Bats In The Belfry!

Ta-da!

I hang sit here before you, having now collected my fecking hideously expensive glasses with their blind as a bat complex new prescription - And, guess what?

I can see you all now!

Don't you look all lovely in your jammies?  

Wait, what's that?   Is it a tinge of egg yolk on your collar?  

Naughty boys and girls!

You have soooo taken advantage of the fact that I could not see you properly...

And, this week I have also succumbed to the plague of old age, by buying a shopping trolley because I could no longer face schlepping my baggage (emotional and otherwise) back and forwards through the city, pulling my already dodgy spine out of alignment.

The Christmas season is fast upon us, and I found I was unable to contemplate buying the odd thing here and there for Grizz and GJ (who are the only folk I have left to buy for, organised little minx that I've been this year!), as I make my way through the shops on the way from the transport system to the Library to use the computers to gawp at t'Internet study...   For this would mean traipsing all my kibble about the city for hours on end while I wait for early evening collection and pick-up by GJ.

I surprised him somewhat yesterday when I turned up for my lift at dusk with a nifty, sporty trolley in tow, stowing it safely in the back of the car.   In it I had all the necessary study books for my counselling course, a few items and stocking fillers for Grizz AND my hefty handbag!   For even my beloved Patrick Cox handbag has started to pull my shoulder out of joint!  

I can't get away with minimal when it comes to being prepared.   I might swoon at itty-bitty, impossibly chic clutch bags, but cannot manage all day so far from home with one.   I need my pens and writing pads, some days I take my Kindle, yesterday I carried a paperback book which I could not stop myself buying from a charity shop *Ahem*, a can of Diet Coke, a home-made sandwich in silver foil, my Filofax, my cheque book, my two purses (one for coins and bus tickets, one for cards, notes and receipts), a large comb, a bagful of make-up (for without which I look like a witch!), Bach Rescue Remedy and all my therapy stuff, including a voice recorder, as well as other paraphernalia...  If I were to start carrying a lap-top (which I'll need to for counselling work in future), you might as well launch me as a sailing ship - H.M.S Fhina!

Most days that I spend in town, without any kind of way-station to rest at, I feel at best like a modern day, pioneering pack-horse.   Ready to rumble, but also ready to drop!

I am conscious of how I look with the shopping trolley, although it is an absolute doddle to pull around - There's no weight at all to it, but I feel it ages me.   It marks me out to predators as one of the weakest of the herd...   I sense its bulk, and its chastising of me for not looking after my body and my back well enough for all these years.  

My hubby mocked me a bit for the trolley and will undoubtedly complain about the space it takes up at home, but I'm absolutely fed up of having to decide to leave grocery shopping, or a bag of dried muesli for the rats, behind for another time, because the bags cut into my fingers and my shoulders are screaming...

I would be really interested to find out how you manage, my pets.   What floats your boat?   What gets you from A - Z in full possession of your mental faculties, when it comes to bags and baggage.   What's the solution?

A bientot, mes belles - Je vous aime!   Mwah!