Trying…to finish

The tale of the last beach bag

The last beach bag I hope to own EMMA BARNETT

It might be possible that I have bought the very last beach bag I will ever need.

I knew she was perfect when I laid eyes on her (and she is most definitely a she) - in a beautiful little French shop down a side street on holiday last year.

Except I marched past her with my pram trying to keep my then very small daughter happy. I don’t have the presence of mind to shop when I am with my children. I cannot muster the imagination I need to think of whether I need that particular thing or would even enjoy it. But I couldn’t get the bag out of my head as we trundled off to the fruit market. It was the one. The perfect beach bag (roomy and chic) I had imagined when people think of having such things in cold, rainy England - which granted is rarely.

So, in a rare moment of shopping rebellion while with said children, against cries of protestations, I claimed this time back for myself, insisting I needed it. I turned back, bought it swiftly and immediately I knew I was right. She is the one. And as I start thinking about the packing for this year’s summer holiday, she’s giving me the eye. And I know I was bang on. The job is done. Match made.

A bit like the straw boater hat I have worn nearly every day of the last three summers to shade my eyes, (because they are so dry and can no longer tolerate lenses so I can’t wear my beloved shades), I am in it for the long haul.

Except I just noticed a slight tear forming in the top of my perfect cream hat and I cannot bear to think about the replacement job.

Because you see I was hoping this job, the finding of the perfect summer hat, was also complete.

I always know when I know. And no more joy is to be had when the one, whatever the category, has been found. I had worn the same lipstick for nearly 20 years - because I had found the perfect coral. So why look any further? That was until it was discontinued without any warning, RIP Costa Chic by Mac. 

I would love to be able to say that this desire to finish a job came from my eco credentials and wanting to buy things that will last. And while that it is a benefit of trying to look after items so I don’t buy more than I need - it actually comes from a desire to have completed a task and be able to move onto the next.

It would also be neat to say this instinct has come about since having children as a response to wanting some semblance of control where there is little in the land of early parenthood. But I remember feeling it when I worked at a newspaper in my twenties and early thirties. I was in awe that we filled the many blank pages every single day. And at the same time could never write enough for online.

But I also remember craving to finish the job. Finish the news. Complete the task. Write the last article and edit the last page. Can you imagine? Except you can’t. The news just keeps on rolling. Just like you now can’t finish scrolling social media. It’s endless. 

Life is made up of thousands of mainly small tasks that must be done again and again to live. It isn’t the point to finish them. But in a culture of lists and finishing things - getting ‘there’ is highly desirable. It is yet another thing I am trying to reframe as I get further into life. I think it started with the exam culture of our youth and has never stopped. 

I am also still rather babyishly surprised when a task that has hung over you, for weeks, if not months, languishing at the end of one’s to-do list, how little satisfaction is derived upon completion. Where are the party poppers? Surely if you have thought about booking the dentist for six months, they should be a full party complete with marching band when the job is over? No, not a peep. 

However, as someone who is pretty good at making decisions (that doesn’t mean they are always good decisions) and sticking by them, there is a small chance, if my beach bag is made as well as I hope it is and I don’t lose it, I have just bought the last beach bag of my life. And I kind of love that idea. The completion. The finality of it all and it being reliably always the item, no matter where I am, that I grab when I am lucky enough to head to the beach. 

My late godmother had a large brimmed straw sun hat with a big ribbon around it hung up on a peg near the back door. I can see it in my mind so clearly now. She definitely had the same one for the 32 years I knew her. When you know, you know. No more trying needed.

P.S I still cannot speak of my winter hat situation. I had found the perfect woollen beret to finally replace the red one of my youth that I had lost which was festooned with butterflies. I never needed another. Maroon with a giant black bow, it made my head look like a big sweetie. The task was finally complete. Until I left it in a cab. And now we must never speak of it again. Until the next one crosses my path. 

Can you relate?