euros was a lot for a hat box. "They're all a bit big. It was quite a small hat, really," I explained.

I wondered whether the guy who bought the original Ashes urn felt such a pillock.

It's alright, nobody's died. I've cremated a cricket stump and am looking for an urn. It's kind of symolic.

The funeral director recommended that I buy an animal urn, and told me that a shop on the Hattinger Strasse sold them. Looking at the Ashes of my hat, which are being temporarily stored in a freezer bag, I guess a canary or rat sized urn might work.