Excess Baggage

It is remarkable how much superfluous baggage one accumulates. When I had finally unpacked the last box and found somewhere to stash all the different kinds of silverware, crockery, glassware, tablecloths, etc., I wondered if I really needed most of it.

Our street-wise friend Scrumpy (who I note has a bit of a fan club already!) has the right idea. He travels light. In his backpack he carries nothing but a full-sized duvet and a ghetto blaster (he doesn’t believe in MP3’s or iPods, he likes to share his music with friends and anyone else within a hundred yard radius), and a length of string, in case he finds a stray dog to tie on the end of it. Such freedom! I would never be able to live like that. I can manage with a small holdall for a weekend away. But that’s just for my make-up. My trunk full of clothes is sent on ahead. Ballgowns can be required at a moment’s notice, and a girl doesn’t like to be caught unawares. And as Princess Zoé will confirm, you never know which size of tiara is appropriate for a formal function, so it’s best to pack three. Of course I can do “smart casual” for popping down to the supermarket – you know, a little Chanel suit over a cashmere sweater with just the one string of pearls, and matching shopping caddy. But I do like to dress up if the occasion demands, and bustles can’t be squashed into a suitcase, not even the largest one that Louis Vuitton make.

However, I pondered, as I surveyed six different kinds of fish knife, am I ever going to be hosting nine-course dinner parties for 20 again? Does a footloose and fancy-free city girl such as I require three dozen crystal champagne flutes? Large gatherings are so passé, the trend is more towards small informal gatherings where one eats sushi with one’s fingers from hollowed-out bamboo sticks whilst lounging on Moroccan divans and discussing the latest hors d’oeuvre of Michel Houellebecq with the likes of Salman and Melvyn. I decided to follow the teachings of St Bono of Geldof, and donate my unwanted possessions to the poor.

Scrumpy directed me to a charity warehouse called “Les Petits Riens” which was enormous and stacked to the rafters with second-hand furniture, clothing, books, carpets, electrical equipment, musical instruments, paintings, even computers which were surplus to somebody’s requirements, and had been donated for re-sale. At a guess, a good deal of it had been salvaged from house clearances, and there was some remarkable period furniture, particularly from the 1970’s formica era, which is already back in fashion. The warehouse is like Ali Baba’s cavern, and you could get lost in the maze of rooms which led from one collection of slightly dog-eared treasures to another. I was so entranced by it all that I completely forgot to leave my excess baggage, and purchased a crystal chandelier, an oil painting in the style of Rolf Harris, two Rimini chairs, a trombone and a life-sized plaster statue of the Virgin Mary.

Oh well, charity begins at home.