Whenever I leave the house, even if it’s only for a pint of milk, I get the sense that I should be carrying a survival kit, like Martine in the White Giraffe Series. That feeling gets stronger if I go anywhere requiring a passport. In fact, my survival kit is generally the first item I pack but, since it’s stuffed with every emergency supply from suture kits to space blankets, Superglue and surgical scissors and is the size and weight of three gold ingots, it’s also always the first item to be left behind.

It’s not just paranoia, or a side effect of reading too many adventure novels and thrillers. A lot of it stems from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) incurred on family vacations – specifically vacations involving my mother.

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