Blonde's Eye View: Hooking up in public

It's awful to lose your handbag. A handbag is evolution's way of training women for babies; they are heavy, full of crap and we unconditionally love them.

She burst into tears. All the guys stared uncomfortably into their pints, and all the girls looked horrified.

Crying in front of work associates is the original sin of working women. She will forever be the girl who blubbed in Wetherspoons.

At every boardroom negotiation it will be inferred that she'll cry if things don't go her way. She'll probably have to look for a new job.

I felt sorry for the girl. Well, for the first hour.

Three hours later, with her still producing more water than the Cabot Square fountain, my patience was running dry.

It's only a handbag. Claim it on insurance and shut up.

We felt compelled to stay with her, trapped in a circular conversation about cancelling bank cards, and an irreplaceable lipstick.

Then one girl produced a portable handbag hook. These metal anti-theft contraptions hang off tables, so you can dangle your bag on them.

I've seen them used increasingly round the Wharf. Most are vulgar; adorned with fake gemstones and mini shoes, they strike me as a fad marketed at gullible chavettes.

They also strike me as pointless. If a thief can, unnoticed, swipe a bag placed at random under a table, how is highlighting the bag's exact position going to help?

But if you have more money than sense, then Jubilee Place shops will match your expensive designer handbag, with an expensive designer hook.

Now that is what I call daylight robbery.