65 Litres

November 17, 2006

My newly purchased rucksack has a capacity of 65litres. As my relaxing holiday in Wales will be arrived at via  bike and train, these 65litres are going to be my entire packing capacity. They look alot. They are not.

My 65litres have so far been packed and unpacked 3 times. In attempt number one, my make up and bath products bags consituted 25% of them, my underwear, ski-socks and vests, a further 25, shoes the rest. For the last hour, a large pile of jumpers, electrical goods and books have sat beside my 65litres, looking on in consternation. This is going to be a long night. 

Historically, I do not travel well. If I got away well, I think I’d holiday well, but it’s just that awkward bit of editing down ones life into 65litres of air, that always seems to be the problem. The trauma of man-handling this life-lite across cities, countries and continents is also difficult. Inevitably, I wash up in a new psychic dimension with 14 pairs of singularly unmatching socks and no toothbrush.

Right now, I and my 65litres are taking a good long look at each other. I am silently cursing 65litres. 65litres is smirking back. 65litres, be reasonable: we may not like each other, but we are going to have to come to some kind of arrangement…  


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