Ok, so holiday packing can be a struggle. Especially when youâve got a mountain of clothes and shoes â not to mention an iPod, a camera and a hairdryer â to pack into a case roughly the size of a box of tissues. Oh, and did I mention that this particular suitcase is pink with gold sparkles?
âMum!â I complained as Mum got my suitcase down from the loft and put it on my bed. âI canât take this on holiday. Iâll get laughed off the beach!â
âYou loved it when you were seven, and Iâm sure you can love it again, Coleen,â said Mum.
I sighed and flipped the case open. Then I packed my favourite summer shoes: a pair of sparkly sandals covered in silver sequins. They fitted â with about three millimetres left over. âBut Iâll never get everything in!â I wailed, looking at the other six pairs that Iâd lined up on my bedroom floor.
âWhat do you need seven pairs of shoes for?â Dad asked, stopping at my room and staring at my packing. There was something bright orange draped over his arm. âWeâre going for a beach holiday, Coleen â tomorrow, ideally, though at the rate youâre going you wonât be packed until Tuesday. Are you planning to paddle in a different pair of shoes every day?â
I rolled my eyes at him. Dads donât get shoes. âWhatâs that?â I asked, eyeing the orange thing on Dadâs arm.
âTa-da!â Dad announced, unfurling the most disgusting pair of orange swimming trunks Iâd ever seen and flapping them at me. âWhat do you think?â
âThe fish in the seaâll think youâre a giant Wotsit, Dad,â I advised. âThink again.â
âAt least you lot wonât lose me at the hotel pool,â Dad joked, folding up his shorts again.
âBelieve me, Dad, we will,â I muttered as Dad went off to help Mum squeeze everything into their old black case on wheels. âAs quickly as we can.â
My little sister, Em, wandered into my room and flopped down on the bed. As usual, she looked a total mess. Football strip (badly in need of a wash), football socks and a pair of trackie bottoms with holes in the knees, not to mention a gap in her front teeth where a tooth had just dropped out.
âAnd there was me, thinking seven-year-old girls wore pink all day long,â I sighed.
âYuck,â said Em, as I knew she would. Needless to say, her suitcase had the emblem of her favourite footie team, Marshalswick Park, on it.
âGet out of here, Em,â I begged, trying to decide between three different T-shirts. âHavenât you got packing to do?â
âAll done,â Em smirked.
âWhat?â I shrieked, dropping my tees. âBut you only started about five minutes ago!â
Em shrugged. âCozzie, T-shirts, shorts, sandals, latest football mag, autograph book because footballers go to the Algarve and you never know, toothbrush,â she recited. âDidnât take long.â
âWhat about knickers?â I demanded.
Em wrinkled her forehead. âOh yeah,â she said, getting off my bed, âIâd better stick in a couple of pairs.â
Holidays in my family usually go like this. Mum goes on at Dad for weeks to book something. The holidays get closer. Dad doesnât do anything until the last minute, and then he grabs the cheapest thing he sees, which nearly always has flights leaving at four oâclock in the morning. Mumâs left running around like a mad thing, getting Nan to take Rascal our dog and vacuuming behind the couch. Well, this time, Dad has totally outdone himself. He booked us a week in the Algarve this afternoon â and we are getting a taxi to the airport before sunrise tomorrow morning.
âHeaven knows what this place is going to be like,â Mum grumbled as we all grabbed a bite to eat before what was going to be the shortest nightâs sleep in history.
âItâs the Algarve, Trish,â Dad said soothingly. âSea, sand and plenty of sun. I tell you, I can spot the good ones a mile off. When have I ever been wrong?â
âWell,â Mum started, âhow about that time we went to Croatia and the hotel hadnât even been built? Or the trip to Brittany that turned out to be a trip to Britain, which I didnât want to visit because I already lived there? Orââ
âWell, this oneâs going to be different,â Dad interrupted hastily. âTrust me.â
Em and I shared a look. Weâd believe that once we got there.
It felt like Iâd only just shut my eyes when Mum was shaking me awake again. I whittled my shoes down to three pairs and jumped on my sparkly pink case to shut it. I squeezed another T-shirt, scarf and belt into my hand luggage and put on as many extra clothes as I could. Then I think I actually fell asleep in the taxi, because suddenly it was all lights and bustle and that ding-dong echo you get in airports. Now my eyelids were officially open, it was time to get excited.
Airports are brilliant places. They just