These bags are a class act. To own one of these is pretty much a right of passage. In fact, I’ve heard that after you enjoy a rhythmic bumfingering in a British public school, your assailant hands you one. All you’ve got to do is sponge the poo off the handle and you’re good to go.

They’re by L/Uniform, a French brand. In fact, they’re a brand so French, that when I went to their site, it took me a good ten minutes to find the button to switch the text to the language of Britishland. I’m glad I did though. Their philosophical bag promotion is quite something…

“There are bags to be travelled with once, and others for all time“, it says. Referencing, I guess, the familiar checkout dilemma of placcy carriers, or yet more Bag For Lifes.

There are, “bags for escapades”, it says, “and others for heading back home“. Guess so, assuming you had your first bag nicked?

And then, most confusingly it says, “bags that make their own minds up, and bags that play hard to get.”

Number one, hold the fucking phone Pierre. I’m not interested in a bag that makes up its own mind. Either it’s coming with me and carrying my stuff, or it can do one. I’m not paying for a bag that sometimes ‘has a headache.’

And number two, “plays hard to get“? What have I got to do? Buy it lunch? Give it handle relief? Again, sorry to labour the point, but my understanding of the relationship between and man and a bag is that the man is the boss and the bag is, well, a fucking bag. “Plays hard to get“? Mon dieu! The French think they’re so bloody sexy.