Save Me…… from the horror, the horror.

There is a plague, an addiction, that is sweeping the globe. It crosses the cultural and linguistic barriers intact. It has no conscience or guilt. It consumes everything in its path. The only people immune to it are men.

I speak of the horror that is bags.

Hand bags, clutch bags, shoulder bags, bum bags, designer bags, bags that slip under your arm, bags that are strapped to your leg, bags that are so small they can have no possible practical use, bags that have big gold letters on them which apparently mean they’re expensive. Bags, bags, bloody bags.

And all of them are craved, coveted, lusted after and yearned for by women. Women of all nationalities, creeds, colours and religions. Here in Spain, back in my home country, the UK. Everywhere. The carnage is absolute. There is no obstacle, no barrier big enough to keep women from acquiring more and more bags.

I bring this up now because this week my wife decided to add to her extensive collection of bags yet again. This time it was a bag to carry her Notebook laptop in.

“But you’ve already got one,” I said, “I know that because I bought it for you myself.”

“Yes, but that’s different. That was one which you carry under your arm,” she said, “This one has a shoulder strap so I can wear it like a bandolier.”

She has bags for everything. Well, actually, for a limited number of things, but all of which can be carried in a very slightly different way, which, of course, is obviously vital. She’s got so many bags she could open her own bag shop and then with the remaining bags open an online order warehouse. She’s got more bags than she’s got stuff to go in them. We can’t go past a bag shop without her stopping to look.

Now, before you start lobbing accusations of cheap sexism at me, let me assure you that I have carried out exhaustive research with both men and women on this particular subject. It is so exhaustive that I have actually, for the first time ever, been forced to include endnotes in this particular blog as a pre-emptive defence to such outrageous insinuations. The findings have been carried out at a personal level[1], a domestic level[2], nationally[3] and even internationally[4].

In fact, my findings are so definitive, that they would have Cambridge University professors sucking furiously on their pipes and scratching their beards, while saying: “Extraordinary, I must say. Quite extraordinary.” 

Yes, ok. I haven’t surveyed every woman on the planet, but my aforementioned detailed investigations have uncovered some startling facts. Even a random survey of both men and women in my immediate social sphere revealed some shocking statistics. I have, out of courtesy, agreed to keep the conversations anonymous. Well, actually, in order to save on potentially expensive lawsuits for personal suffering, punitive damages and counseling. But the following is all completely and totally true.

Me: “How many bags do you have?”. Man A: “Er, two.”. Man B: “What sort of bags?”. Me: “All sorts.” Man B: “Oh, ok, two.”

Me: “How many bags do you have?”. Woman A: Pauses, counts on her fingers. “Nine.” Me: “Thanks.” Woman A: “Mind you, that doesn’t count suitcases of course. I’ve got four of them.”

Me: “And how many bags do you have?” Woman B: “Oh, not many. I used to have more. But I think I’ve only got about 11 or 12 now.”

A summary of the above research revealed; Men = 2, 3, 1, 2, 2. Women = 13, 12, 9, 8, 14, 12 and 20.”

I rest my case, your honour.

Don’t blame me. I’m just the messenger. The horror of this particular addiction has been with us for a long time and has already been subliminally referenced in media much greater than your humble blog writer.

I think it´s more than coincidence that on TV here last Wednesday they showed the classic film Apocalypse Now. As I sat there watching it for the umpteenth time, I suddenly understood it properly for the very first time.

Many people believe the film - which tells the story of a US Army captain sent into the remote Cambodian jungle during the Vietnam War to assassinate rogue US Army Colonel Kurtz, played by Marlon Brando - is about the insanity of war.

But I can tell you for a fact that they´re wrong.

While it may be true that the Colonel has gone insane and is carrying out attacks on the Viet Cong with his own private army, the climactic scene in which a mortally wounded Kurtz repeats the words “The horror, the horror” with his dying breath is not, in fact, about war at all. It´s about bags. The only reason Kurtz fled into the jungle in the first place was because his wife wouldn´t stop buying the fucking things.

Let’s be clear here. I am willing to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune – and a kicking from the wife - if it means that the true nature of this affliction can be brought to wider attention.

And don’t even get me started on women and shoes.

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[1] me

[2] my  wife

[3] Mara, Monica and Rocio who are Spanish

[4] Fiona, Marla*, Frida and Kara who are Irish, American, Swedish and British respectively.

*Footnote to endnote – She said: “I don´t have many bags** because I´m a minimalist, but I know many women who do.”

**Appendix to footnote to endnote – She said that she used to have a lot of bags, so I included her as a YES to the original question anyway. It’s my survey. I’ll do what I like.