Blog: If only my old shoulder bag could talk . . .

Or maybe it's the smell of freshly-cut grass, the sound of a light aircraft cruising high above, the taste of your favourite chocolate, or the particular comfort offered by a hot water bottle on a freezing winter's night.

Another example: a battered shoulder bag with a Team Castrol logo on the side. But more of that later!

All kinds of things can trigger good feelings and happy memories.

Every day, for instance, I drive past Shrewsbury College on London Road.

Well, they call it Shrewsbury College nowadays, but when I was a student there it was known affectionately as Tech, and more formally as Shrewsbury Technical College.

And every time I drive past it now, I smile to myself, recalling one of the happiest periods of my life.

I made some very good friends there, some of whom are still friends to this day. Everything about the place seemed fresh and massively encouraging. The teachers/lecturers treated you with respect (something I was not used to). They were friendly and called you by your Christian name.

I was there in 1974 and 1975, studying English literature, English language, geography, history and sociology.

Tech, for me and for many of our generation, was a lifeline of sorts, offering those of us who had been branded failures by an unforgiving education system a golden opportunity to seek new horizons.

At the age of 16 I had come away from a secondary modern school with no real qualifications, at least not the sort of qualifications that meant anything to would-be employers.

Tech, however, stood like a beacon before me.

Mum and Dad and myself went along to an open evening.

Mum, thankfully, was quietly impressed by what was on offer and very supportive of my outlandish ambitions to maybe be a journalist some day.

Dad, never a dreamer – and who was a man who'd had the stuffing knocked out of him during his impoverished childhood – just couldn't see any value in what he mockingly called edjamacation. Dad drifted from job to job, chasing a few extra quid here and there just to make ends meet, acting the gauby (Shropshire for acting the fool) a lot of the time, and trotting out daft comments like "I can't help it if I'm good-looking".

Me? I was thrilled by the open evening.

Tech was somewhere I could focus on subjects in which I was genuinely interested, subjects which excited me.

I would be able to get those all-important O-levels and A-levels which would create a gateway into journalism.

And that's exactly what I went on to do.

And so – at last – to that cheap, plastic Team Castrol shoulder bag.

Our son Tom, for reasons best known to himself, resurrected the bag recently, having rediscovered it in a dusty corner of the loft. He washed it down and began using it himself.

Frankly, I was amazed it hadn't been chucked out years ago.

It is, in fact, the shoulder bag I used in 1974 and 1975, carrying my books to Tech each day from Castlefields to London Road.

And the mere sight of it brought happy memories flooding back.

There was the party held by Miss Longmore, our inspirational literature teacher. I would never have gone anywhere near Wuthering Heights without her. I would never have read E.M. Forster's Two Cheers for Democracy.

Her party was at her place near the Porthill Bridge – a big, old house with big, old rooms and bags of big, old atmosphere. There was Scottish dancing in the kitchen, Roxy Music playing in the lounge, and wine served in chipped mugs.

There was dear Miss Austen, the sociology teacher, who talked about Britain's class divide and how, not so very long ago, people had only outside toilets and no bathrooms. I had to point out to her that I still lived in a house with only an outside toilet and no bathroom, and this was 1974.

There were endless summer days when I often chose to stay back at college into the evenings because I enjoyed the place so much and wanted to read more in Tech's college as the sunshine washed its bookshelves in warming yellow.

And all this against a soundtrack provided by the hits of Slade, Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Leo Sayer, The Sweet, Johnny Bristol, The Stylistics, The New Seekers, Suzi Quatro, Barry White, The Rubettes, Mud, Terry Jacks, and The Three Degrees.

Boy, if that shoulder bag could talk!