AS my holiday is now blessedly close, I was talking to someone about packing the other day and rather stupidly mentioned that I rarely bother to iron anything I'm taking with me on the grounds that it will all get crumpled anyway. Or at least in the way I pack it will.
She looked absolutely horrified and said 'suppose the Customs open your suitcases, what would you do then?'
Oh the ignominy of it. Suppose they did? The rumour would go around that here was someone with an entire suitcase full of un-ironed t-shirts and every person on duty would drop their search for contraband and gather round in a group shaming effort.
OK, I know there's a lot of tutting going on now. I know it's lazy and I'm in the running for slut of the month award, but what's the point of doing something you're going to have to do again anyway? I'm going on holiday, not on an ironing jag.
Anyway, I won't be taking much. Over the years I've managed to cut down the amount of things I take with me. As much non-iron as possible, which isn't a problem with me. Only a couple of pairs of shoes or sandals and nothing with high heels. One warm garment, ideally a fleece, instead of mountains of woolies. If possible, no coat, which from the moment you step into any airport in the world becomes a burden because they are all overheated. Of course this can backfire if, when you return home from somewhere hot, you find a typical British summer day - ie snowing in August.
Also out, and here honesty is needed, are all the things which just about fit you. The trousers which with a lot of breathing in, vicious tugging and a certain amount of luck around the waistband area, you can just get on. The shorts with the wonky zip which will, at a pinch, and I do mean a pinch, only just contain those bits which try to escape. Anything with a crop top. In other words, the things which won't fit you after two days of sun, Sangria and large helpings of paella.
Every time a holiday ends I note all the things I didn't wear, which is a surprising amount. Eventually I hope to be one of those cocky people who just go with a carry-on bag containing a change of underwear, a non-crease frock, two swimsuits and a tooth-brush. They gallop off the plane without having to wait in line like the rest of us round the luggage carousel watching in vain for the second of our cases which is always 87 cases later than the first one.
And that's only if we're waiting at the right carousel. On my last trip back from America we all stood waiting while a technicolour array of cases went round and round without anyone taking one off until it occurred to someone in authority that Flight 341's luggage was somewhere else and they finally deigned to tell us.
Luggage carousels bring out the worst in some people. There's always a family which to a man, children and all, blocks any attempt to get near the belt, knocks over the elderly when they do manage to grab one of their half dozen giant cases and then runs over every foot in the vicinity as they barge their way out.
I'm always a trifle tetchy by then anyway. Hours without a cigarette does tend to get to you in the end, especially when you can glimpse relief through a set of screens by way of an open door and an outside ashtray.
Almost every airport in the world can now proudly announce that it is non-smoking (and here I'm being ironic). Some have smoking areas, not easy to find as the non-smoking policy seems to extend to a not telling anyone where they can smoke policy and the staff are trained to look vague and disapproving if you ask . Only one I know, Dusseldorf, actually has a tiny corner where you can smoke while waiting for your luggage to arrive.
Apart from this, most airports insist you leave the premises before you light up, although they usually provide a giant ashtray just outside the arrivals door. Here you can find a strange camaraderie among the people grouped around a joint metal altar, lighting up and uttering little moans of delight and chatting about their flight times. Once my friend Terry, who had come to meet me at San Francisco airport, was horrified to find me talking to two men who looked like Colombian drug barons, a decidedly stoned hippy and a girl dressed like a hooker.
'For goodness sake', he said, 'you shouldn't talk to strangers in America, you might get shot'.
'They weren't strangers, they were fellow smokers', I said primly, waving the hooker goodbye. They don't understand, you see, non smokers.
The last time I flew I sat in the smoking area (which was actually half the bar area; it's noticeable that almost all airport smoking areas are in bar area because they presumably think that if you have one vice you have several others as well) with a nice elderly couple. 'I can remember when the stewardess used to lean over and light your cigarette for you when you were flying', he reminisced to nobody in particular.
We sat there for a long time because the plane was delayed and eventually another couple sat at the only vacant table and the woman began to cough and wave her hands around in the irritating way all non-smokers have perfected over the years. Funny, they don't do it when they sit next to log fires or barbecues, but there you go.
Anyway, to a man, and a woman, we all lit up and glared at them and hoped they might complain out loud so that we could all chorus 'sorry, this is a smoking area' and evict them. It would have been a nice little revenge but fortunately for them they got the message just before the four lager drinking young men standing at the bar spelt it out for them.
Once on the plane I am always irritated by the smug announcement 'this is a non-smoking flight' which seems to indicate there are other flights which aren't, and the mummy type warning about smoking in the loo, which given the size of most aircraft loos would need the agility of a gymnast to achieve. Not long after comes the first of the trips down the aisle by the staff to flog cigarettes, which is adding insult to injury. I suppose the same can be said of airports - they might be non-smoking but they're definitely not non-selling of the product just as long as they are not used on the premises.
The day I see a sign at the airport which says 'this is a non-smoking airport which also has a policy of not selling any tobacco in any shape or form' is the day I'll give up. Well, I might.