OtherWise: Mysterious workings of a woman's handbag

Rachel Wise.

I had to write my drivers' licence details on a form for work this week.

Not a problem, as I always have my licence in my wallet. Except that on this occasion my licence didn't want to exit said wallet so that I could copy the numbers into the little boxes on the form.

I scrabbled and tugged at the licence but it clung to the inside of the wallet's little licence-pocket, staring out at me through the plastic window with my own face.

It's quite a good thing really, that my licence was embedded so firmly in its holder. It means I haven't been pulled over by a policeman and asked to produce the thing in, oh, ages.

But that was cold comfort when there was someone leaning over me telling me I was very nearly the last person on staff to have completed the form-filling-in task and I had better do it smartly.

I had to reach for my secret weapon.

I don't always admit to this except under duress, but I carry a substantial multi-tool in my handbag.

It's a weighty bit of equipment, in its own sturdy case. When flipped open it presents a large pair of pliers-cum-wirecutters and inside the handles are secreted screwdrivers both standard and Phillips, a bottle opener, file and knife, ruler, scissors, saw, awl and some things I don't recognise but I'm sure could be useful.

I have lumped the multi-tool around for many years and from time to time I decide it's far too heavy and unladylike to lump around any longer. Then I remember the times it's come in handy.

Like when I bought noodles for lunch, went and sat on the beach and . . . no fork. Out with the multi-tool. The pliers worked well.

It's also been pressed into service in the office to unjam the printer, screw stuff to the wall, and mend a broken lock.

The lock thing was especially urgent, as the lock had broken after hours, with two of us on the inside of the office, and the ladies' toilet on the outside. As we'd worked late there had been coffee involved. When my colleague went to open the door there was an unfortunate-sounding clunk, and the door handle ceased to function. Panic ensued.

When a call to the landlord went unanswered and the urgency got . . . more urgent . . . it was time to take out the multi-tool.

After a few false starts, cutting my fingers on both the pocket knife and the saw attachments, the Phillips screwdriver was pressed into use. The lock was deconstructed, the toilet was accessed and the lock reconstructed minus the broken screw that had caused the initial malfunction.

So when my drivers' licence was clinging stubbornly to its spot in my wallet this week I knew it was time to bring out the big guns.

First, however I had to find it.

Putting my handbag on my desk with a resounding thud, I started to delve: Past the reporters' notepad, the three pairs of gloves (one woolly, one grippy and one fingerless), down beyond the sunglasses, physio ball, vitamin pills, packet of dog wormer, horse bit (loose ring snaffle, 4.5 inch), hairbrush, paracetamol and a tangle of earphone cord and phone charger.

Across the desk and on to my swivel-chair it spread: old parking tickets (whoops) bulldog clips, a bunch of keys, a plastic sheriff's badge, a Matchbox car - no, two - a fidget cube, the missing bit off my car's console, a knob from the stove (for replacing), many, many pens (that I can never find when I want one) and finally, at the bottom where heavy things settle, my multi tool.

There was a bit of rust on the pliers that I think stemmed from the noodle episode, but they made short work of dragging forth the drivers' licence.

That's when I realised the numbers I needed were all on the front anyway, easily visible through the small plastic window in the license pocket. Because that's what the little window is for, apparently.

And why is it, once you empty your handbag, it flatly refuses to all fit back in again?