Today I think I officially grew up a little bit. Two weeks shy of my 31st (eek!) birthday, I have decided to ditch my trusty backpack for once and for all.
I must admit that I felt a twinge of sadness as I chucked it into it’s final resting place in the corner of a wheelie bin around the back of my appartment. We’d been through a lot, that bag and I.
I bought it in Austria about 3 years ago with my then girlfriend on our whistle stop tour of Europe. It was well cool. It even had a little rubber slot on the front pocket for your headphones to come through.
It had accompanied me on every single weekend away since, both home and abroad, it had come on my daily trips to and from every job I’ve had in the time that I’ve had it.
It’s carried ridiculous amounts of cans both two and from parties. It’s carried more than it’s fair share of milk and sliced pans, toilet rolls and butter on my infrequent and reluctant forays down to the local Dunnes of a Saturday morning.
It’s been like a sleeping bag for my walkman, discman, minidisc player and my MP3 players. I knew it inside out.
It’s been to festivals in various countries, it’s been stuffed with jackets and used as a pillow, and as a cushion on long train journeys.
But today I ended it all.
I felt like a bit of a prat with a backpack at my age. I’m not a skateboarder. Never will be. Nor a snowboarder as that spell in Austria showed. Also, it’s fucking akward. Every time you put something in it, no matter how small, you have to take the bastard off. This usually results in your earphones being ripped form your lugs and on a couple of occasions, being trod upon on some shop floor or other. And you can never find anything like your keys or phone within in it’s dark and cavernous interior.
It’s also fucking manky.
At gigs, you really notice how cumbersome it is. You can’t squeeze past anyone. You get in people’s way. You are ‘the cunt with the rucksack’.
Pubs don’t like them either. Bouncers are suspicious from the get go, barman eye you up to make sure you’re not pilfering their precious Hoegarden glasses, and airport and transit police think you’re a terrorist.
So today, I’d decided that enough was enough. I’m no longer the cunt with the rucksack. I’m now the beardy ponce with the manbag.
It’s not a manbag. It’s a satchel really. Made of canvas with big leather and metal straps and buckles and that. Like someone in the army might have. If they were gay.
So we’ll see how it goes.
Chapter 31 of my life starts here.
I wonder if it’s big enough to hold my testicles…
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Check out ‘31 Today’ from Aimee Mann’s new album - it was my anthem when I turned 31 a couple of months ago - although I must point out I’m not quite as desperate as the girl in the song. Anyways congrats on getting rid of the manky bag!
Nice bag, I’ll keep an eye out for a thirtysomething gent with large testicles carrying one, and when I see him I’ll say hi!
I still use my backpack, but I cycle to and from work, it’s the easiest thing short of expensive pannier bags. Well, it sounds acceptable, just don’t start keeping moisturiser or makeup or shit in it. I’ll be 36 shortly so that has fuck all to do with it, face it, you are re-branding
I’m all for manbags. If you’re insecure just take the Jack Bauer route and fill it with guns and balaclavas for use in fake robberies.
I used to be able to hold ten cans in my jeans pockets. God bless the 90s.
What would you like for your birthday?
Ten cans please Juno
I never thought I’d see the day.
Next you’ll be wearing corduroy blazers and stripey scarves.
How many testicles do you have?
none anymore since I bought my handbag
Hee. I don’t know how men manage wihat with not being allowed carry bags and be manly. I”m all for manbags, it’s about time.
I still use a backpack, but only cos, like the Thrifty one, i’m a cyclist. other than that i only use it for trips to the supermarket. Generally I just use my pockets for holding stuff.
I’m officially too old to use a backpack for anything else.
Manbags are for fucking Trinners students. Don’t forget to buy your oversize scarf and blazer to match!
Pinstriped suit, briefcase and rolled umbrella. None of yer manbags !
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