It is with a huge amount of relief that I can report that I now see some (still very limited) value in being ‘up-country’. For so long now my view of the South East has been so jaded that I’ve not been able to see any good at all in the part of the world that I called home for the best part of thirty-five years (if you count my ten year ‘escape’ from the Greater London area to Oxford as still part of the South East).

So, when I realised I’d made a gaffe and misread my train ticket, plonking me down in Reading an hour before I’d arranged to meet my colleague and friend, Louise, I was a bit fazed by the realisation that I had an hour to kill. It was cold, dark and post-shop-closing-time but I still decided that a walk up to the town centre was preferable to a wait on the station so I set of with my ‘clickety-click’ suitcase on wheels for a mooch around.

I was surprised to find that the place that I have spat scorn at a number of times (the dreaded Oracle centre – full of useless shops selling dreams to young women about how they too can look like Kate Moss or Angelina Joely) was open for business and there were quite a few people milling about. I decided to put a brave face on it and see whether I could find a replacement handbag for my tatty, falling apart bag that has been my constant companion since the fashion changed a few years ago and bags with handles long enough to go over your head went out of style, leaving a trail of stupid little bits of nothing with nowhere to keep a 10d and a paperback book. The bag really needed to be retired because if I’d not chosen to take it from service and send it to the great old handbag heaven in the sky, within weeks (possibly days) the frayed handle was going to unceremoniously dump my 10d on a pavement somewhere.

I couldn’t allow that to happen now could I?

So, I wandered into a department store with an air of anticipation of disappointment, thinking ‘I’ll have a look but I don’t expect to find a big bag with a long handle’. Anyway, blow me down there they were. Not only were there handbags with long handles, but they were black and sort of ever so slightly dangerous looking too. (If you know what I mean.)

I spent a happy half-hour fondling things in tactile fabrics with fringes, big silver buckles and studs and eventually decided on this one. Not only that but it was in a sale, reduced from what was an exorbitant £70 to a much more respectable £24…..a bargain by any other name!!!

Even more joy when I got it back to Louise’s house, unwrapped it and realised I’d inadvertently bought a ‘designer’ (well as near to designer as I've ever had) bag for not much more than twenty quid. Cool – that’s the first time in my life I’ve ever owned a designer bag. Blimey listen to me – next I’ll be coveting Louis Vuitton and FCUK……er on second thoughts……

My joy was compounded when I had a fabulous evening in great company with a charming woman who I rarely ever exchange more than ‘business talk’ with as we’re usually so busy and so wrapped up in work that we forget the pleasantries in our haste to cover as much business as we can. Being ‘up-country’ isn’t all bad…..but I’ll still be glad to go home!

Last year, I spent hours trying to get a good shot of Good Oil - eventually I made it!