I woke up one dark winter morning earlier this year and decided then and there that I had to become the owner of a soft, leather designer bag. No longer would my black £35 patent M&S holdall suffice in my new job (it’s fashion daaaahhling). Now, this could have something to do with the fact that I had only recently overheard a conversation about handbags in the blonde and beautiful corner of my office that went something along the lines of: “£500 for a bag is an absolute bargain, I mean my Balenciaga cost, like, more than a grand. Enough said , I had some serious catching up to do.

So began my trawl through eBay to find that designer bargain that had someone slipped through the net of the three hundred pounds and above reserve prices. So serious was I in my search for perfection, that I downloaded each and every ‘how to spot a fake on the internet’ guide that I could find (drop me a line if you need some tips by the way), and I literally spent weeks staring at pages and pages of Mulberry Bayswaters, Miu Miu Malatesse’s, Chloe Edith’s and the list continues.

When I couldn’t find anything that I liked on the British site, I started staring at the US site , a 3am wake-up call was not uncommon in my flat even though the husband thought I was slowly losing my mind (to be honest I think I was). Then one evening, during my ritual of arriving home and hitting eBay straight away before he got home and accused me of being anti-social, I found it. The perfect Mulberry Bayswater. And it was real, genuine, used once, and a bargain at two hundred pounds including p&p. So I bought it, and it felt great. Like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, finally, I would belong to the cult of the designer handbag owner and I couldn’t wait.

Unfortunately it arrived a few days later from someone with a very suspicious name, and was, undoubtedly a blatant fake. I sent it back and went into a decline. Woe was me, I didn’t deserve to live blah blah blah. I started attending church, praying for the right handbag for me.

A few days later after dragging my sad self home from work with said black patent M&S holdall, I found a letter from the taxman. It seemed he wanted to give me some money back. In fact, quite a lot of money. My mind started ticking, and I knew straight away where I was going the next day , to Bond Street where the wealthy stroll the streets and the chauffer driven cars line the pavements. So I did it, I bought my dream bag, a Mulberry Bayswater that is now sleeping soundly on my bed. I can truly say I am in love with it. The husband had to sleep on the floor (no, really) on the first night, and I keep going up to strangers and saying, “smell it, it smells so good in a dreamy lovesick voice.

Now I’m not saying that eBay isn’t great, I mean I did purchase my wedding dress on it in a 2am bidding war (that’s another story mind you), but personally it’s just not for me. Nothing can ever beat the rush of dropping that kind of cash in a store and sauntering casually out like your bank card isn’t crippled, shiny store bag slung over your shoulder. Now, for that Louis Vuitton patchwork bag I saw in the window yesterday, a snip at nine hundred pounds…