Emerica X-Ray backpack

Following a some bone-graft surgery on a fairly ruined scaphoid, my Mum decided I needed a rucksack, seeing as the daily 5 mile cycle to central London wasn’t going to happen again anytime soon and feeling like I’d had my hand stamped on made me think ‘What the hell, a freebie’s a freebie’. Besides as anyone in the ‘smashed scaphoid gang’ will know the only gesture a scaphoid cast will allow is a permanent thumbs-up.

Why my judgement lapsed into insanity I don’t know. I blame the anaesthetic, because as we all know mums are completely incapable of purchasing anything remotely stylish, especially my Mum, as those who know me will know, enjoys amateur archaeology, civil war re-enactment societies and anything to do wish lay-lines or stone circles in her spare time. Which is all pretty rad in my opinion, but doesn’t help when choosing fashion conscious apparel.

What she bought me really was ‘special’ to say the least. The warning signs were there what with there being a Clarks shoe shop in Peckham, which seems to lure parents of my mums generation in, with promises of the quality of yesteryear, and made a whole generation of children look like dorks in primary school and ruined their confidence for the rest of their lives, because all I wanted was the kickers with the green and red tabs on the shoes and the leather boat tops like all the other kids had!

Oh, sorry. To this day the most positive comment I received on my new convenience related accessory was that it made me look like I had ‘a touch of the Downs’. After 2 weeks recovery and against the advise of my consultant I was back on the stallion, and back shredding Pecknarm bowl and in need of a rucksack that didn’t make me feel like a twat, so Moose swooped in to save the day.

Subtle this Emerica rucksack is not, verging dangerously on crusty-fat-pink haired Goth girl it is, but my son thinks its cool, so I guess it must be. The first day I used it was officially the wettest day of the year, and the only things that were dry by the end of my ride were my crotch and the inside of this rucksack. To sum things up its pretty cool, you feel like a psychedelic art-school stage Dennis the Menace wearing it, you can put stuff in it and keep it dry (leaky-thermos permitting) and it and you can strap a skateboard to it, not that anyone has ever done that because it makes you look like a massive dick.

Bod