I hate journeys, most of the time. We often go down to Cornwall for a weekend and if we take my wife's Ford Fiesta my heart sinks. I know that hell is ahead. It's a gargantuan struggle squeezing everything into the car, especially when you're 10 minutes down the road and then remember you've left the stroller at home.
God only knows how we would cope if we had a dog - I think it would need to be strapped to the roof. My knees are usually pressed against the glove-box and a familiar burning pain begins to throb in my lower back.
We aren't a conventional family riddled with OCD's and things packed neatly into suitcases. Oh no, this ain't the Waltons here. On top of the suitcases, every journey includes three or four plastic bags filled with an assortment of items that could not be any more random if they tried. I can always rely on a collection of annoying loose things like the ones in this blog.
|Half of the contents of a week away|
|Exhibit A. The kitchen cupboard of a dysfunctional family.|
Sorry, I digressed.
I realised this week that I have a long standing hatred of my son's Trunki suitcase.
If you're unfamilar with them, Trunki is a lovely brand and a nice company that makes colourful 'Ride-On' suitcases for children. Clever products, like a rucksack that converts into a car booster seat.
And when I say lovely, I've even been in their offices a few years ago on business and I came out feeling impressed and all gooey inside. They have a slide in there for Christ's sake. It takes grown adults from the top floor down to the bottom for their brand strategy meetings. They even have these delightful pictures of all the staff on the wall, and what they looked like as children. They're a company with proper heart and soul!
But despite it being an amazing product in many ways I hate his Trunki Ride-On suitcase with every fibre of my being. It's always the last thing when I'm packing the car.
|This is the face of pure evil.|
The suitcase is hard plastic, so it can't be squished into a corner. It just sits there, bright blue and taunting me with its silly ears and eyes. The worst thing is I know there's nothing in there apart from Big Ted and maybe a few nappies and some pyjamas.
This is Big Ted's suitcase and woe betide anyone who messes with his preferred mode of transport. It would be an unthinkable act to leave the Trunki at home, so it must come with us everywhere we go.
I finally got it into the Fiesta, along with two other proper suitcases, my weekend bag, the plastic bags, the stroller, and what felt like 50 other loose items, including the balance bike. Yes, that's another logistical nightmare in its own right, and no I don't want to talk about it.
The straw that broke my back
When we arrived there, what happened? I heard a little voice complaining about something. Laden with plastic bags, and several suitcases I turned around. There he was, tugging his little Trunki through thick grass. The evil bastard of a suitcase had got stuck, and he couldn't move it.
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I'm particularly keen to hear your suggestions of 50 uses for Charlie Bigham's ceramic pie containers. Should this be my next blog?!