Comes with baggage

#11

Those of you who swing by these parts on a regular basis may or may not remember that back in 2020, when there was fuck all else not a lot to do, I documented my existence in 10 objects. I know, what was I thinking? Like I said, every day for nigh on two years was a slow news day.

Anyway, at Number 8 I threw in a twofer: that's right, the frisbee and the rucksack. Well, things have moved on since those heady days of lockdown. Let me explain. With the steady advancement of age and the ever growing list of stuff I take out of the house with me (perm any three from five - camera(s); playing cards [another lockdown legacy]; battery packs & chargers, books; glasses wipes) I've become wedded to a man bag. In fact, not just one but two. Another explanation required, I feel: put simply, I outgrew my first one - a beautiful hand stitched affair with loads of secret zipped inner compartments, from one of those brilliant leather shops on Brick Lane in London's East End (Ernie probably passes it most days on his travels.) So, I upgraded. Funnily enough it was from Totnes (the town I'd bought the rucksack from thirty odd years ago) and was sitting not inside but outside a charity shop (without a shoulder strap) feeling very unloved. And with it being sans shoulder strap it was going for a song. I liberated it, found a new strap and gave it a new home. Ladies and gentleman, My Life in 11/12 Objects. 

#12