When you went away for your holiday, how many changes of clothes did you take? No, let's make it simpler. When you go out for the day, how many changes of clothes do you take with you?

Maybe one, if you want to have a shower when you arrive. Possibly two, if you then have a smart dinner to attend. Let's be super cautious and say three. You never know: you might need to have a second shower because the temperature is very high. You never know. Best make it four: what if you are selected to take part in Mr Universe or Miss World because one of the competitors has pulled out and you happen to be spotted by one of the organisers? Be prepared.

Actually, maybe five - you wouldn't want to travel back in the same clothes. And what if you are asked to take part in an Elvis lookalike competition? You should take that costume with you, too. That's six changes of clothes. For the day.

That appears to be the logic on which most people base their packing decisions when they go away: the "just in case" principle. Go to any airport and you'll see it in action - people looking as if they are about to expire, cheeks beyond red, as they struggle to carry their four tight-to-bursting suitcases - families off on holiday for a week, with at least two suitcases each and a few more thrown in for good measure. Play it safe, and take the entire contents of your house with you when you travel. Just in case.

I travel a lot - I have homes in both London and Brussels, flitting between the two and using them both as bases for travel elsewhere. I fly about once a fortnight. I am, almost always, stuck in the check-in queue behind a family which appears to be emigrating - or a lone traveller who really does seem to have six changes of clothes per day. There is only one conclusion to be drawn: most of my fellow travellers are clinically insane.

I always take at least three different books with me and make sure that I have more than enough clothes. I'm certainly not a light traveller and am always worried that I will be told that there is an excess baggage fee to be paid. And then I arrive at the airport, and see everyone else. Earlier this month, I travelled from London City Airport (of 30 minute check-in renown, and thus designed for light travellers) to Brussels for a night. I had a small holdall with clean clothes and some books, and my computer holder.

Ahead of me in the queue was a family of four. They had - I counted - ten suitcases. The woman at the check-in was trying to tell them that they had to leave four behind or pay extra. "Trying" being the operative word, since they were speaking two different languages: one the language of common sense, the other the language of "you never know". "But how can you have such stupid rules?" asked the mother. "It's all essentials. No one can possibly travel with less."

Maybe they were emigrating. Maybe they were off somewhere for two months. Maybe they were in a witness protection programme and their entire former lives were packed into those suitcases. Eventually, after much complaining, they paid the excess baggage and moved away. I asked the check-in woman where they were going. "Milan. For three days."
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