Goodie bags

I had to give the ol' room a bit of a clean as it wasn't really suitable for visiting, not that any visitors are planned but I think that a clean room is much more relaxing. Plus it's sort of a traditional signifier of a new start in life.

Of course I have far too much stuff and thus tidy is more of a state of mind rather then an absolute concept. I put on some nice music and set about stuffing freshly laundered shirts into my wardrobe. It has a light in it, which always makes me smile when I turn it on. It doesn't matter that most of my shirts are slightly crumpled and squished when they are dramatically lit.

Wardrobes can be telling places, I went back to the flat of a 'new friend' for a coffee a few weeks ago and things were terribly civilised until she showed me the contents of her wardrobe. Things got out of control just after she brought out the vintage dresses. I'm not sure what that says about either of us apart from the fact we should stay away from Chanel in polite company.

Anyway, while I was tucking away various velvet and tweed numbers I also realised that I had made a line of goodie bags. Returning home from a drunken night out I triumphantly throw the bag down and collapse on my bed. This has happened more than a few times in the last few weeks and now a very pleasantl looking row of little paper bags full of exciting things has built up.

They are bulging of minature bottles of booze, glasses, make-up, leather wallets, vouchers for things I shall never do and other promotional items. If you open them they can be a bit disappointing as you often realise that they are mostly fluff with very little gift but undistirbed they are rather pretty. The spoils of a strange war, trophies of the party circuit lined up against a wall.

This also means another nice tradition can return. Now that I'm out and about again and I'm building up the bags of little pleasant things, everyone who visits will get a goodie bag. I'm returning to the days when everyone who pops by for a cup of tea or restoring glass of gin will get a little gift to go away with. Some pleasant little amusement just because.

This tradition started because I used to work in a female world, so many of the gifts pressed into my palm as I stumbled into a cab at the end of the evening were not really for chaps. I had a surplus of fripperies and make-up that needed a good home. A good home that could always be provided by my chums.

Anyway it's back, in force so who wants to come over for tea?