Man-bag Madness
I’m currently in
the awkward position of owning a bag that’s only just big enough for the job.
I am a fully paid-up member of the Man-Bag Brigade; at least a
decade’s worth of faithful service and proud of it. For me, a satchel is a
necessity: I carry my laptop most days, so I can write on the go – plus there’s
often a newspaper, wallet and umbrella to add to proceedings
(weather-dependent). No unsightly
bulging pockets for me.
If I don’t have a bag, I can't really manage.
My previous bag
met a sticky end in public. I was doing a bit of shopping when, all of a sudden, the zip decided to jam open. Some zip-jams
can be fixed with a little aggressive tugging. Not this one: I yanked it hard
and it came right off in my hand.
(Your Honour.)
Right on cue, it
started to rain. I ran into the nearest coffee shop (‘run’ being an
exaggeration) – and thanks to the help of (1) my laptop, and (2) a bit of free
Wi-Fi, I was browsing the Argos website in minutes.
I used to work
for Argos. I considered staying on to become a junior manager of their Letchworth
branch; I’m very glad that I didn’t.
I thought you might appreciate the trivia.
At this point
it’s worth pointing out a little snag: I am an actor – and actors seldom have
any money. Unless your name is Danny Dyer. Mine isn’t: I’m David Ephgrave.
I had a casting
the following day and had to take my laptop and change of clothes with me, so an instant replacement was necessary. All I had was a £15.00 budget – but, lo and behold, a
quick browse of www.argos.co.uk (my
homepage of choice) brought up a bag I’d owned in a
previous man-bag life, for just £14.99.
I was a penny up on the game.
I
reserved it with a click and made my way to my nearest Argos.
Buying the bag
was like being reunited with a little long-lost brown friend, only without the dubious connotations. The
only downside is that when I last owned the bag I didn’t have a laptop. Now,
putting the laptop into the bag pretty much negates carrying anything else.
Once the laptop
is in, I can just about manage to fit my umbrella, wallet, keys and a
book around it - though inserting them is like a game of Tetris. The umbrella
has to go in first; if it rains, everything else has to come out before you can
get to it.
Sometimes, if I’m
feeling a little risky, I’ll squeeze in a bottle of water. I’m playing
with fire; if it leaks over my laptop, I’m screwed.
You just wait, though. Next time I get a job, a new bag will be top of my shopping list – one with all the latest bells and whistles.
It’ll be the
Morris Dancer of man-bags.