In which we look in horror at the contents of a handbag…

It is well established that a woman’s handbag is a deeply personal thing. Growing up, I was aware of The Mothership’s (rather sizeable) bag, but unless expressively asked to retrieve her purse, I wouldn’t have dared to go near it. I think that’s true for most people. I have several very close friends (one of whom casually told me the PIN to her Visa card so I could get her round at the Drinking Shop), but I’ve never, ever, looked in their handbags.

In fact, thinking about it, having had two children, I’ve had more random people rummaging around inside me than in my bag.

As it should be.

Anyhoo. As I root though my bag now, it occurs to me that this secret realm has been utterly taken over by The Boys.

Let us start with the size of the bloody thing. No longer a cute little bag that fits a few pleasing essentials, my current handbag is roughly the same size as Aberystwyth.

In the old world, the contents of my handbag were roughly as follows:

• Wallet.
• Umbrella.
• Several lip glosses – rarely used.
• Half a pack of Polos.
• A couple of pens.
• My phone (depending on the pocket situation on any given day).
  Rennies (I have had heartburn pretty much constantly since 1996 – I think Lemon Hooch rotted my insides).

Now, as I prod morosely through the Sack of Doom, I find:

• Wallet.
• A bouncy ball.
• Several lip glosses – never, ever used.
• A couple of pens, three felt tips, a partially chewed green crayon, and Star Wars pencil sharpener.
• 2 generic toy cars, a small Lightning McQueen and a fire engine with a missing wheel. This supply must be topped up regularly because we must never attend a playground without cars to roll down the slide.
• 3 boxes of slightly dried-out raisins for doling out as snacks when people are watching.
• 2 small bags of Mini Eggs for doling out when people are not watching.
• A spare pair of pants for the Little One.
• A carrier bag to store the pants that the Little One was wearing until the spare pair are inevitably deployed.
• A broken yoyo.
• Two Pokémon cards.
• Three stones, a shell and a small stick.
• Dangermouse’s left leg.
• Tissues because there is a never a moment when someone isn’t snotty, filthy or crying.
• Antibac gel I can never bloody find when the Little One has thrust his hand into something unspeakable.
• A single sock that’s too small for either of them.
• Approximately 5 tablespoons of….matter. Just gritty shit that was probably once a snack or some sand or something….
• A small bottle of gin (no, not really, but would it be so wrong….?)