No matter what I'm looking for, be it my phone or some eyeliner, as soon as my hand delves into my bag it instantly disappears into a hidden black hole, leaving in its wake some raggedy receipts and rogue pellets of gum. Only after a prerequisite panic period of five minutes spent scrabbling on my knees does the offending item very suddenly and nonchalantly reappear in a dusty corner, entangled in my iPod earphones and unsettlingly sticky.
It also produces objects in exact accordance to how little I am in need of them at that current moment in time:
‘I'd like a lip balm please handbag.’
‘Here, have three lighters and a conker.’
‘Shit! Where's my Oyster card?’
‘Who knows! But how about an Istanbul travel guide instead?’
Seriously, what are the chances? My current bag is so small in dimensions that I have purposefully put off buying the latest David Mitchell novel because there’s no way I can carry that bible of a book around until it’s released in paperback form. Yet still! Still I find it’s a lucky dip of discovery. Surely I can't be alone in this physical phenomenon? I'm reminded of a particularly excellent passage from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, where a young student theorises that somewhere, somehow, there must be an entire planet given over to lost biros that have quietly slipped away from their inattentive owners through wormholes in space. If any unemployed scientist would like to look into the similar problem of black holes in handbags and come up with a solution then a very popular geek I'm sure they’d be.
Spot the difference:
 |
Céline Classic black box bag (I wish) |
 |
| All-consuming black hole |
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