Wendyl Nissen: Case of the humbled hedonist

Nothing offers clues to a traveller's personality like the contents of their suitcase. Photo / Thinkstock

A few weeks in Paris has never caused such a kerfuffle in the small social circle I like to call my friends.

"But it'll be freezing," was the first reaction uttered by someone who was fanning themselves furiously as the temperature climbed slowly and excruciatingly to 28C.

"Is it a holiday?" they asked, incredulous that two people might head off for a relaxing few weeks so soon after the summer holiday.

"Is it supposed to be romantic?" asked another.

"We're not that old," I snapped.

Never before have I felt the need to justify a few weeks away, and I've reacted by coming over a bit Miss Marple about it.

There's been quite a lot of Miss Marple on the television in our house recently and most of us are addicted to Agatha Christie's little spinster from St Mary Mead who has a mind like a steel trap and likes to knit.

I've been furiously knitting a hat, gloves and scarf combo to wear in Paris and packed the simplest of garments into my suitcase.

"Don't mind me," I twittered to my astonished husband as I filled only half a suitcase with practical flat-soled shoes, jumpers and tweed skirts. "No use competing with the fashion plates of Paris; I'm going for warmth and comfort."

My suitcase weighed just 10kg. Usually I'm the one shoving things into my husband's suitcase to get mine down to the allowable weight.

I then rang up airport security to find out if there was any way on God's earth I would be allowed to take my knitting needles on the long flight with me. I still had half a scarf to go and it was imperative I finished it before Paris.

"It appears that the good people at security have relaxed their restrictions and will now allow people like me to make good use of flying time to knit," I announced to the family. "I guess not many nanas turn out to be terrorists."

"What about me?" was all my husband said, remembering fondly the romantic getaways we used to have, just the two of us, high up in the sky, drinking, giggling and chatting.

He then went shopping.

"There's a sale on, I thought I'd buy us some warm layers for Paris," he said as I executed a tricky manoeuvre on the third finger of my new glove.

"Good idea," I replied, not hearing a word he said.

The last glove I knitted turned out okay, except one finger was sprouting from the back of the hand in a strangely vertical fashion, making it suitable for someone whose finger had come off and been sewn back in the wrong place. I was so angry I took to it with scissors. Now I was attempting to get it right in time for Paris.

My husband returned with several articles of clothing in black and featuring labels with words such as "polypropylene" and "fleece".

"Oh no, that just won't do," I said as he proudly showed off his purchases.

"Just because they're not pure wool," he said defensively. "They are very warm. Mountain-climbers wear them, people like that."

"I realise there have been substantial advances in the world of fabrics, but what I'm referring to is the fact that they match. You have bought the same clothes for both of us."

"I think that's quite nice," he grinned. "Some people would think it very touching."

"We will look like those tragic American tourists in their 60s who barge around the world in his-and-hers quick-drying lifestyle gear for the 'adventurous traveller'. The fact that these people have absolutely no style yet are from the Woodstock generation is one of life's great conundrums."

He admitted he "wasn't thinking", before taking it out on Miss Marple.

"Quite frankly she is a nosy meddler who's always bludging a holiday off that poor nephew of hers, and she's a nasty gossip," he announced before heading off to pack his fleece and polypropylene. "And I'm damned if I'm taking her on holiday to Paris!"

I dug out a pair of high heels and a little black dress, threw my laptop into my hand luggage and removed the knitting needles. "That's better," he said, smiling at last.

'Yes, isn't it?" I agreed. Best of all, I'd just realised I wouldn't have to miss an episode of Coronation Street. I could watch it online.