Yesterday, whilst in Edinburgh, I went on the hunt for a couple of bags, small enough so that Phyllis and I can take them into the cabin of an aeroplane. The government have just relaxed the rules on cabin/hand baggage after the recent terrorist scare here in the UK. My rucksack is too large. Man-bags are what I wanted and man-bags are what I got.
As duty free shops are losing money, luggage and fashion retailers are on the make. As always, in business, one person's loss is another person's till full of dosh.
Shopping on my own, and spoiled for choice, I chose a more formal man-bag and a more casual affair.
Making my way from mid-Princes Street to the west end, I began thinking about the term man-bag. I began to wonder if it's slightly misogynistic. Then I wrestled with the idea that I might be getting a tad too PC in my old age.
What is it with the man-bag? Ok, on the one hand, it's a bag and it's carried by a man. Fine. On the other, it's a bag and you hold it in your hand. So why not call it a hand bag? Becaue you're frightened someone might think you're a woman? As if that's a bad thing? Ok, is it bad to be a woman? Or might people think you're gay if you admit to having a hand bag? Again, is being gay such a terrible thing?
My other problem with the man-bag is the need to have one at all. Look into any woman's hand bag and you'll see a mountain of things that they don't really need to take with them. They always weigh upwards of fifteen kilos. My wallet is packed full of unnecessary things as it is. Do I want to end up with a bag full of pens, bingo dabbers, lipsticks, bus tickets, sea shells, batteries, freshen-up wipes, paper clips, batteries, photographs and paperback books?
No, dear reader, I do not.
Therefore, I shall take the casual one. It's smaller. I shall thereby have to limit the amount of junk I can cram into it. Ian's is bigger. I can give it all to him.
Size isn't everything, dear.