Well, you know that I refuse to pay for hold luggage on Ryanair, unless it’s packed with antique textiles.
So, I can pack a fortnight’s capsule wardrobe and all associated necessities into a cabin bag AND stay inside the weight limit?
You didn’t? Then go right to the back of the class and read some old posts.
Trev’s bag was substantially under the weight limit, so I sneaked in a very heavy pair of striped cotton canvas curtains for the hall-lette.
They aren’t old, but they feel French Village House so that’s just fine. I did wonder if the metal eyelets glowing on the x-ray machine might attract the attention of the very high alert security briefing at Stansted, but no….
To be frank, I was secretly a little disappointed that no one asked him the classic words “did you pack your bag yourself Sir ?” as the stash was revealed.
I was not at all concerned that The Man himself would crack under interrogation, even if they flung open his case and asked him to explain the eyelets; Trevor does Easter Island Statue Face better than anyone I know.
We arrived at the village on the late train. I opened the shutters, Trev opened his case. He raised a single eyebrow. “Bit bright?” he said.
No other comment.
Ten minutes later he had the music on and was stalking the salon in a Chinese robe conducting with gusto to Gustav Holst’s The Planets.
And you think I’m the nutter?