"A Bag For Life" - what a silly name. What happens if it bursts?
PS Above you see the original version, mine. But - as you may have realised yet, and I just have - the graphomaniac in me just won't be written off easily. And I've decided to keep his version after all - as a warning.
“A Bag For Life”. What does it mean? I have two drawers full of bags for life and I don’t know what to do or think*. Is is about the bag's life or mine? The 'life' in question can't really be the bag's as the sentence would be a tautology; besides, bags don't live. So it must be about my life. Am I supposed to keep them till I die? Some of them are ugly, so that's an unpleasant thought. Pehaps the fact that I have so many of them suggests more intensive life? Or more versatile life? More unfocused, all over the place kind of, life (yes, must be this)? Or, and this is a thrilling** idea!, maybe the bugs sum up and I'm going to live to be 4700 or thereabouts (at the last quick count)? But all these questions pale into metaphysical insignificance if you think of this scenario:
Imagine someone, say Jonathan. He is 35, middle-class, fit & jogging, supersticious (important) type of person, who takes these things seriously, you know – all those government warnings, E.U. guidelines, producer instructions, quango recommendations, BBC appeals, UN resolutions, five-fruit-a-day, no-more-than-four-units-per-day kind of things. He believes in man-made 'global warming' too, rather than man-invented global-warming (but this is just a teaser of the next post, so don't be put off***). When Jon sees: “ A Bag For Life” and he reads: “A Bag For Life” and he understands "A Bag For Life". So he keeps it, he washes it, irons it and makes sure - unlike me - that he uses the bag more than once.
Then, one evening, Jon's best pal rings and asks if it's OK to swing by to watch a soccer match together (not that they're an item, it's just that the pal's TV is playing up - no sound). So Jon - still in his track suit -grabs his Bag For Life and pops out to the local grocers. He buys the stuff he needs, including some high quality vitamins, minerals and herbal supplements (Jon looks after his system), packs everything into the bag (the shop assistant notices what the bag claims and jokes that, judging by its perfect condition, our hero is going to live to be 150 or better ... ha, ha!) and leaves.
Or is about to leave.
Just before he does, he notices a Hobgoblin on one of the shelves teasing him: "What's the matter lagerboy? Afraid you may taste something?" Jon smiles.The fact is he is a lager man, but just because he prefers lager, not that he's afraid of anything. However, on the spur of the moment, just to prove the goblin wrong, he turns back and buys one bottle of the Wychwood ale. He chucks it in the Bag For Life, leaves the shop properly and starts his brisk home-ward walk. He smiles at the shopkeeper's joke (prophetic?), and feels good anticipating a pleasant evening, weekend and, generally, life. Then, some twenty steps away from the shop the bag bursts.
*I mean: about this issue; not, like, in life or stuff (but then again...)
**unless the last 4600 of those years I’d have to spend bed-ridden, serviced by an ugly, leftist, talkative, state-provided nurse (and a male one, to boot).
***I mean be - if you must - put off the next post, but not this one.
Then, one evening, Jon's best pal rings and asks if it's OK to swing by to watch a soccer match together (not that they're an item, it's just that the pal's TV is playing up - no sound). So Jon - still in his track suit -grabs his Bag For Life and pops out to the local grocers. He buys the stuff he needs, including some high quality vitamins, minerals and herbal supplements (Jon looks after his system), packs everything into the bag (the shop assistant notices what the bag claims and jokes that, judging by its perfect condition, our hero is going to live to be 150 or better ... ha, ha!) and leaves.
Or is about to leave.
Just before he does, he notices a Hobgoblin on one of the shelves teasing him: "What's the matter lagerboy? Afraid you may taste something?" Jon smiles.The fact is he is a lager man, but just because he prefers lager, not that he's afraid of anything. However, on the spur of the moment, just to prove the goblin wrong, he turns back and buys one bottle of the Wychwood ale. He chucks it in the Bag For Life, leaves the shop properly and starts his brisk home-ward walk. He smiles at the shopkeeper's joke (prophetic?), and feels good anticipating a pleasant evening, weekend and, generally, life. Then, some twenty steps away from the shop the bag bursts.
ASDA (a.k.a. Walmart, for the information of my American visitors)
*I mean: about this issue; not, like, in life or stuff (but then again...)
**unless the last 4600 of those years I’d have to spend bed-ridden, serviced by an ugly, leftist, talkative, state-provided nurse (and a male one, to boot).
***I mean be - if you must - put off the next post, but not this one.
