I’m rubbish at packing. Be it for a night away or for several months, I’m hopeless. I never, but never, fail to forget something essential. A toothbrush, medication, pants, the suitcase itself – you name it. And always, but always, more than half of what I take isn’t needed. I’ve given up worrying about this. When I was a younger man I was foolish enough to harbour hopes of one day wanting for nothing while I was away. Never happened; never will.
But I’d rather be me than one of those clever dicks who fits enough for a month in the tiniest, piddliest little cases which, notwithstanding their laughable smallness, are nevertheless equipped with no fewer than four wheels. Four! You see them in airports, these things, their smug owners wheeling them around like they’re walking prim little poodles off to the shops.
