bags and mags

'Tea Bag' book bag is now on ebay here.

'Autumn Stripe' bag is now also on ebay here.

Eeeeeek. How exciting!!!
Mind you, I'm also a bit nervous to tell you the truth. I'm not worried about parting with them, it's just that strange feeling of not knowing if they'll be going to a "good home" that makes me feel unsettled.

You should have seen me trying to sell my first car, 'Little P' (who's name evolved because of the numberplate, not anything to do with my own flossy-p child spawn). He was a daggy granny car; a golden 1982 Holden Gemini. He would have been labelled a 'bomb' if he hadn't been so well loved by the granny who owned him before us. Honest to God, the granny who sold it to my sister left a tissue box on the back dash, a bag of knitting in the boot, and told us that “'Betsy' likes a full tummy” (or "put fuel in the car you twit" in laymen’s terms). But much like me, the granny obviously felt little ease passing the keys to my then teenaged sister.

My sister passed “Betsy” on to me and Betsy became Little P, aka ‘the golden chariot of fun and adventure’ (said in a gameshow host voice – HEY, I had to make the granny car seem cool okay). Arhhh, good times, good times. Daily water and oil top-ups, long rides without heating or air-con, and not to forget the pungent smell of car exhaust that stayed in your hair for hours after a drive. But there was a great stereo and a giant set of speakers that my sisters dodgy male friends had “given” her and installed, that made up for it all. I loved that car dearly.

The day came when I sold Little P. The teenaged boy with a fistful of banknotes had me concerned. He had a nice face, but his dad let slip that this was his 3rd car after crashing the first 2 while speeding. I chuckled nervously as I mentioned that this was the perfect car for him because it couldn’t manage any speed above 75km/p/h.

The deal was made and they drove away together. The only thought that stopped me crying (worried sick that Little P would end up as scrap metal within months) was the hope that this boy would kit Little P out. I dreamt that one day I’d see him all hotted up, with airbrush flames up the side, white leather interior, fat tyres rimming expensive silver wheels, cruising up the road, preceded by the deep rumble of a fully-sick engine, and a classy trinket of some kind dangling from the rear-vision mirror.

He deserved all that, and more. Onward and upward Little P! Rock on!