Travelling in style
Every month, in the type of magazine that I sometimes read, you get an article entitled something like “Travelling in style”. In it, some wispy thin woman with no children – or a desperately rich older woman with grown children – talks about how they pack for a trip.
It always leaves me incensed.
I thought, instead, I would answer the questions on behalf of most mothers of small children.
What are your top packing tips?
Magazine reply: Roll my capsule wardrobe of Ghost separates to get more in and arrive without any creasing.
My reply: Remember everything that you need, including night nappies, the baby monitor, Nurofen Junior and insect bite cream. Anything else is a bonus.
What’s your go-to plane outfit?
Magazine reply: A cashmere sweater, jeans, cashmere socks and a cashmere throw in a capsule palette of neutrals.
My reply: Anything that’s clean and doesn’t give me muffin top. Bonus for clothes that won’t show the dirt after DS has shed remnants of disgusting in-flight pizza and melted M&Ms all over it.
What are your holiday essentials?
Magazine reply: A handful of “fun” Melissa Odabash bikinis.
My reply: Tickets, money and passports. Husband, suitcases, children.
What’s your pre-holiday beaut routine?
Magazine reply: A series of facials, a Fake Bake tan, a mani-ped in this season’s “coral” and extra sessions with my personal trainer.
My reply: Leg- and bikini-waxing so I don’t scare the children.
How do you stay fresh on a long-haul flight?
Magazine reply: No make-up, Elizabeth Arden 8-Hour cream, no sleeping tablets and no alcohol.
My reply: As much gin and/or champagne as possible chased with as much Sauvignon Blanc as possible. Headphones in so I can’t hear the children.
How do you spend your time in the air?
Magazine reply: Sleeping, working or – guilty laugh – watching a movie!
My reply: Stopping the kids from fighting; trying to get the kids to eat the pseudo pizza; replacing headphones that have slipped off small heads; accompanying the children on loo trips; sighing a lot; and, finally, disowning the children before running around the cabin screaming silently into my pashmina.
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