DINGALING

It was early in the Spring of 1997 that Herman Van Hoop was declared "the greatest human being ever to have lived". The award ceremony was attended by Herman Van Hoop and his dog, skippy.

It was a long time since Herman had ‘trod the boards’, so to speak, and he’d have been lying if he’d said he wasn't nervous. This was his moment, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake THIS time, oh no.

Last time, you see, he had failed to secure his hat firmly to his head, and a freak gust of wind had carried it off into the audience, who, as now, consisted of three dozen retired tailor's dummies, eight garden gnomes and an inflatable Santa.

It was humiliating, even amongst useful innate effigies. So embarrassed was he that he decided to leave the country, take a vow of sirens, and become a Pavlovian monk. And THAT is where this story truly begins...

“Good morning,” said Herman. “I would like to join the holy brotherhood of Pavlovian monks, as its leader.” The monk on reception looked up at him ruefully. Who was this idiot, with his broad-brimmed ladies hat and his rainbow unicorn onesie? 

“Oh yes?”, he replied, "and what makes you think you're qualified to be the Grand High Abbot of the ancient order of Pavlovian Monks?"

“This,” replied Herman van Hoot, simply. He held up a tiny bell. The receptionist recoiled in horror.

“What! How did you get that through security?”

“Aluminium.” said Herman, and he gave the bell a little tinkle. The entire monastery, in accordance with their Pavlovian vows, got up as one and ran towards the refectory, salivating copiously. Herman turned in the other direction, towards the now-vacant throne room of the Grand High Abbot.

He could SMELL that throne. In a mere matter of seconds, he would crown himself King Of Lima. But before he knew it, a very angry throng of hungry people were charging at him with spears. Fearless, he rose. ‘DINGALINGALING!’ sounded Herman's bell again. To a man, they all instantly went scarpering excitedly back to the refectory. This “kinging” lark was clearly going to be a doddle.

Herman spent four months at the monastery, honing his people skills, before ordering a sedan chair to Peru. The monks took it in turns to carry him, but even so, the going was painfully slow. After three weeks Herman reluctantly ordered them to change course for the airport.

“Two tickets to Lima,” said Herman. “One for me, the Grand High Abbot of the ancient order of Pavlovian Monks, and one for my little dog, Skippy.”

“I'm sorry sir,” said the desk clerk, sighing ruefully and examining her nail polish for defects. “I can't sell you a ticket if you don't have any money.”

“You are right,” said Herman van Hoop, “I don't have any money. But I do have this.” To the desk clerk's horror, he produced from his pocket a....sabre toothed tiger.

The clerk looked baffled. “How did you fit THAT in your pocket? I thought those things were extinct!” he said with bemusement. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and the impending fear that SHOULD have been his overriding emotion was pushed into a broom cupboard somewhere in the depths of his mind.

“Oooooh!” said the tiger, in the campest voice imaginable. “I'm only a prototype, naughty!” putting its paws coyly to its mouth and giggling.

This seemed to hypnotise the clerk. “Two...tickets...to...Peru...your...wish...is...my...command”....

So far, everything had gone swimmingly, if that was really a word. Despite the hiccup at the airport, Herman now wore three hats. The original straw bonnet, which had belonged to his auntie Gunther, the tall, beaver-skin hat of the Grand High Abbot of the Ancient Order of Pavlovian Monks, and the gaudy crown of the King of Lima, which the citizens of that city had bestowed upon him the moment they saw the sabre-toothed tiger. Was there no height that his ambition would not scale? No, there wasn't. Herman wanted all the hats, but the one he longed for most of all was the Wind Hat. Some folk may regard this as rather crass, but it amused him, and he knew that French people, at least, would like it.

The next week, an incredible honour was bestowed upon him when the prestigious ‘Illiterate Monthly’ magazine named him as the ‘World's Most Hatted Man.’

This life was a dream.

The ceremony was to take place in Paris. In order to get there, Herman made himself First Lord of the Admiralty, and commissioned a bicorn hat festooned with brocade. The hats were now beginning to compete with each other for attention, and the citizens of Lima, and his retinue of Pavlovian monks, all had to wear sunglasses to shade their eyes from his awesomeness. No matter. In Paris he would declare himself God of the Four Winds, and that would be that. Never again would his hats be blown off by a freak gust, and Skippy would eat premium dog-treats every day of his life.

