Originally published by the Clifton Courier, December 12, 2018

Earlier this week I cleaned out my handbag.

I cleared out the half-used tissues, wrappers and receipts expecting my load to be considerably lightened. But, despite clearing quite a bit of rubbish out of there, it seems I was still luging around quite a bit of baggage*.

* And before you ask, only some of it was emotional. 

I had been a reformed handbag user not a year before, restricting myself to a large clutch which could be casually slung over my shoulder as I flounced out into the world handsfree and carefree. I had room only for my phone, wallet and keys. I had taught myself to travel light, with no handbag weighing me down.

But after getting fed up about carrying a separate bag every time I wanted to bring lunch to work, I upgraded to something with a bit more room.

And even though I technically should have stuck with the same wallet, keys, phone philosophy, I found my principles weakening. Because with more space apparently begets more shit.

I told myself I’d stick to the essentials, but it seems my list of bare necessities is a little longer than it used to be. I’m still uncertain about what is superfluous and what is a fundamental need, so I invite you to examine the inventory of my handbag and make your own judgement:

A blank notebook: I generally feel uncomfortable without a few blank sheets of paper handy, which makes me feel like a free-spirited Jack Dawson (without the smoking habit and, hopefully, the unfortunate fate of going to all that trouble to survive the Titanic’s sinking only to freeze to death hanging on to a door). Should inspiration ever strike me, I’ll be able to scribble down my brilliant thoughts before they dissipate into the fog of inconsequential thoughts misting up my brain. I don’t want to be hit with the sudden urge to write the great Australian novel (or at least the equivalent of The Very Hungry Caterpillar) while sitting on a train or waiting for the loo without the means of jotting it down. So I keep a notebook in my handbag, poised for poignancy. However, I’ve been carrying around that notebook for months and it’s still empty.

Pens: The pen is mightier than the sword, and I’m always packin’. Partly because I need an implement with which to write the aforementioned literary classic, but mostly so I can write notes on my hand to “buy milk and strawbs” so my mushy Weet-Bix glob of a brain remembers to go to the shops.

A stubby holder: I hate hot beers and love novelty slogans on synthetic rubber cylinders, so these things are pretty much an essential. I now make sure I’m carrying at all times, in case of an emergency.

Blank calling cards: I bought these ages ago thinking they would be a classy way to let someone know I rocked up at their joint and missed them. I envisaged a Holly Golightly-esque version of myself using an old-style calligraphy pen to write notes for my friends. A woman of style and substance I’d be, wearing a well-tailored outfit. Instead, they’ve remained in the box, jammed in an overstuffed pocket of my bag. I haven’t even used them to make with bogus business cards, such as “Dannielle Maguire: Human Stain and Living Reminder That You’re Not Doing So Bad” or “D-Magz: Professional Mad Dawg”. I’m disappointed in myself.*

* Between writing this and republishing it online, I did use one of the cards. I let the friend I was staying with know I was ducking out but would return within the hour. My language was sloppy, My handwriting was clumsy. And I was wearing a baggy oversized gym t-shirt so I didn’t even have that going for me. I must work on this – my handwriting, my vocab and my general attire. Perhaps my New Year’s resolution will be to change myself completely. 

Hand cream: Because my delicate lady hands need attention.

Eczema cream: Because my delicate lady hands sometimes get inflamed and scaly and I scratch them in my sleep and sometimes a gross liquid oozes out and lint gets stuck to my weeping pores.

A mini-torch: In case of a blackout/spooky story circle that requires me to shine a light up my face for dramatic effect. Admittedly, I don’t have any spooky stories and really, really don’t want to hear any.

A deck of Greek Ancient Lovers playing cards: I figure it’s probably better to have nudie playing cards than no playing cards at all. I mean, what if I get stuck in a lift with a few people and need we something to pass the time while we wait to be rescued? I doubt my fellow trapped humans will care about the obscene imagery when we’ve run out of things to spy in I Spy.

A plastic bag: It’s in a similar vein to the whole being-trapped-in-an-elevator thing, but this item is for containment rather than entertainment. I also think it’s handy to have plastic to act as a rain guard for a smart phone or, in extreme cases, to gather water like the kid from Life of Pi. You really just never know.

Deodorant: In case I’m stuck in a lift for days without access to a shower.

Moroccan oil: In case I’m stuck in a lift for days without access to leave-in conditioner.