That there is my brown silk '40s handbag with the Lucite clasp. It can hold with quiet grace my phone, some lippies, a hankie, a biro, my ipod. wallet, sunglasses and maybe some jellybeans if necessary.
This is the most recent addition to my vintage bag collection. Many of you will recognise it for what it is - a Coach saddlebag from the early 80s. It can hold roughly the same quantity of stuff as the brown bag.
These bags indicate roughly what I carry around on the weekend. Basic stuff.
You've seen my work bag. Here is the edited content's of said bag's stomach.
I say edited because frequently there will also be a couple of newspapers, a magazine, some shoes if I've changed from my heels, spare pantyhose, a piece of fruit, teabags, a cardigan, a bottle of water, several biros of dubious heritage and probably some more lippies in amongst the partly digested contents.
This morning I sat mooching on the bus, crushed under the weight of my handbag, admiring all the women I could see standing at the bus stop down in Annandale. And then I saw her, a tall woman wearing a wonderful combination of black, grey and cream, artfully fossicking for her bus ticket in a handbag. A plain black vintage handbag of modest dimensions, a bag like any number of bags I have stashed on shelves and in cupboards. Ms Black-Greycream was carrying a regular sized bag as her handbag.
After all these years of lugging my giant bags, it occured to me right there that I want what she's having. I want to carry a regular sized bag to work. A smallish bag with the basic necessities. No newspapers, no pantyhose, no freakishly large apples, no extraneous lippies.
I plan to do it tomorrow. I will be the unencumbered cool drink of water up the back of the bus, neat handbag on her knee, travelling on her bare necessities. What could possibly go wrong?