Old Bag…

The missus is a bit of a bag fanatic. If Mein Kampf came with a free bag she’d wrestle with her conscience for all of five seconds and buy several copies, trying to pass off the Swastika motifs as post-modern irony.

As such she has amassed a large collection of bags, ranging from freebie tat to very expensive-looking leather items. The bulk of these currently reside on a coat stand outside our bedroom that has been rechristened ‘the bag tree’ because a plentiful harvest of new bags seems to grow on it every month or so.

But there's been a new development...

I was giving the house a proper clean and vacuum over the weekend when I kept running into carrier bags secreted around the place. They were mainly the sort of brown paper or posh carrier bags you get from shops that have people on the door and they were hidden in cupboards and behind wardrobes and the like.

So I sought some answers…

‘Why do we have carrier bags hidden all over the house?’
‘You never know when you’ll need one.’
‘But they’re carrier bags!’
‘No. They’re nice carrier bags.’
‘But we have a plastic tube for carrier bags that is always full.’
‘It’s not the same. They're carrier bags for rubbish. Not for things.’
'But you have hundreds of bags already. And we have hundreds of carrier bags. Why do you need posh carrier bags too?'
'They're for emergencies.'

Pause.

‘Can I throw them away?’
‘No. You can’t.’

So if I ever go missing assume the missus has killed me for the insurance money – or that I’ve simply opened a cupboard and have been buried under a mountain of posh carrier bags. At least it would be a comedy death…