The Curse of The Wheelie Suitcase

Don’t get me started, but seeing as you’ve just given me carte blanche, Daily Post, I’ll dive right  in…

That drivelling, droning, whining vibration that emanates from the dragging of numerous wheelie suitcases, along pavements, in train stations, airports and streets up and down the country, across the continent and most probably throughout the planet.

As we drift thoughtlessly towards becoming a lazier species any minor tool that makes life simpler is embraced with abandon by the populace: take-away curry, american nail bars, instant soup and…wheelie suitcases.

Why can you not just pick up your goods and, carry, them?

As a staunch rucksack kinda chick/women/mother/old bat I refuse, point blank refuse, to take up any more space with my travelling bag and enjoy the pain and indignity of carrying my own possessions on my back, like a snail, having my hands free to slurp coffee and wave at handsome taxi drivers.

Call me a rucksack snob, in fact, call me anything you like – but this is my own, well groomed and adored personal pet snobbery.

If you there is anyone else out there in the world who feels the same – lets connect and create the Working Guild of RuckSack Rousers or Rucksacks on the Rise? Hmm or maybe, instead, Trail of the Snail? I’m not sure what do you think?




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