why?

God your fucking handbag drives me mad. Every single time you want to get something out of it, it takes you a minimum of ten minutes while you rummage through all the crap to find whatever it is. Why have you got thirty expired parking tickets in there? Do you really need to carry a map of the tube when you live in Suffolk? Are you establishing an archive of old shopping lists, and if so, why are you doing it in your bag?

I watched you the other day. You were standing outside the supermarket, one hand on the trolley, trying to find the list you had written. You must have unfolded at least ten pieces of paper, shaken your head, folded them back up and replaced them in your bag before you found the right one. You were standing next to a litterbin at the time. Why didn’t you put them in? What are you saving them for?

Your purse contains hundreds of receipts, a few notes, and approximately £25 in small change. It weighs about the same as a small baby and it no longer shuts properly. Have you ever considered using up these coins in shops? Are you really in such a hurry that you need to pay for everything with a note? It there a new currency law I haven’t been told about?

Why is there a Sid Vicious RIP badge in there? And a large brown envelope containing a magazine that focuses on Phoenix, Arizona? I have counted, and you have four pots of lipsalve, and two lighters with no gas left in them. You have three chequebooks, two of which have no cheques left in them. There are ten train tickets, all used, and five pieces of chewing gum loose, stuck in one of the corners.

Your car has more crap in it than any other car I have ever been in. On the back seat there is a folding easel that hasn’t been folded. Its bag is on the floor. There are another fifty parking tickets and receipts. There are five out of date copies of Private Eye on the floor of the front passenger seat, and most of them have muddy footprints on so you can’t read them anyway.

There is a Christmas decoration in the boot, a carrier bag from Homebase containing two shelf brackets, and a bin bag full of clothes to take to the recycling point. It has been there for two months. I saw you open the car door the other day and a moth flew out.

I noticed yesterday that another four black t-shirts had been delivered. Was there something wrong with the twenty you already possess? If so, why don’t you put them in the bin bag in the car boot? Why do you have so many pairs of shoes you can’t walk in? What is the point?

Why do you leave the room when I am watching The Daily Show? What’s wrong with stand-up comedy? Bruce Springsteen is a legend. You can only appreciate him at top volume. What is the problem with matt black metal as a furnishing option? Why can’t you give up smoking? Other people seem to be able to.

Why do you have such flaky acquaintances and why have I never met most of them? I realise that it was your money, but was it necessary to spend a thousand pounds – all you had – on that painting - just because he was broke? That isn’t a sound investment.

Why do you get so upset when I shout? I am a good guy eighty five per cent of the time, why can’t you forgive and forget the other fifteen percent? I left five self-help books on relationships by your side of the bed four weeks ago now and you haven’t opened a single one.

I hope you will think long and hard while you are away, and that when you come home that you will be able to answer my question. I hope it will be the right answer.