Some things are better left out of the holiday suitcase!

Later in the year, myself and my buddy John O’Connor, will be heading off to Cyprus for a break. We both love the place and have been returning there for years since we worked in that part of the world with the United Nations.

We’ll travel light. A small hold all each, with a few bits and pieces to keep us going. We’ll chuck the dirty stuff into the washing machine every couple of days and hang them on a clothes horse on the balcony for a day and we’re good to go again. Ironing isn’t included because we feel it adds character to the clothes. It also uses up valuable drinking time. So off we go with the minimum of fuss and just chill out.

On the other hand, I am now preparing for a holiday to Portugal with my wife Gaye. I have my usual trusty hold all and she has one as well. But then we have something else. It is loosely called a suitcase but is in fact something that has been designed by a structural engineer and is heavily reinforced.

It needs to be built like this because of what goes into it. There will be at least six pairs of shoes. She is like most other people in so far as she has only two feet, so she can only wear one pair at a time. After 35 years, I know that there is no point asking her why they all need to come for the spin so it’s easier, and wiser, just to say nothing.

There will be some coats and jackets in case it gets cold. The reason we’re going to Portugal in August is because it is reasonable to assume that it will be warm. It might get a little cool some evenings but not enough to warrant bringing a fur lined ski jacket.

There will be casual clothes for just hanging around in, beach clothes for obvious reasons and good clothes for going out in the evening. Heaven forbid that casual clothes would make an appearance after 6pm in the evening while fine dining at a table on a footpath outside a glorified fish and chip shop.

There will be a bag of assorted goods like toiletries, sun creams and a ton of make-up. I haven’t been to Portugal for about twenty years but even back then they had supermarkets where you could buy pretty much anything you needed. They are not short of sun cream on the Algarve or anything else for that matter.

Another item that will have to travel will be the dreaded hair straightener. This piece of equipment might not bother many people, but it strikes fear into me and I don’t want to be looking at it while I’m trying to relax, and I’ll tell you why.

A few weeks ago, my GP decided that I needed to have a biopsy on my prostate, so I was sent to the Cork University Hospital. I was, naturally, a little apprehensive because I’m not particularly fond of people interfering with that part of my anatomy. It had been explained to me that the procedure would involve taking some samples from the prostate and the prostate would be accessed from the rear. My rear.

I sat in the waiting area for a bit trying to figure out how uncomfortable this process was likely to be, and I had convinced myself that on a scale of one to ten, ten being the most painful, it was likely to be a one. A two at the most. I mean, how bad could this thing really be? It’s 2018 after all and we have all this technology, so I decided to relax and not think about it.

My name was called and suddenly my palms got sweaty, but I was doing ok. I was putting on a brave show for the other guys who were waiting and watching to see if I would live through the experience. A nurse walked slowly beside me and I was reminded of the film ‘The Green Mile’. Dead man walking.

I was taken into a little room and I was being prepped for what was coming when I spotted this piece of equipment standing upright in a holder next to the bed that I was to lie on. It reminded me of a hair straightener and I was suddenly filled with fear as I began to appreciate where this thing would soon be going. A doctor came into the room and sat behind me and told me to relax. Yeah, right!

It was oven and done with, in about twenty minutes and as I walked back to the waiting area I was conscious of the other eyes watching me trying to figure out if I had been scarred for life or if I had suffered only mild discomfort. I was doing my best for them, trying to offer some hope, but I felt as if I was walking like John Wayne after spending a week in the saddle.

I had some discomfort for a few days afterwards but gradually everything returned to normal but it’s not an experience I would volunteer for again in a hurry. I don’t have happy memories of that day which is why I have an issue with the packing.

By the time she’s finished filling the case, I will probably have to hire a couple of body builders from the local gym to carry it down stairs. The weighing scales at the check-in at the airport will probably groan under the strain and insist that I pay a thousand Euro extra for being over-weight.

But I don’t care. I’ll gladly pay whatever it takes just as long as the hair straightener isn’t inside it.