Is it just me? Or do you fight over luggage too? asks LIBBY PURVES

We’re off on a trip! Packing! But once again I have failed to distract the man of the house from diving into the hole under the eaves where the luggage lives. I got my case out earlier and averted my eyes, but my husband is a man of destiny.

Armed with a torch and fired with the spirit of Marie Kondo, he decides to ‘sort out’ my compulsive luggage habit.

Out it comes, flying across the room: hard cases, soft ones, wheelies, carry-ons, backpacks, expandables, laptop cases and various nifty bag-within-a-bag miracles which once promised to make me a sophisticated global traveller.

All of it is cheap. Some of it yields odd socks, expired seasick pills and congealed hotel shampoos. Suddenly, he utters the dreaded words, ‘Which for recycling? Which for the charity shop?’

Resistance is futile. Sometimes I surrender: that rucksack with actual folding wheels was to save my back, but the wheels made it too heavy for a backpack anyway.

For some backpacks I fight: ‘It’s got a thing for putting water in! And that one’s apparently waterproof, so if I did go camping . . .’ I sneak it into a corner.

The pink carry-on case is my favourite and he concedes over that; then, after a brief struggle, I agree to a cap on the number of aged Musto sailing bags.

Four, maybe. But that fifth one went to St Kilda! It’s a relic!

I keep that, and he keeps his Bavarian leather backpack which, even empty, weighs as much as a baby.

It’s all very personal, luggage: a portable piece of home.

And yes, on the airport carousel I judge strangers: naff, boring, show-off, more-money-than-sense, fashion victim.

And I know they look at mine and do the same.

Or shudder in disgust. Never mind. We’re off!

Armed with a torch and fired with the spirit of Marie Kondo, Libby says her husband decided to ‘sort out’ her compulsive luggage habit. Stock image used

Libby says that on the airport carousel, she judges strangers tastes and selections. Stock image used