My purple patch or old bag blues .....

I have never been a graceful person and my mother told me, in the way that mothers do, that I was a clumsy child.  I wasn't, I just wanted to get things done quickly so I tended to have more accidents but I never broke a bone or hurt myself particularly.   Last week we had a fleeting stop in the Yorkshire Dales and went for a walk.  Half way around, while crossing a deep gill, I stumbled, then I slipped, then I fell and, when I came to a halt, my forehead was in contact with a large rounded boulder.  Shortly afterwards the proverbial egg came up and it was of a size to make an ostrich squeal during the laying process.  I'm not sure why I asked Northern Man whether he thought I'd get a black eye - he has no medical training whatsoever and  numerous qualifications in engineering are not much use when it comes to the prediction of bruising patterns - so I was probably just after reassurance.  He promised me that I would be okay but now I am sporting a black eye which would make a cage fighter wince.  I have to tell you that purple is not my colour and it will suit me far better once it has faded to a nice shade of green.

It did not prevent me from car booting, although my darkest sun glasses stayed firmly on (the very swollen) bridge of my nose.  This is what I found .....

A vintage painted magazine rack ...

Lovely little string box in the shape of a house and vintage glass Christmas decorations ....

A panel of crocheted flowers .....

A lovely embroidered picture and a silk embroidered picture ...

and last, but not least, the eponymous old bags.