Here she comes again, picks me up, tries me on and places me back on the table. £2! £2! I was £200 when I was new, in Selfridges hat department straight from the designers, back in the 1960s. The young girl had chosen me for her wedding day going away outfit. She tried me on and decided I was perfect. The assistant wrapped me in tissue paper and put me in a splendid pink hat box. After the wedding, the bride changed and put me on her head and off they went in the open top sports car to the airport.

The groom took the bend too fast and I flew off, spiralling down and round and finally landing on the back of a lorry. By the time they turned back I was on my way to France.

The lorry driver stopped for a break at a French road cafe and found the hat – tres chic, he thought, as he placed it beside him in the cab. His wife was thrilled, realising it was a designer hat. She asked where it came from and her husband said he had no idea. He found it on the back of the truck when he arrived at the café. The wife wore me to church where everyone admired me. A few months her daughter wore me for her wedding.

The daughter wore me to several other weddings and I ended up in an attic somewhere in the south of France. A few years later, the children wore me to their fancy dress party in school and I was placed in the dressing up box. From there I was given to the local charity shop and sold on to a theatre in Paris. I was displayed for a season of shows and then I was put in the theatrical box, forgotten for many years until the theatre closed down and was sold.

English people bought the box and I ended up back in the UK where I languished in another attic for many years, coming out from time to time for dressing up with the kids. The mother cleared out the attic and gave me to the local charity shop. They priced me at £2. £2! A couple came in to browse and the grey haired wife picked me up and put me on. She looked at herself in the mirror and started crying. She called her husband over and told him that I was the going away hat she wore all those years ago.

The husband was dubious but the woman pointed to the tiny little red bow that the bride’s mother had sewn to the ribbon. That’s the bow my mother put in for luck!

The husband smiled and said its £2, buy it. The woman knew I was her hat and took me home. She found the original box, opened it and placed me back in the tissue paper, ready for the next generation of weddings.