The other week I was reminded of the non-error of my ways. I decided not to abide by my usual holiday rules. Normally if I am travelling for a week only, and it’s somewhere hot, I take just a carry-on suitcase. But I didn’t because I was going to a retreat with a pair of the world’s most sweat-inducing yoga teachers (hello, Alan and Imi of Rocket Beats London) and couldn’t face the laundry.
So I packed seven sets of yoga gear, which didn’t leave enough space in my carry-on for, you know, actual clothes. Which meant I checked in a suitcase and, of course, had a nightmare. (I will spare you the details.) So normal carry-on-only service has resumed for me this summer. I