I've had this bag a long time - probably since the early 90s. I can't claim any notable provenance for it: I didn't lug it back from the Peruvian Andes (curiously, I don't know, and don't deeply care, what happened to a rather similar bag which had those very roots). Rather, it came from a store in Little Clarendon Street, Oxford, called Tumi - a very reliable emporium of South American folksy stuff, including, undoubtedly, nasty cassettes of people playing pan pipes. It's been to a number of Bread Loaf summer schools; it's acted as a camera bag; I've just been very fond of it, even if, for years now, it's effectively been no more than an art supplies storage bag.
Until last winter, when it was one of the random objects in this house to succumb to moth. Not Moth, the cat, but those small flying things with fabric-hungry larvae. So out it went into the frost, to get eggs and larvae killed by the cold (I think it has that effect - at least, I hope so - we're always putting suspicious looking fabric in the freezer). And there it has stayed. I think mice may have been nesting in it. It really is beyond use. But it's hard to say goodbye. Alice - gently, tactfully, sensibly - has suggested that maybe I can take a photograph, and let it go. So, bag: thank you, and good bye.