The Fly was out buzzing around recent­ly, and was hor­ri­fied to hear some­one at a sup­pos­ed­ly upmar­ket bar (for its type) polite­ly ask a gen­tle­man to remove his hat. Why might this be? he asked. Appar­ent­ly it was a “secu­ri­ty issue”.

No hats, mate!

Are the water­ing holes of Welling­ton desparate­ly afraid of tom­my guns in tril­bys? Sem­tex in som­breros? Flick-knives in fedo­ras? Appar­ent­ly not, because the gen­tle­man in ques­tion was lat­er approached by the apolo­getic bar man­ag­er and pro­vid­ed with a glass of wine on the house, because the rule was devised to deter chavs rather than chaps: a rash of base­ball caps at apeish rather than rak­ish angles had prompt­ed a revi­sion of the dress code.

Fair enough, one might say, but numer­ous pun­ters were hap­pi­ly served while wear­ing the afore­men­tioned ersatz sport­ing head­gear, and one rum cove was even spot­ted wear­ing some­thing more appro­pri­ate for a lla­ma herder than a man-about-town. While one can sym­pa­thise with the man­age­ment look­ing askance at our com­pan­ion’s attire (and real­ly, a Gats­by cap and club col­lar is so nou­veau riche), sure­ly if they mean to enforce sar­to­r­i­al stan­dards it would be bet­ter not to hide behind “secu­ri­ty” con­cerns and just be open about it.