Who Needs a Lorry Luggage? An Examination of Over‑packaged Holiday Tactics
Who Needs a Lorry Luggage?
An Examination of Over‑packaged Holiday Tactics
By Alex “The Over‑packer” Grayson
The 10 % Who Take Their Totes to the Next Level
Every ten‑minute train journey through the Midlands or the turn of a lane on the M6, I see a new type of traveller, armed with a suitcase that could have been sent directly from the back of a lorry. I call them the “Tonne‑Tote Troop” for lack of a more charming nickname.
Picture this: a plastic box on wheels, vaguely resembling the water‑tub that once stored watered apples—a suitcase so large that its toes are visible from a mile away. It needs a forklift to get on the train wagon, and when it arrives, the baggage officer gives a half‑smile and a trudge back to the arriving aircraft lobby.
“Why the big box, mate?” I ask. One man, clutching a selfie stick and a 70‑kilogram Duffel‑Bag‑Delirium, replies, “I’m bringing home a full‑size lamp, a bath‑tub, and a lawn‑mower. After all, packing light is for the week‑long backpackers, not us fortnight‑long A‑list adventurers!”
The troupe is growing (and shrinking) with the seasons, and their packing styles remain as varied as the landmarks on the Old Route.
Classic Clichés: The Anatomy of an Over‑Packed Holiday
| Exchange | Why You’ll Buy It | Practicality? |
|---|---|---|
| The “All‑in‑One” Kits | Nine pieces of “compact” out‑of‑the‑box sports gear (surfboard, snorkel, kayaking half‑size*). | Will never fit into your suitcase; your lorry‑size companion only gets you to the beach. |
| The “Home‑Away‑from‑Home” Adaptation | Every cushion, blanket, coffee mug, and tea pot (yes, a whole 630‑ml pot!). | If you can’t sleep in a hotel, borrow tea from the front desk. |
| The “Be Prepared” Brigade | Two dry‑cleaning bags, a whole toolbox, a stack of spare batteries, a portable blender, a first‑aid kit, a trip‑size laundry detergent — then a 15 litre refill. | You’ll come back to a suitcase that could serve as a small office. |
| The “One‑Size‑Fits‑All” Silhouette | “So‑called” “able‑to‑fit‑every‑item” luggage, literally shaped like an irrigation can. | The only thing it fits is the traveller's desperation. |
These rogue travellers often cite the “right choice, good people” reason as their motto. “I need the extra pair of socks, there might be a rain‑storm, you know?”, one might say, pausing dramatically to relieve the creeping panic of a suitcase that could harbour a small household pet.
The Rarest Holiday Tactic: Lorry Luggage
Every year, a new poster circulates at train stations with the slogan: “Take Your Luggage like a Lorry – It’ll Save You Hours!” How quickly that poster becomes a viral meme, and how quickly it gives birth to the Nomadic Nine‑Miles.
The lorry‑luggage moves like a polite, mobile landfill. The first time I spotted one, a 45‑year‑old man slipped two 60‑kilogram mittens into a crevice that could have held a small caravan. He choreographed his arm movements in slow motion, as if you were watching a gymnast perform a somersault on the rail.
And honestly, watching the strength of British willpower is half the fun – especially when the traveler needs a new battery? “Just grab the spare flash‑light from the slot labelled ‘E‑merg‑ant’.”
A Case Study: The ‘Harrington Pack’
In a “packing day” that went viral on TikTok (and by “viral” I mean viral to my cousin who lives in the UK), I met two sisters, Tara and Heather Harrington, who booked a road‑trip along the Golden Triangle. Their goal: See every tourist attraction in a 24‑hour period, live in a boutique-of-the-day, and not sleep on the sofa in their car.
They left home with a single 90‑kilogram bin‑suitcase at the last minute. Their packing list was a glorious hunt for novelty items: loss‑proof luggage tags, a “solar‑powered” umbrella, a waterproof snorkel, an extra pair of pantyhose for each dress, and two fully‑charged power banks. The end result – an in‑adapted into the "Malloro Giraffe" – a suitcase which travelled to a hotel, parked on a nearby rooftop, and they took a 30‑minute hug-n-frozen‑dessert‑trip back to the hotel.
Was Their packing technique efficient? No? Absolutely? Only if the metric was “how many strangers applauded your over‑packing attempt at a train station”.
Humour as a Bond Act
The real reason we’re all in the lorry‑luggage club? There’s a half‑amused tradition for those who will cling to any sort of travel gear – a weapon, a musical instrument, a full‑size fan, a personal gym machine who can fit under the roof of a narrow car.
And the real joy?? Watching the “I should have brought a small camper, but I thought in 2016 you only needed a charger.” moment at every terminal.
Of course, there are financial costs: You’re paying for a thousand pounds of extra baggage fees, maybe paying an extra “can you see the luggage you brought in the front of the booking form? Yes, the entire coastal blueprint.” But at least you’ll have the satisfaction of bragging: “I lived there, I actually board that couch – yes, I rightfully own up close to a sunset on a beach I could never even reach. If old–fashioned swings are necessary, I’ll do it by suit.”
Quick Fixes for Three Hours’ Travel
If you’re adventurous but not a Hussain‑wise over‑packer, here’s a quick checklist to keep your luggage from becoming an over‑inflated caravan on wheels:
-
Close‑Fit Hierarchy
Wrap a single t‑shirt by rolling it into a ball and placing it at the rear. Any packing algorithm beyond that is over‑consumption. -
Pocket‑Smart
Each part of a single item (because pair of socks that can be found in any hotel’s linen closet is an overlap of probability). -
Materials Counting
Keep the bag weight-level at not more than 60 kg (when fully loaded).
- Just in case there’s an ice‑cream at the high‑point you want to keep for a while.
Conclusion
Why pack a lorry? Because the pleasures of never having to chase that last hyssop–toodle or the pendant dish you haven't used in six summers are too huge to be denied. Half the bin is only for a sunset; the rest is for 12‑hour meditation and juggling a handful of mugs.
Always remember: when you get on the next flight, you’ll be the only one of the 35 people who will be cleaning the first‑class from inside. That little thought will keep you moving, and maybe it will give you just enough time to think about your hidden socks in the luggage that is impossible to open. That’s the ultimate traveller: to baloon – no pun intended – and enjoy the anec‑de, the humour— and especially the next round of absenteeism at the gate when you can’t find the vegetable knife you purchased 84 days ago.
Do not go unpacking later because the *Kanji coffee” you bought in Kathmandu is never convenient for a train ride: the truth is, for some of us, the small joys‑of‑offline duty is the real reason we truly “stay” for the trip.
Safe travels (with an extra 20 kilos or no extra at all, but at least some paper trail that lasts longer than the beauty of a full‑stacked winter coat over a wide stint of lost socks) – and remember: we Brits like to over‑pack; the secret health benefit is we can fill up in one go, beleeeeee! (Was this a mantra? No training exercises. The joke is there.)
