I remember them the first time round, oh now I’m showing my age. But they were right up there along with chrome platform stilettos. Sorry, Zoe Wittner, your mum was wearing those in the 70s – they’re not a new invention.
Anyway the reason the Glomesh thing struck me is that I still remember the clever advertising campaign for those soft sparkly bags in all the women’s’ magazines.
They would focus on some glamorous celebrity, but all you would see was a photo of ‘her’ Glomesh bag spilling it’s contents (onto a light-box.. as you do). The slogan was
“you can tell a lot about [insert famous glam-person's name] by what’s in her Glomesh bag…”
And said spilled contents would be along the lines of: opening night theatre tickets, Chanel lipsticks, YSL compacts, Mercedes, Porsche or BMW key chains, match books from uber-cool clubs and other assorted mementos of a life of serious coolness and privilege.
Well I no longer have a Glomesh bag (I think it went to Vinnies with my chrome platforms) but I spilled the contents of my hand bag onto the bead spread (no light box here) and took a peak:
“You can tell a lot about Suzy Mac by the contents of her very large leather bag with all those strange extra pockets..”
· A Décor container of stale gingerbread babies,
· several receipts from a cool place called ‘Pumpkin Patch Outlet’
· a flat pack dispenser of degradable doggy poo-bags
· 2 crud-encrusted dummies
· a crushed travel pack of sultanas
· several balled up tissues
· keys to our 6 year-old-RAV
· a red Oroton wallet
· a red Marks & Spencer credit card wallet filled with store loyalty cards
· a toddler drink bottle
· many, many supermarket receipts
· the odd crayon
· a nappy
· a travel packet of ‘Wiggles’ bottom wipes
· an old scrunched up tube of Bonjella
· a half used bottle of Baby Panadol
· one very scratched mobile phone
· and a 125ml AVENT bottle with about 5ml of coagulating milk in the bottom.
But while sifting through all this accumulated debris, no matter how deep I rummaged, I just couldn’t find those damned theatre tickets or the Porsche keys.
Oh well, when push comes to shove, who needs opening nights and Porches anyway? I couldn’t stay awake for the second act. And even if you could get a baby seat fitted to a Porsche, the Mountain Buggy certainly wouldn’t fit.
