Neoprene. Alarm bells. So over. Question mark. Nay, you hear me say. You see, the intelligent inhabitants - no, not patronising, just truthful - of planet earth seek to find multiple uses for those things in life that float the boat of practicailty. Take potatoes, for example. First, we had potatoes. Next came potato peelers and boiling water and just like that, BAM, we had boiled potatoes. Then some clever pre-Christianity Heston Blumenthal-type tycoon took a knife to this incomparably versatile vegetable, decided frying was the way forward and BAM, blessed us with my personal staple diet... CHIPS!

Do you see where I'm headed with this? No? Ok, let's play the association game then. What is the first thing that comes into your head... Cocoa:CHOCOLATE Fish:CHIPS Hd:TV Neoprene:DIVING. Are you with me now? Good. So then let me introduce you to Leghila: An achingly intelligent Italian venture that has me thinking DANG, why didn't I get there first. Neoprene: it's lightweight, durable, takes well to colour, is water resistant... Well of course all those things would be useful when, say, you don't want your favourite Chloe tote to experience the wrath of a cranberry juice spillage. (Sorry, Paddington tote, you're still my fave even after all these years.)

What's more, they come in every colour imaginable. Granted, the colours veer more towards the neon-prene side of the waters but heck, they're still pretty cool. As if tantalising tones of neon-ness isn't enough, these little nuggets of neoprene Heaven come with baggage (excuse the pun) and by baggage I mean a whole host of twin styles.  I'd show you them all but an eye-watering spread of taste-bud-tickling delights await me at the dinner table...

So I give you this - probably Leghila's most talked-about bag to date. Remind you of something? Well, there's a reason they have the F-bag and this is the B-bag: b-b-b-Birkin! Ohhhh yes yes yes, Birkin loving all over the shop. I mean, it does feel like a bit of a cheat's way to Birkin loving... And I shudder at the thought of what a 16-year-old me would have thought of all this. Looking back, if I were galavanting round the fountain-clad grounds of my convent high school comparing notes with my richer counterparts I might sniff an air of 'Oh, well that's not a real Birkin. Mummy bought me a real one. In every colour.' (It was all girls - bitchaayyy.) But I do love the tongue-in-cheek attitude it exudes. Bags, like life, must never be taken too seriously.

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