Packing Slug

It's packing time for our Grand Canyon camping trip; we're taking all our food and gear for the week so pretty major. I've realised through the years that if you're really bad at something, people don't ask you to do it again. That's why my husband does all the packing.

Kevin sorting out the camping gear.  Look I think he's smiling -  he loves it!

I learned this in my late 20's when for a year I was a terribly important "business editor" for the Gloucestershire Echo in the UK.  I was so terribly important that although I had a full workload of news stories, 12-page supplements and dedicated weekly biz page, one day they told me to do the early shift in the Tewkesbury office.

Not a morning person I woke up at 5am and drove to the sleepy little medieval town. I sat in that old wooden room wondering what I should be doing and made loads of cups of tea. Around noontime I headed back to the main office. The news editor was quietly seething: "Where are all the police stories?" she asked.  Oh, shit.  "When were you going to do the police calls??? You're never going to Tewkesbury again!" she scolded.

I slunk back to my "biz desk" - opposite Sir Harold, the Allotment and Golden Wedding Anniversary correspondent - and tried to seem biz-y.

For me packing is the early Tewkesbury shift.  Even Cy, nine, says: "C'mon mom, please don't leave your packing till the last minute."

After 17 years together Kevin is resigned to his role. I put my clothes in a pile and he does the rest. He's an orderly Virgo so my feeling is that packing is like catnip to him. I am Aries, a perfect storm of laziness and grumpy ineptitude.

Stars-wise we're a disastrous couple, according to any given astrologist. Together we make a complete and perfect packer.

Have you ever made sure you're really, really bad at something?

I leave you with some Packing Porn....no not my case, my friend Lisa's. Kevin please take note of the rolling technique. Thank you.