61 quid is an amount of quid. It’s not a bankrupting amount. Being without 61 quid won’t put you on the street. For the sake of six tenners and a pound, you’re probably not going to have to dine from McDonalds’ bins, squat in a park gargling Super, or tickle sailors’ balls for change.

That said, 61 quid is 61 quid. It’ll buy stuff. A fair bit of some stuff. Or, you could buy this brilliant, Master-Piece bag from Mr Porter. In which case your 61 quid will buy you exactly 61 quids worth of Mr Porterness. Because if you bought exactly the same bag at End, it’s exactly 61 quid less quid.

I’ve got bad heats for this bag – cordura nylon, cowhide leather straps heavy duty rivets and that little brass Master-Piece plaque. The pale leather off the navy nylon is all sorts of banging. Ya, ya, I know it’s all about the rucksack right now, but this is suaving off-the-charts. A bro sliding his MacBook Air out of this, before dropping raw Keynote on the ‘rightsizing per capita on revenue generated via downsizing transitionals’, is gonna make any lady-manager question their sexual priorities.

You know what, I still don’t want to pay 61 coins more for it though. I know Mr Porter wraps things up real nice, but so does Harrods and I ain’t dropping my lucci in there neither. Do Mr Porter think their prestige is worth the extra? Or is the pricing team just sleeping on the competition? Dunno. All I know is, 179 sounds a lot like a lower number than 240. So if I can rustle up the readies, I’ll be tossing them End-ways.

Former Four Pins-er, Jake Woolf, wrote in his last post for the site, “If you want to be sweg, you gotta just sack up and get your paper right and cop expensive, dope shit.” A statement, that in many respects, I respects. I just don’t extend it to murdering your own papes for the sake of a Mr Porter box and ribbon.