Handbags and Gladrags

Chrissy invited the ‘Come Dine with Me’ set to a local restaurant in Torba on the occasion of her birthday. The restaurant is run by a slightly fey man called Emir who rides a motorcycle but keeps his helmet hidden in the pannier to avoid getting it dirty. The gang assembled preened, pressed and powdered with breasts out on display despite the nipple-hardening chill.

Recently engaged Emir joined Liam and I at the bar. He suggested that when the weather improved we might like to join him for a skinny dip on Dodo Beach, an isolated spot where we can bathe unmolested. I suspect he had molestation of his own in mind.

The soiree was as cold as the weather. I was asked to judge a handbag competition because, as a gay man, I obviously know all about women’s handbags. I was presented with a ghastly array of (presumably fake), Gucci, D&G, Burberry and the like. I awarded first prize to the ugliest bag, big enough to transport paint from B&Q. The event became increasingly ill tempered. Bernard, a petty, humourless man of many hidden shallows, complained loudly that Chrissy no longer “puts out” as he delicately phrased it, preferring instead to take Jeffrey Archer to bed. We are growing weary of the relentless rivalry and trivial keeping up with the Jones’ village mentality. The crème is starting to curdle.

2 thoughts on “Handbags and Gladrags

  1. Hi Jack Your blog is great fun,read it daily.I see that you and Karen were mentioned in an article in the Daily HURRIYET Turkish Daily News.World domination next………maybe get to meet you in Yalikavak some time…..Gurusuruz!!!


  2. Jack… handbags are like children – there is no such thing as an ugly one — there’s always somebody that will see the beauty in it. I’m glad you recognized its inner beauty (and practicality)!

    Girls usually fall into one of two categories…. they’re bag people or shoe people….. I’ll grab the bags any day! RJ


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