The annual Battle of The Baggage is about to begin in our house

WITH the holidays looming, the annual Battle of The Baggage is about to commence in our house and it’s not going to be pretty! I have to admit I don’t travel light. I’m a great believer in bringing everything but the kitchen sink.

Every year I pack my own suitcase first, then cram whatever’s left over into everyone else’s cases in the hope they don’t find out until we get to our appointed destination. But the family have gotten wise to me now and have starting checking their bags before we leave. Last year they took out all my hair products without me knowing. I was going around like a giant candy floss for two whole weeks!

Himself really threw a spanner in the works the other day when he informed me he only had booked in three bags for four of us. Seriously? We are away for three weeks! I informed him he’d better book in another one because obviously we weren’t going to fit everything in. But he wouldn’t budge.

‘No. Three bags is enough. We’ll be grand. You don’t need to be bringing 50 pairs of shoes with you.’ I’d like to point out that I’ve never brought 50 pairs of shoes with me on holidays. 12 pairs I will admit to but never 50.

‘You do realise we are going camping for ten days?’ I remind him smugly. ‘That means we have to bring beach towels and bed linen because I’m not sleeping on those horrible scratchy campsite sheets,’ I tell him.

He suggests we bring one beach towel – for four of us – for 10 days. He also tells me with plenty of vino in me I won’t know what I’m sleeping on! I refuse to be moved on the towels or the bedlinen. ‘Well show me what clothes you intend to bring?’ he asks.

Now I Know this isn’t going to end well. I lay out six swimsuits, ten pairs of shorts, 15 T-shirts, 14 dresses, six evening tops, four beach cover ups, four pairs of jeans, 20 pairs of knickers (sorry but you can never have enough knickers) and ten pairs of shoes. My toiletries and make up alone could fill one suitcase but I choose to not mention that.

He throws his hands up in the air and starts pacing up and down. He always does this when he’s mad at me. ’This is bloody ridiculous! You can’t bring all that stuff. Where are you even going to wear that?!’ he asks pointing at a black silk cocktail dress. ‘We’re going to a feckin’ campsite!’

‘Yeah but there might be nice restaurants nearby.’ In fact I know there are but I was hoping to let him think we were doing it on the cheap until we got there!

‘You’ll have to leave some of this stuff here. You can’t bring it with you,’ he tells me firmly. I think for a moment, pick up one pair of heels, one top and one dress and put them back in the wardrobe. See, I’m all about compromise, me.

‘This is just bloody ridiculous. You’ll be going on holidays on your own,’ he says storming out.

All the more luggage for me!