Manbag - Decision is announced.

My brother, the one who reads this and denies it, bought me one as a birthday present and therefore forced my hand somewhat. He also gave me a book called "awaken the writer within" about awakening the writer within.

So if you notice a sudden change in writing style (ie you suddenly find things around here get interesting, funny or a bit sexy) then you can take it that I have started to read the book and it's stirred the adventurous but previously dormant creative writing genius that was always within me, just never up and moving around.

Back to the manbag business. The decision about whether I should buy one is not an issue any longer. I shan't be buying one because I've got one. It's kind of satchel like, jammed full of pockets, zips and straps and I must say that it looks quite fetching. The big question is whether I go ahead and use it.

You know me well enough by now to realise that I'm reporting the facts to you, there's no embellishment, no distortion and nothing added for effect, unlike most guitar solos. The fact is that I've been practising the "walking around town with a manbag" thing at home.

The big stumbling block, well the two of them, are the camera and the whole "will I look like Camp Freddie from The Italian Job?" thing. If you're camp or called Freddie or an Italian or an actor from the sixties then please accept my apologies, for I've no personal grudge against you. Your life is probably pretty tough as it is.

I've been strolling around Rhythmic Towers with the manbag to see what the wimmin' think. I discovered that, on balance, they don't care at all. The only way I could get their interest would be to fill the bag with Nintendo related things.

But I decided one thing immediately; the large satchel sized manbags are all well and good, but they're actually a substitute for a briefcase, albeit in a more fashionable way. That's good, if you're a laptop toting writing sort of person. If you're like me and all you want to carry around is a wallet, some ID (in SL), keys and some of that fluff that you normally have in your pockets or in your navel then a smaller manbag is what's required.

So now, I can frequently be spotted perusing the menswear departments checking out the smaller sized manbags. The next stage of my evolution is to buy one, then not use that too. But after vast research on these I can't quite bring myself to make cross the line, the point of no return, the point of purchase. Of course it's not actually a point of no return because I could return it if I don't like it, providing it's in the original condition and with all the original wrapping and stuff.

Then again, if I get one of these I won't be able to take my journal pad thing around or my drumsticks (I'm being serious there, ask my brother) or anything that is larger than the size of about a fag packet. So it will be a bag for my wallet and ID, which fit in my pockets anyway.

Decisions, decisions. I spent a good twenty minutes yesterday peering deeply at the satchel manbag which has found a home hanging on the back of a door with all the wimmin's handbags in the house. All thirty seven thousand three hundred and twelve of them. I played with its zips, I pulled some velcro fastenings, I looked at its many pockets and I tried carrying it around the house with my camera in it, both in its case and out of its case. Then, like the judges on a reality TV programme, only this time with serious stuff at stake, I finally came to a decision.

It will shortly be thrown into the Colombo bound suitcase, assuming SriLankan Airlines doesn't misroute it of course. I'm going to give it a go, with a large dose of trepidation and a load of nerves I'm going to give it a run out. It's a risk and it's an adventure but I'm just a thrill seeking risk taker and this is just another challenge to face up to.

I might look like a brown skinned camp Freddie or I might be mistaken for some kind of trendsetting film star.

There's only one way to find out.