Hat and Scarf Stall

It happens every year, you’ll be dragging yourself through the rain and misery of late September. Sniffling with your hood up, jeans drenched right up to the back of your knees and shoe’s squelching in time with your foot steps.
With one last curse directed at those smart-​arses carrying umbrellas, and another ten at those smug bastards who are already inside, you say «fuck it, I’m getting a hat, scarf and gloves». And they’re all going to be rainbow colored to reflect the variety of bad language you’ve just used to describe the weather.
At which point you find yourself here, holding a soggy fiver with a shivering hand. Five minutes later you’re wrapped up and toasty, with a cup of tea, in Bewleys. Gameball.