Where's My Wallet?

Jane Birken died recently. For many she is always remembered for the breathy gasping on the 1969 duet J'taime... moi non plus recorded with Serge Gainsbourg - he'd originally written the song a few years earlier for Brigitte Bardot, with whom he was having a torrid affair. They even recorded it, but her husband found out and demanded it not be released.

In moving around, from the market, to nightclubs, to formal events, Jane carried her accoutrements in a hand-woven straw basket. This delightful quirk would seem to have annoyed her husband, who drove over it with malice aforethought. It would seem that this event was a little after a chance meeting Jane had with Jean-Louis Dumas while on a Paris to London Flight. While placing her traditional basket in the overhead locker the contents scattered about. She explained to Dumas, who was Hermès Chief Executive, that finding a suitable weekend bag was difficult.

He created a supple leather bag especially for her. One that would allow the young mother to carry everything she needed, and still look stylish.

Being made by Hermès ensured the Birkin would always have a certain level of cache but, over the years, it has become a status symbol. Prices range up to half-a-million dollars. As someone comfortable with the concept of items being made by skilled crafters with exquisite materials costing huge sums, even I feel the company may be taking-the-Michael somewhat.

Of course, today, plenty of companies produce volumous bags which can be crammed as full as Mary Poppins magical carpet Gladstone, and you don't need to pay the cost of a three-bed house in the London suburbs for them.

But there's one thing about such bags which persists. A Birkin, or even smaller such bags worn on the shoulder or arm, remain mainly the province of women.

Men continue to cram various pockets with keys, phone, and wallet, while leaving their partners to carry tissues, nappies, bottles, candelabra, and the like.

Of course, baby bags are a thing and many a chap is happy to tote one. But denuded of a child to care for, the bag disappears, and I don't think I've met a man who ever thought to put his wallet and keys in the baby bag no matter how long they are holding it.

And this is a shame.

A women's handbag, such as a Birkin, is an object of permanence, a set point in her universe which acts like an anchor. Even if there are several handbags in rotation, and the position of an item is uncertain as to which handbag, the reality is the item is known to be in the/a handbag, and finding the key, card, purse, invitation, is a simple matter.

Of course many people, many men, are fully capable of putting something in a place with such regularity that the item is never lost because it will be in the assigned place, or with them. Or they are able to put something down and, later, easily remember where that place was.

I am not such a person.

I can hold an object and not know where it is. Having a regular place to put an item lasts only as long as I remember to use it, or what item is meant to go there.

Such is my lack of object permanence that we have a saying about something I claim to have lost: 'Nothing is lost until Liz (my long -suffering SO) can't find it.'

Indeed, I'll occasionally be asked - as I'm ransacking a corner of the house filled with my peculiar detritus - 'Do you need me to look?' and the response is proportional to two things: 1 - how long I've been looking; 2 - how urgent the need to find the item is.

Lack of object permanence is a well recognised aspect of ADHD life. Things literally seem to disappear when not being focused on, and maintaining focus long enough to link things together is a definite issue.

We've known about my issues with object permanence long before my ADHD was identified - hello the masking effect of my autistic traits.

While it has led to many, many, frustrating instances in life we have generally found a way to work around it - see above, where Liz will query as to whether her assistance is required.

Other times have been amusing. One such occurred maybe ten years ago when Liz had an extended hospital stay due to a ruptured gallbladder (not an obviously comedic start, I'll grant).

My mum came to help with the children who were 12, 10, and 7, at the time.

One morning I was hustling round the house on the way to work meetings and to visit Liz at the hospital. I couldn't find my wallet. My laptop was in my bag, I had my keys, various documents for work were accounted for. My wallet? Gone. It wasn't by my bed, or in my coat, or the car, or anywhere.

My mum became aware of my increasingly frantic searching.

'Is everything okay, son?'
'I've lost my wallet.' I moved from the living room through to the dining room, where my self-made cubicle desk sat in a corner.
'Oh no! Did you have any money it?'
'Maybe a fiver, not more than ten.' I lifted random paperwork up and even looked beneath the desk.
'Your cards! You need to call the bank and cancel your cards. Are they open yet? They wont be. Do you need me to go to the bak when they open?'
At this point I'm pulled out of my searchung spiral.
'Mum, I lose my wallet several times a week. It's okay, I'll find it.'
'Oh. Are you sure?'
'Yes. Don't worry. You carry on with the kid's breakfast.'

Mum did go back through to the kitchen. But not without calling 'helpful' suggestions of where I should look, or things I should do to help me remember where I'd put my wallet, and mainly advise that I should put it somewhere that I'd remember. I found the wallet, I do not remember where.

But, oh, that her such suggestions worked. Even now I am rarely sure where my wallet is. I try to use a certain place in the house to put it down. But sometimes I come in with my hands full and go put those things down first, and then need to urgently go do something else (thank you T2 Diabetes). Sometimes I'm in the middle of a conversation or listening to something when I come in, and wander right past my action trigger points.

I've tried using a bag. I just can't make it feel right. Not on a level of masculinity/femininity, but rather on a level of 'I'm just nipping to get some screws, I don't need my bag, just my wallet.'

As Jane Birkin would have said, with an accent far better than I can manage, 'Quelle surprise'.

Text & picture by stuartcturnbull