My Hats Off to Stirling Castle

The day before I lost my super warm fuzzy Russian fur hat. Today I pulled out my backup - my English country gentleman's cap. With the wind tearing through us I had to pull up my hood to keep my ears from going numb. Yet even with the hood up a super strong gust blew my hood back and turned my flat flannel hat into a Frisbee. It flew about thirty feet and landed out on the edge of the castle wall - at the end of the cannon battery port. Tourists were barred from climbing over the cannon and through the narrow slit by a spiked fence. I might have said "forget it" any other time, but I was down to my last hat. I would've considered hopping the fence except for the fact that the sloped service was a patchwork of ice and snow. Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, I went to find a castle employee who might lend me a spear or broom to recapture my lid. When a couple of guards came up and saw the treacherous lie of the hat, they opted to call in other experts. They sent us off to look around the rest of the castle while the experts put together a new gameplan.