Author: Liz Dawes
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Fireman and I are going on holiday to the Spanish mountains. 

He wants to paint, and I want to read.  We have a self-catering yurt with a small pool in the middle of nowhere, and he has decided we will travel hand luggage only.

“After all,” he says “how much room can you take up with a bikini and a couple of t-shirts?”

How much?  A great deal more than he has bargained for; that’s how much.  He stares at me suspiciously as I collapse in a fit of panic on the bed and develop hysterical hiccoughs.

“Oh stop fussing” he sneers.  “Get the stuff out you need and we’ll put it on the bed and see how it looks.  I’m sure it will fit.”  I assume my: “well don’t say I didn’t warn you” face, and head for the wardrobes.

However youthful I might try to appear, dressing for holidays no longer consists of a tiny pair of shorts and a smear of lip gloss.  These days the upholstery required underneath my clothing could fill a suitcase all on its own, so I start with that.  Fireman begins to look worried but says nothing. I move on to footwear. 

He wears one pair of shoes to the airport and packs flip flops for the pool.  I wear pumps to the airport, and need flip flops (pool), heels (dinner) wedges (general holiday glamour/comfort) and walking shoes.  (We are in the mountains, where he is usually inclined to stride for hours along bumpy terrain whilst I totter behind praying for cocktails and a snooze.  Or at the very least that he sprains an ankle.  It’s not nearly as much fun as it sounds.)

Since we don’t have any plans, I need various outfits, just in case. I find shorts, a short skirt, a maxi skirt, a couple of lightweight dresses, strappy tops, t-shirts with short sleeves, and a couple of scarves.  Then there’s stuff for by the pool: bikini (wildly optimistic but you never know) a swimsuit, sarong, hat and sunglasses.

And then of course there’s the hair issue.  He has none, so this has not occurred to him.  I have long locks, and of course I cannot take more than 100ml of anything in my hand luggage so will have to pack teeny tiny bottles and then go shopping when I reach the other side.  Not too taxing I suppose and at least that will make room for my comb, big rolly brush (you know, the ones that people use as pretend microphones), hairdryer and straighteners.

And then the “other stuff” category.  Kindle, makeup, travel plugs, wallet, contact lenses, jewellery…. the list goes on.

Fireman stares in disbelief at the pile of stuff accumulating on the bed that must somehow fit in my teeny-tiny suitcase.  And as I point out all the things I have sacrificed already (oh the lotions and potions, the books, the laptop, the shoes, THE SHOES, the extra handbags, the wrap in case it’s cold and the extra-large hat in case it’s hot) he begins to see that this is not simple.  It’s inexplicably, nonsensically impossible for me to “pack light”.  It just IS.

How much room can you take up with a bikini and a couple of t-shirts?  Rookie error my friend. Rookie error…….