Practical things are always ugly

One thing that this whole gallivant round southern Europe has taught me is that practical things are always ugly. Always. Without fail. I'm a girl primarily attracted to pretty things that are therefore predominantly useless. (Or maybe things which are predominantly useless can therefore be pretty. I'm not sure which comes first. Answers on a postcard please, although don't stress overly because it's a dilemma very similar to the endlessly debatable egg/chicken thing and seeing as how that still hasn't been solved satisfactorily - biologists please don't start - I'm not expecting too many ground breaking solutions). Anywayyy; this love of pretty and non practical things meant that rather rapidly I grew to hate my rucksack. Even when I had only just purchased it (and only just christened it Berny) and it (he??) was proudly sitting in the corner of my room new and empty apart from the possibilities it held, I hated it. It was so practical and so, so ugly. Packing it, as it stubbornly refused to expand or do up, made me hate it even more and by the time we'd walked the three minute journey to the tube station from which we progressed to St Pancreas, I despised it with the same intensity that I imagine Jen despises Angelina.
And yet, here I am, said rucksack on back, looking really quite happy.

I know. I was astonished.
I think the happiness might be due to the fact that I am about to board a train which will take me to Rome, where I shall be able to discard the rucksack from my life for four whole days, not to mention properly unpack, rather than live out of the detested thing, which I had been doing until Rome, spending vast amounts of time rooting unsuccessfully through its dark entrails.
It might also have been due to the fact that I am fully aware of the camera, and no one likes a miserable photo.
And it might also have been due to the very large iced coffee I had just consumed and which had the power to make me endlessly happy.
It could well be due to the amazing time I was having, and all the fabulous things I had done, all the new things I had experienced and all the lovely people I had met. Amazing how a bit of travel can give you a whole new perspective on things!
But it may also have been due to the fact that Berny was actually really quite great. Useful. Practical. Two words that usually make me shudder. But he was reassuring in his sturdy reliability. A comforting presence who I felt enjoyed seeing the small fraction of the world we were exploring as much as I did.
So he wasn't overly pretty. But neither really is Louis Theroux and I fancy him because of his other top class qualities.
So maybe practicality is sometimes a good thing (SOMETIMES I said. Don't be taking my words out of context now. This does not mean I will be replacing my 5inch gold stilettos with crocs any time soon). I certainly developed a love/hate relationship with Berny which, although strained, erred towards the loving end of the scale.
Lesson learnt: embrace practicality. As I said, amazing how a bit of travel can give you a whole new perspective on things. Although next time I might still decorate my rucksack with glitter, embroidery, broaches and bells  before departure. Old habits die hard, I am still a girl primarily attracted to pretty things, Berny could certainly have done with some jazzing up and no one can object to a bit of extra prettiness about the place. Bring on the craft kits.