Packing

Apparently, moving house is one of the more stressful events of your life. So where does concentrating all your worldy possessions into a 75L backpack sit in that?

I started off by making a list. I included all the stuff I considered essential. Clothes I love to wear, items I love to use. A nice jacket, a couple of pairs of jeans, three smart shirts, a bunch of great t-shirts, two pairs of smart shoes, workout gear, 4 or 5 great books, 3 or 4 of my favourite Spurs tops, signed picture of Scarlet Johanssen...blah blah blah.

I hung it on the fridge (the list, not the signed photo). I considered it to be a good list. I did look upon it and declare it Righteous. Spartan enough to suit my new flighty life, yet comprehensive enough to enable me to blend in with the most downtrodden of degenerates or most sophisticated of San Francisco celebrity soirees.

Of course, then Taz came over and proceeded to rip it to shreds.

As many will know, Taz has recently (well, last year) returned from his own round the world trip. He is a Man Of The World. He is hardcore. He can grow a beard with little grey flecks in it that makes him look like a cross between Sean Connery and Grissly Adams (see photo) .

Taz is the kind of traveller who needs no dorm bed. He sleeps in cars! He hitchhikes! He eats gravel for breakfast and swims to Ellis Island to save on the ferry fare! Taz is a commando backpacker. Rumour has it he'd sleep on a bed of nails if it would save him enough money for an extra latte and a bag of M&Ms in Times Square.

"You won't need nice shoes," commented my well-travelled chum, "Forget the fancy jacket. Ditch one pair of jeans. One pair of underpants will last four days (front, back, back-to-front front and then back-to-front back, apparently). Nobody needs more than two t-shirts. I'll mind the signed photo (eh?)"... on and on he went.

I listened to all he had to say. I considered the wealth of practical experience he brought to the table. I saw his advice reflected in every travel book I'd read.

Of course, I refused accept a thing he said.

That is until Rachel and I did a trial pack the other night. The reality is you can't get that much into a pack.

So, much as it pains me, I shall be taking Taz's advice. I shall become Mr Minimal. I'm going to become the luggage-lugging equivalent of the space between tracks in a Kraftwerk album. There will not be a city or town on the planet I will not be capable of leaving in less than 10 minutes (how James Bond is that!).

I refuse, however, to wear my pants backwards.

21 days to go...