Skinny Jeans - Pack it in, kids.

Apart from the story about my first and last dancing display at age four (during which I ran off stage to the toilet just after curtain up, only to return as the curtain fell back down), the story most trotted out within my family in which I have a starring role is the account of my legendary feats of packing. Yes, in primary school, the game of choice that kept my best friend Katy and I (hello and sorry, Katy, if you’re reading this) amused for hours, nay years, was packing. Packing our assorted primary school-age shit (Cabbage Patch dolls, bouncy balls, Sweet Valley High Twins books, etc.) into Fisher Price suitcases and carting them the approximate 200 yards from one house to the other. All day. Back and forth. Hours.
And to this day, there’s nothing that makes me happier than getting the opportunity to harvest all my stuff into something portable and wandering about with it. It could be the only reason I ever go anywhere. Maybe it’s the collector’s thrill of having all your acquisitions laid out where you can see them; maybe it’s a pack-rat, compression fetish, about paring down your possessions to the bare essentials; or perhaps it’s just the fact that I’m a bag lady to the core. Whatever, packing is my just simply my thing – please don’t judge me. But what I have learned, from all those miles traipsed across the same road, is a few useful things about getting packed that may aid you on your travels. You see, all those hours stuffing Stickle Bricks into a lockable Barbie vanity case? Life lessons, I tell you.

1.People who are scared of creasing are big fat babies. Rolling is better than folding, but it’s all compression, so wrinkles are inevitable in some form. Those people who do tissue paper between each item should be both checked for OCD and informed that it may be the packing equivalent of attempting to turn back the tide using a squeegee. Relax, don’t take a travel iron (even the most gnarly of hotels will have one they can lend you, if you really want to spend your holiday ironing), and just hang your stuff up when you get there. It’s cool, you’re on vacation – have another pina colada and sit still at the bar till the creases fall out.

2.Size matters. You may feel ridiculous checking in a Herculean suitcase or snowboarding-size backpack on departure, but you know you’re going to be talked into that straw donkey and all those pashminas by overly-friendly Javier at the market stall. On your return, one mammoth suitcase beats struggling with two: your old one plus a the cheap-ass new one you’ll buy, which will have been fitted with supermarket trolley wheels as standard.

3.Pack blister plasters. You know you bought new shoes/sandals/flip flops for going away, and you also know your poor, pasty, constantly be-socked tootsies aren’t used to the strain of barefoot living. If you want to be totally real, stick them on from the first day as a preventative measure.

4.Potential schoolboy error: if you decant your toiletries into those ever-so efficient mini containers, be sure to label them. Moisturiser will not wash your hair effectively, however hard you try.

5.Don’t take that outfit. You know the one. You’ll never wear it. ‘Just in case’ is the phrase that comes to mind because IT WILL STAY IN YOUR CASE, silly.

6.A person can go anywhere, do anything, if armed with a canister of dry shampoo. Saving lives since the ‘60s, Battiste dry shampoo will bail you out when you don’t quite make it to the shower on the morning after the night before.

7.Suitcases are just big carrier bags, so pack like my mum teaches the Scouts who attempt to pack her Asda bags at the checkout for charity. Heavy items at the bottom, delicates protected in the middle. And assorted crap can always be stuffed into shoes. (This is not a tip garnered from Asda)

8.Oh, and don’t nick the hotel shampoo unless you’re staying at Trump Towers or The Palms. It’s swirly silver cash & carry crap and you won’t use it. Your hair will thank you.