Annabel Rivkin
Packing. Oh Lord. What must it be like to make lists in advance? To lay out every outfit with relevant accessories on the bed? To pack in tissue paper? To take only what you need and no more? To have planned your city/snow/sun/sexy holiday wardrobe with weeks – nay, months – to spare?
But really, who does that? For me, holiday packing is a mixture of old (very old) favourites, a couple of experimental impulse buys and the hope that, wherever I happen to be going, there will be shops and preferably bargains.
I’m not bad on books, products, creams and make-up. I’ve never yet forgotten a bikini or a ski suit but it’s those pesky, glamorous city breaks with their unpredictable climates that always rear up and bite me on the bottom.
I have learned that the dress is my friend. Then I just need a cardigan, a shawl, tights, sandals, ballet shoes, vast earrings and a clutch bag to cover 10 degrees through to 30. Capri pants also go with T-shirts and swing jackets, flats and heels, neat shirts or floaty, delicious evening tops.
And, if I find myself in a city – London? Paris? Milan? Barcelona? Madrid and many more – orbited by a Chic Outlet Shopping® Village then I never forget to pack an extra suitcase. Call me shallow, call me low brow but my idea of a successful urban holiday is to return home with a lot more luggage than I left with but not a lot less money. Is that so very wrong?
04-03-2011