Ireturned from a recent holiday to Morocco with three mementos: a bright red pair of swimming trunks (teenager-sized; the largest the supermarket had), a bright red nose (thanks to my unscientific aversion to sun cream) and a bright red fez. 

I’ve always wanted to own a fez and since purchasing it in a Marrakesh souk – ‘For you, sir, special price’ – I have been besotted with it. I’ve worn it on the Tube, to a pub quiz and around the Spectator offices, to variable enthusiasm from colleagues. As far as practicality goes, it is a useless hat. It  doesn’t keep the sun off. Its finest Moroccan cardboard will wilt in its first brush with the rain. But that won’t keep it off my head.

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