Lost bag
I’m distraught. I’ve lost my bag. Not just any bag, but my favourite bag of all time ever. It’s the only bag that I’ve ever called my favourite bag.
Nine years ago, I needed to buy a bag. I went to Argos where I bought some random backpack. There was some flaw with it, so I took it back and Argos let me change it for another one. I decided on a different bag - it was a ‘head’ bag that was so designed that the opening was too small for a standard A4 binder, so I took it back again and bought another, more expensive bag. The bag was broken.
The opening of the bag was torn and freyed, but despite this I couldn’t be arsed going back again so I kept it, and you know what? That bag served me for nine whole years. It performed the task of a bag to perfection and has been with me to well over ten different countries. The freying got slightly worse, but it never impeded its function as a bag.
It has been lost, found, vandalised, customised, filled with bad smelling things and it kept on going all these years being the best bag in the world.
And now I’ve lost it.
That bag served me so well, and yet I didn’t give it a passing thought as I got of the train some time this week and left it behind. I can’t even remember what day it was that I lost it, such is my dreadful betrayal of that faithful little Nike bag.
The little bald man in the lost property office today was completely oblivious to my clearly apparent sorrow. In fact if you want to know the truth I got the distinct impression that he was very unhappy with the whole lost-property side of his job. He worked in the left-luggage room, and the left-luggage sign on the door was quite big. I think that perhaps the small lost property sign tacked on underneath was something that he regarded with bitter resentment.
I left the lost-property room with a feeling that the matter was far from resolved. If you have been on the East-Kilbride to Glasgow train in the past week and have seen an old, but faithful looking black Nike bag with purple highlights on the straps, then get in touch. Please. Don’t make me go on TV and do one of those tearful pleas on the six-o’clock news. I don’t think my family could take it.
Add comment October 3rd, 2003