Just in Case

Instead of actually packing for my trip, I find myself reading dumb advice about packing. It seems that it’s mostly written by fashion editors who have never got on a Ryan Air flight. It’s all ‘only three pairs of shoes, some neutral cashmere, your own steamer’ and – guess what? – rolling up your clothes instead of folding them! Or, as us civilians call it: cramming everything in and hoping the zip on the bag holds up.

The more you do something, the better you should be at it. In my case, though, it feels like it’s the reverse. Maybe it’s the fault of lockdown (as everything else is). I travel a lot and I used to be able to manage with a tiny bag, including a mini sleeping bag, when I trailed around South America or India. No trolley bags in those days – or maybe there were. For some reason, I despised wheeled luggage as much as actual backpacks.  

It is reminds me of the way we used to despise coats when we were young. ‘No, we’re not freezing,’ we used to say as we shivered in our minuscule chiffony outfits. I see girls everywhere still maintaining this pose: come and have a go if you think you’re cool enough – and no one is cooler than the clubbers of Reykjavik, out after midnight in tiny, irridescent dresses in the dead of Arctic winter.