My least favourite part of travelling is packing.
I know people think I’m weird, but I can never muster up much enthusiasm in the days before a big trip, when they ask me if I’m excited about heading away, because the ordeal of getting my luggage together is at the front of my mind.
This time, I have vowed to get myself sorted in plenty of time so as to reduce the stress. I started packing early, and by the simple expedient of bunking off work early, I managed to get everything ready for three weeks in Japan before dinner. The relief was intense, I can tell you. So lovely to be able to look forward to relaxing on my last evening before our early flight tomorrow.
You can imagine my dismay, then , when Simon pointed out that in fact we only have two weeks in Japan, not three. Of course, it should be a simple matter of chucking out a third of what I’ve packed, but that’s not how it works. Every garment works with two outfits, every pair of shoes goes with three, and everything is interconnected.
I’ve stared glumly at my suitcase for the last half hour, and have decided in the end just to give up, defeated. Yes, I’ve got far too much stuff, but that’s why they put wheels on the suitcases, isn’t it? I’m going to have a bath.