The lost art of packing a suitcase
The secret of good suitcase packing is to fold as if your life depended on it. Fold each item as tightly as you can and then crush it a bit for good measure. Think of packing as a game of Tetris played with bits of sponge; be careful not to leave any empty space, and avoid taking awkwardly shaped green things. Put the Tetris music on in the background if you're having trouble.
The passport
The first hurdle here is working out where you left it last time. Classic passport hiding places include last year's suitcase, a folder full of bank statements, and the drawer in the kitchen with all the screwdrivers and bits of string in it. Check these first. Once you've found it, keep it on you at all times. If you're holidaying with friends they will ask to see your passport photo. This request is to be refused at all costs.
The aeroplane question
Strictly speaking of course as a Guardian reader – and a global citizen – you shouldn't be flying. However, like the rest of us, you are. Welcome aboard the hypocrite plane. Be sure to prepare a suitably moralistic explanation. "I read that high-speed rail actually produces twice as much carbon," is a good one, if completely false. "Ultimately I felt we were doing more for the world's poor by spending money there," also works wonders. Any sentence beginning with "ultimately" in fact will do at a pinch. "Ultimately, do we really want another Titanic?"
The armrest conundrum
Conventional wisdom has it that the first person to stake a claim to the armrest is its owner. There are, however, two ways to combat armrest loss; by force or by stealth. Force requires you to be comfortable with a simultaneous armrest sharing situation, and to withstand the awkwardness of arm-to-arm contact for longer than your neighbour. Stealth requires patience of a different sort. You must wait until the armrest is vacated, even just momentarily, and then, in one motion, rest your arm, slump your head and pretend to be asleep. Both are high-risk strategies. But worth it.
The holiday book
No matter how guilty you feel about not having read Wolf Hall, do not take it with you on holiday. This is not the time to catch up on culture, particularly not culture that weighs more than your own head. Holiday reading is all about the gripping thriller and the tragic or sensual romance. One of the best things about being abroad is that almost no one will know just how trashy the novel you're reading is.
The schedule
There are two schools of thought here. The first takes the guidebook as a comprehensive to-do list and so fills the day with cursory visits to every landmark, museum, restaurant, theatre and amusingly shaped tree in a five-mile radius. The effect here is to create a holiday so exhausting that another holiday is needed at the end just to recover. The alternative is to pick a single destination for each day's explorations and then spend the rest of the day either sleeping, sunbathing or walking around in a circle. This is hugely preferable.
The language barrier
Any serious attempt to learn the language of your host nation will invariably end in tears. Even if you master the basic greetings, to the point where locals are mistaking you for a fellow countryman, you are never more than a single unknown word away from the collapse into "I'm sorry, do you speak English?" Why get people's hopes up? Better to open with the apology, conduct the conversation in English and then surprise them at the end by attempting to say their versions of thanks and goodbye. Like in The Great Escape.
The souvenirs
The first rule of souvenir-buying is never ever buy the thimble. You do not sew, and you wouldn't use a thimble even if you did. You would certainly never find yourself mid-sewing wishing you'd bought a small china finger helmet with a picture of a pastoral scene on it. Other souvenirs to steer clear of include shot glasses, baseball caps, key rings, bizarrely over-sized pencils and hourglasses. Mugs, tea towels and even socks are acceptable at a stretch.
The talking
No matter who you travel with, conversation will eventually become a struggle. This is especially true if you travel with someone who feels a meaningful discussion can only really begin when the lights are off and everyone else is trying to sleep. If all else fails conversationally, a single extended game of "Would you rather . . . ?" can paper over even the most gaping holes in a friendship.
The mysteriously friendly couple
No matter how remote your destination you will always arrive to find a suspiciously friendly couple of fellow British holiday-makers effectively shadowing you. Their names are Ben and Sue. Every day, by the power of some dark voodoo known only to over-eager compatriots, their itinerary will have morphed to match your own. Nip their chumminess in the bud before it blossoms into a full-grown friendship or you'll soon find yourself eating dinner with them, or worse, exchanging phone numbers. This is a disaster.
The hats
The laws surrounding hats become far more lenient abroad. The panama, boater and trilby are all perfectly acceptable and even that weird Australian one with corks on it is usually allowed to pass without comment. Anything big and made of straw is to be encouraged and celebrated, with the exception of the pointy sombrero, which is frowned upon everywhere, and deeply offensive in Mexico. Bald dads are permitted no more than a single day of the knotted handkerchief yarmulke, after which the purchase of a real hat becomes a legal necessity.
The sun-cream dilemma
The sun-cream dilemma is twofold; first how, or who to get, to apply sun- cream to your back and neck? Second, how to politely refuse to do the same for sweaty, hairy and occasionally scaly friends and relatives? In the first case, the situation can be avoided with sufficient practice beforehand. Applying fake tan is, ironically, good experience for evenly applying sun-cream. The second dilemma is, however, insoluble. Your best bet is to avoid the issue by running off into the sea.
The clothes and shoes
If you've spent the rest of the year longing to punish the area between your big toe and your second toe you'll be glad to have bought a pair of flip-flops. Otherwise sandals or a light gym shoe is the way to go. Wear without socks in either case. When it comes to shirts, shorts and skirts just about anything goes, although the Hawaiian shirt continues to be frowned upon, especially in Hawaii.
The internet
Switch off the BlackBerry, leave the phone in your hotel room and do not, under any circumstances, check Facebook on the computer in reception. Nothing ruins a week in the sun like photos of someone else's even better week in the sun and a holiday just is not a holiday if you're still reading your boss's tweets. Check your emails no more than once every third day at most. And do not, no matter the temptation, tweet about your holiday or upload photos of it while you're still abroad. Everyone hates that person.
The gifts
If souvenir-buying is a minefield then gift-buying is an active theatre of warfare. There is only one safe option, and that is consumables: in particular wines, chocolates and spirits. Souvenir gifts are strictly forbidden. No one, but no one, wants to wear, drink out of or decorate their homes with a souvenir from somebody else's holiday.
The impossible science of re-packing a suitcase
If packing is a game of Tetris, then re-packing is a game of Theme Hospital, which is to say, maddeningly impossible to complete without cheating. Begin by leaving some gifts out for the hotel to find; the thriller you've now read; a broken pair of sandals; that hat you bought with the corks on it. While these are no longer any good to you they're sure to brighten the cleaning staff's day considerably. That done, cram everything left into the suitcase, give up, go out, buy another travel bag and cram the rest into that.
The aftermath
As well as having several bags of dirty clothes, souvenirs and rubbish to sift through, you'll arrive home to find a pile of bills and letters, and an answering phone message from Ben and Sue making plans for you all to holiday together next year. Dealing with all of this after a week of sun and sandals can be overwhelming. So call work. Take a few days off. It's not like you haven't earned it.
