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Bags of Distinction

Submitted by on November 15, 2011 – 8:53 amNo Comment

I was sat in the airport recently, tucking into my meal deal whilst awaiting my flight. Knowingly smug that I’d secured a bargain whilst my fellow travellers succumbed to the sights and smells of fried eggs and assorted pork fancies.

So I’m sat about eating my chicken triple on malted whilst watching people go about their pre-flight business. I like to watch people, not in a son of a butcher way but just sit and observe people as they go about their business.

An airport contains a great mix of people all under one pre-fabricated roof. Businessmen, stag dos, couples, singles, dicks wondering why they can’t take half a pound of corned beef to Spain.

People just busying themselves running around buying shite from the shops. They may need some of this shite but largely they could probably do without two, two litre bottles of Evian or a family size fruit and nut that was just a pound with today’s Telegraph.

One shop that caught my eye was the luggage shop; I’m willing to make a educated guess that everyone who has reached the departure lounge probably has a suitcase. I’d imagine even the Dutch pancake house had more customers before high rates drove him out of town, but hey life can be crepe sometimes.

Why did people persist with suitcases without wheels for so long? I don’t know the history of the suitcase but I’ll make a guess that it arrived after the fabled wheel. Now when the suitcase did arrive why didn’t someone just see the bloke who invented it lugging it about and just tell him to stick some wheels on the bottom, he could then just pull it about in a slightly camp but ultimately more comfortable manner.

Italians have been using these cases for years, and I think we’re all agreed that there are no cooler fuckers than the Italians. Italians can wear body warmers or brown shoes with black pants and not look like a bad dick, effortlessly stylish. And you can say what you like about Berlusconi and his maverick approach to fiscal matters but he looked smart with that bandana on when he went on holiday with Tony and Cherie.

It’s taken us years to pick up on suitcases with wheels. Let’s lug a big case about, no need for them wheels to make your life better, who needs wheels, people just plodded on lugging their great big cases about whilst the smoother, enlightened foreign folk waltzed past pulling a bag on wheels whilst using the other hand to ruffle their own sleek, long, shiny hair.

Talking of which I saw Roberto Mancini in town the other week and he has got quite lovely hair, his hair shits all over Fergie’s and Margy’s for that matter, I felt the need to finger his hair. I resisted obviously, mainly because he was with another man who may have been his dad and if there’s one thing Italian men cannot abide it’s their middle-aged sons having their hair fingered by a well-dressed, good-looking, albeit slightly pasty-complexioned Englishman.

If your reading this you’re probably a tad more enlightened than the average man so you’ve probably been using a bag with wheels for many a year. I’ve got that many bags with wheels that I left one in the van of one or your newly appointed directors, a man who spends most days carrying a hammer and chisel around graveyards.

Said director often wonders why I’ve not reclaimed the bag but the chances are it’s been used to transport dead/dying bodies around Moston Cemetery, it’s my gift to him. The man in question was once owner of the finest micro pin badge I’ve ever clapped my beautiful blue eyes on, I pestered him and pestered him for it but he never relented.

You should not judge him by the dubious activities he may or may not get up to in and around cemeteries or his pin badge tight bastardness though, he’s an OK, if slightly angry man and what’s more the fine work that this club will get up to in Moston will more than compensate for any chiselling off that club directors do amongst the headstones.

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