I have never been able to understand how my husband, or any man, come to that, can live without a handbag.

Now, as everyone who knows me will vouch, my handbag' is more the size of a bin bag, and contains just as much refuse.

But, however large and cluttered, it does go by the name handbag'.

That bag harbours all my worldly goods, at least those I believe are vital in preserving life and limb purse, mobile phone, glasses, car radio, tissues, aspirins, mascara, plus other bits and pieces deemed essential to most females living in the developed world.

On the other hand, like most men, my husband does not lug about the same amount of stuff at least he didn't in the past.

For years, he has ventured out with nothing but his wallet, tucked away in the back pocket of his trousers.

But, again in common with most men, that minimalistic approach seems to be waning.

He now rarely goes out without his wallet, keys, glasses, packed lunch, newspapers and other assorted paraphernalia that, it seems to me, is being added to by the week.

I recently discovered that he carries a mini screwdriver set (which I bought him for Christmas) about his person.

This is all well and good (although bizarre that he carries screwdrivers but no mobile phone) but what he hadn't considered while amassing more bits and pieces was the need for something to carry them in.

"You need a handbag," I pointed out, about six months ago, when he arrived home from work juggling newspaper, Tupperware box and some stuff he'd bought from Homebase.

Of course, he scoffed at the very idea, even when I told him there was such a thing, and went on to describe the increasingly popular Man Bag', with its long shoulder strap and roomy interior.

"If it's good enough for Jonathan Ross and Brad Pitt then it's good enough for you," I told him.

But the idea of a handbag for men didn't hit the right spot. I called up some images on the internet.

Sadly, the ones that flashed up looked a lot like one of my mother's handbags, complete with silver clasps on the flap.

I have to admit, it was not what I had in mind. The thought of him standing in the queue at Sainsbury's, fumbling about for his Reward card in what looked like an old lady's handbag was not overly appealing.

He finally agreed to use a green canvas bag I'd got free with an apple-flavoured drink.

But that was abandoned after our eldest daughter told him it looked like a horse's nose bag.

So, last week, we were back to square one, and the issue of the male handbag, the Man Bag, once again raised its ugly head. "Why can't you just call it a bag?" asked my husband who, while very particular about his image, is desperate to avoid anything different.