A curious fact about hatstands: despite my jokes about them hunting in packs, the hatstand is actually a solitary creature. Makes sense, I guess, for something that spends its useful life standing alone in a corner.

This tendency towards seclusion is nowhere more evident than at the source: furniture stores. Each furniture store stocks only one sort of hatstand. And if that one isn't the sort you want, tough. Better keep walking.

I'm serious.

Going, Going, Gone - wrought iron, twisted, very good murder weapon, too expensive.
Ex-government furniture - cheap and nasty. Unbalanced, too. Not that I'm one to talk...
IKEA - big store with space for three hatstand breeding grounds: all norse and icky.
Freedom - closer, but chromed and overpriced.

And finally, when I was about ready to kick the world hard in the ankle, there it was, in Fantastic Furniture, all demure and warm wood, curly top and sturdy base. Our eyes met across the room (well, my eyes, its arms) and it was meant to be. I left the story in a warm glow of hatstand-match-well-made, rejoicing in the instincts that had led me to reject the advances of the Rigg model at IKEA.

Back home we partook in an orgy of construction, using my letter opener as a surprisingly good screwdriver. But that's another story for another time.