I’ve been a woman in training long enough now to have had a sizeable history with handbags.
Each that has gone after the one before is closely critiqued for its improved style, excess room or superior hanging facets – it’s ability to collapse, clasp, zip, snip,shoulder-sling and cradle a book collection far too vast for transport in normal circumstances (circumstances and logic are two things I have really never been a slave to…). I thought the only improvement my last bag could have afforded me was a built in coffee machine and automatic zip release. She was not be to be bettered.
Until last week.
I was browsing the Aberystwyth boutiques in innocence – if it had been a clubbing scene, I would have been the fresher just absorbing the potential partners around me, not particularly looking for anyone special, certainly not looking for a lay or least of all an orgy (in this strange, winding and ultimately disturbing unplanned annalygy, you can call an ‘orgy’ an extremely over productive shopping trip).
And suddenly the whole world, despite any reluctance felt on my part previous to that moment, turned very hollywood. Our eyes met, we ran through fields of gold straw and the edges on the screens of life began to get awfully blurry.
We fell in love.
Her price was an extortion by my wallets standards, but my heart insisted that absence would most definitely NOT make it stronger and in the end my anatomy was unanimous as I handed over my debit card.
I do work two jobs after all.
Ok, now I have got all the constipated literary rot out of my head, could I interest you in some facts?
It was from Polly’s in Aber, the most beautiful of boutiques ever to grace the British Isles. It is made by a company called Disaster Designs who’s whole collection, you must trust, is breathtaking.
It’s huge enough inside for all my crap, my laptop and the welsh student’s essential – a waterproof. Its also celtic-weatherproof, which will be excellent for all my unproventable wanderings to campus in the rain. Its also slouchy enough to be practical when it’s almost empty and had TWO strap options for ultra fussy people like me.
and the detailing. The detailing!
Thats enough from me. I’m going to go and do something much more intellectually appropriate for my IQ than sit around and write meaningless blogs about cleverly affixed cloth.
Or I might just sleep.