In my head, I am poise personified. Imagine Darcey Bussell on a tightrope, not batting an eyelid. I exude an air of calm to those around me and everyone is sure, without asking, that everything is just fine. At work, I make list after list, carefully striking through items with military precision to ensure that everything gets done. obsessive compulsive? anal? sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never knock anything off my hit list!
I reality, the Darcey Bussell in my head is more like th Tasmanian Devil – manic, hurried and with a touch of dribble. I hate packing and therefore I leave it to the absolute last-minute like this week when I frantically threw some of my belongings int a bag and left for work. At the airport I wondered which things I had packed and what remained, forlorn at being having left behind.
My friends are the same. Before either of us go ona trip, one friend and I like to ritually text each other to find out the packing progress. I normally take the first flight of the morning to the US, so the conversation will go a little like this.
“Hey buddy! all packed? Have a fantastic time! xxx”
“Hey love. well, I’ve caught up on Eastenders, my eyebrows are immaculate, DVDs organised alphabetically.. and two pairs of socks have made the cut in the last two hours. I hate packing. xxx”
It’s the same every time. I have a brain, you think that I would learn from the previous frantic packing attempts after having left it far too late, but no, I never do. As a result I spend far too much money in the country that I am going to as I havent been grown up enough to write a list. Sure, I might have remembered to pack my neon joke sunglasses, but I forgot a mains adapter, deodorant and a toothbrush. Win.
So arriving in Barcelona and grabbing my sisters camera from the case (I’ve lost the charger for my own, standard) I realised the battery was dead and I don’t have a mains adapter. Of course!!
What’s your packing ritual?