Hands as bleak as begging bowls

It was a wonderful weekend.  Granted, we failed to get a house but we did fall in love with one - a bigger, clumsier one that had once been a bakery. 


Sydney shook the last scraps of winter out for us too. I rugged up and carried a big bag filled with emergency supplies. 

This is the late-winter-when-it-should-be-Spring ensemble. It includes a silk jigsaw dress, a woollen Jigsaw coat and a scarf I bought eight years ago and love more every winter and it obscures a smaller vintage silk scarf. You cant see the 4000 denier tights but you can see the tall black menacing boots I bought on eBay. And you can't miss the Balenciaga bag, which is one  of my favourite sacks. It could, were I a violent type, be useful for walloping persons who step out of line.  I hope it never comes to that. 


It's an excellent bag for hauling stuff, viz.

Exhibit A - a Coach change purse which holds a bill folder for credit cards and dozens of used train tickets, five different lip unguents, an excellent comb, my scrappy work phone, my Mensa-level personal phone, pellets of Ibufuren in case of a migraine, water, a bandanna should I be required to herd cattle and some bands to tie up my hair. Oh, and water. 


I love those articles in magazines where women spill the contents of their bags and explain the purpose of each item, especially when they have odd things, like spanners or a fish food, amongst the ubiquitous lipsticks and tissues. 

Alas, my possessions aren't so interesting:  Sunglasses. The ipod, for mystery and eliminating the chatter on trains on every morning.  Nonetheless my bag and its content did attract a small audience of interested onlookers.