I had this terrible problem when I was younger... everytime I packed to go anywhere, I would end up with 15 pairs of knickers and no socks, or 15 pairs of socks and no knickers.

In the end I stopped wearing socks.

My perfect vacation would be a cool ancient farmhouse, near a wild beach, with a hobby store, a book store and a chocolate factory within driving distance. There'd be a good friend nearby to take me out on his motorbike along one of the finest roads in the country and some fantastic places to eat on the way.

Now all I need is the £3million to buy the perfect farmhouse and I'm all set!

LTS