IT'S been a month since the 5p charge for single-use carrier bags was introduced in Scotland but I'm not sure everyone has quite adapted.

Queuing at the bank in recent days, I spotted a woman with an armful of Christmas decorations. A little Santa Claus peeped up over the crook of her elbow, a tube of glittery baubles wedged under one oxter. She caught sight of my curious stare and gave a shrug. "Why pay 5p for a carrier bag?" she said. "It doesn't make sense."

Yet, walking about looking like a jubilant contestant from a festive edition of the television show Crackerjack clearly did. "I'm not wasting my money," she continued. At which point, right on cue, a crystal angel escaped her grasp and landed on the floor with a sickening crack. It seemed a poignant metaphor.

I'm not quite sure whether it's indelibly imprinted in our DNA, but there is something about Scots that makes us fiercely defiant in the face of change.

I remember people being up in arms about the smoking ban in 2006. A few years on and the lion's share would probably agree that on reflection it's fairly nice to return home from a night out not smelling like you've spent the evening rolling about in an ashtray.

I've heard some brilliantly bonkers objections to the bag charge. One shopper at a Glasgow supermarket lamented the potential social faux pas that could arise from re-using bags. "What if you get a bag for life from Morrisons and then want to go to Tesco the next week?" she fretted.

I'm a huge supporter of the environmental benefits of re-using bags and have embraced it wholeheartedly, but admit it's an endeavour not without peril.

The other night I walked the half-mile home with four bags of heavy shopping, staggered up the stairs to my flat, threw it all down in the hall only to hear a robotic voice echoing from the depths of my rucksack: "Calling mobile".

I grabbed my phone and saw it was calling a Scottish athlete who I had interviewed earlier this summer. The passcode was on but somehow the angle of the groceries in the bag had enabled a four-pack of baked beans to randomly press some buttons and circumnavigate the locked screen before dialling the number.

Although I hurriedly hung up, said sportsman promptly called back and I had to apologise, embarrassingly out of breath due to my exertions with the shopping. There's a lesson in this. I'm not quite sure what.