In ‘Up in the Air’ a movie about a man who’s always on the move from airport to hotel to airport George Clooney demonstrates the art of smart packing, smart dressing etc. from an intrepid travellers’ perspective. He shows you how to judge which queue to join and which one to avoid like the plague, he shows you how to not pack stuff which you may not need and so on.

While I never thought of so much detail I did however, many years ago figure out the solution to one problem. At the baggage rack when hundreds of suitcases and briefcases come tumbling by in a rush it’s quite common to see people picking up someone else’s suitcase by mistake simply because their suitcase looked exactly like the one they picked. The size was right. The colour was right – black, brown, grey…and the weight was just perfect. Looking for initials didn’t seem to be necessary.

After a few trips I realised that there was only one way to avoid picking up wrong luggage and worse, letting someone get away with your luggage.

So I went and bought myself a hardcase strolley. And not just any ordinary one but one that was in the most horrendous shade of repulsive blue. I am sure that that particular piece escaped from the factory by disguising itself as an egg or something as trivial and insignificant.

Anyway it landed up on the shop shelf and then became my constant partner for millions of privileged miles. The size was amazing. It took three days changes, work papers etc. with great ease. And magically became more accommodative when I had used clothes and gifts for the kids on the trip back home.

And on the baggage line it was like a beacon. People stepped back in disgust when they saw it coming so I knew when it was on its way. In all the years of travel I never ever spotted another suitcase of the same colour or size so I never had missing baggage, no misplaced suitcases and no problem whatsoever with baggage identification. In fact the only awkwardness I had to live with was the pitying glances of my fellow passengers and officials who thought I must have bought that suitcase on a really desperate discount sale.

And then a couple of years back, someone (I can’t remember who) came home and needed to take some stuff away. He(or she) needed a suitcase and this one was found to be suitable. So with a breezy promise to return the suitcase soon, this person wheeled my blue baby away. And I have never heard from him again.

I miss my blue monstrosity. My heart aches when I am forced to travel with suitcases that look like my fellow passengers’. My heart pauses everytime I open my suitcase in the hotel room half expecting to see Victoria’s Secrets tumbling out of a suitcase that I had picked up by mistake.

I want my horrible blue strolley back. Seems I am emotionally attached to it. Can someone please help?