His Royal Yacht being too wide for the river Seine, Herman simply ploughed a furrow through the city. Boulangeries, Charcuteries and Tabacs were pushed aside to make way for the impressive ship, and Napoleon's magnificent Arc de Triomphe was cleft neatly in twain as he passed through. Herman stood proudly on the prow. Now, THIS, was how to make an entrance.

To say things did not go smoothly was an understatement. First of all, some kind of black and white meow cow appeared in the doorway. What on earth was it? And then the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened...

As Herman walked up the red carpet towards the beckoning cow, a freak gust of wind caught the brim of the straw bonnet, bequeathed to Herman on his death bed by Herman's Auntie Gunther. As one, the entire stack of hats began to topple earthwards.

“WHO ARE YOU?” cried Herman, as he vainly attempted to catch them.

“I am the God of the Four Winds!” said the Meow Cow.

A typhoon raged around his head. It was so fearsome that even Cannibal Collier had fallen victim, on several occasions. As Herman approached, the meow cow cleared its throat. "Now, I hear you're a fan of hats,", it said, "but I'm going to give you a chance to admit that you actually prefer cats." 

It wasn't really a question, but Herman felt that there really was only one viable answer.

He held Skippy out with outstretched arms. What happened next surprised everyone...

Skippy bit the cow on the nose, as if to say, “cats, indeed!” The meow cow howled, and reared up on her hind legs. As she did so, there fluttered from her head a tiny cap with a propeller on it - the Hat of the Winds! Placing his loyal dog gently on the red carpet beside him, Herman dived for it. The cow dived at the same time. Their heads collided in a spray of sparks, causing Cannibal Collier to shade his eyes. Herman's hands closed around something small and soft. It was a hat, but which hat? There was only one way to find out. Crawling out from beneath the sprawled cow, he slammed it onto his head.

“Proceed to Level 14”, the hat said, shining a bright red LCD instruction that everyone except Herman could see.

“You have won the chance to challenge The Boss,” it continued.

There was silence...

“By that, I don't mean Bruce Springsteen,” it added.

“THE Boss”...

Herman looked around, bewildered. He looked at his reflection in the glass window of the Hotel Ritz, where the now forgotten ceremony was to have been held. He was wearing a hat, but it wasn't the Hat of the Wind, it was a hat he'd never seen before, a simple bowler. Written on the hat-band in clear black mirror-writing, were the words “THE BOSS”.

He glanced up at the meow-cow. It was wearing a pair of boxing gloves and a filthy grin.

Perversely though, it was dancing, rather than threatening. It seemed to be implying that what he had been fighting against all this time was himself. He screamed out loud, and ran off in both directions, but as hard as he tried, he just could not separate the man from the myth, and they clashed together clumsily. Distraught, he looked at Skippy, who looked incredulously, and leapt up, grabbing the tiny bell from his master's pocket. Of course! This was the ultimate test, right now!

Skippy rang the little bell. The monks Herman had brought with him immediately began salivating and ran off in the direction of the refectory, which was thousands of miles away. Herman, still running around frantically, slipped on the monks' drool and crashed through the gilt-iron gates of the Hotel Ritz de Paris. But instead of the sumptuous interior he expected, Herman found himself back in his bedsitter on Perelman Road. There, seated upon the rickety old chairs he'd found at the dump, were three dozen retired tailors' dummies, eight garden gnomes and an inflatable Santa.

Skippy was seated on the stage, wearing an adorable little doggy tuxedo, and beside him, in a tiara, stood the indomitable meow-cow.

“Congratulations, Herman Van Hoop,” said the cow. “You are officially the greatest human being ever to have lived!”

“Thank you,” said Herman. “But,” he whispered mischievously, “I still prefer hats!” much to the mirth of his audience.

Suddenly, a freak gust of wind blew his hat off...to reveal a cat purring contentedly upon his head. He'd been lying to them all along!