I try to be a grown up, sympathetic, eco-friendly and well-rounded. Well, maybe that's just my hips.

I used to be a real horror. Some would say I still am. But, like most of us, I've mellowed over the years. Honest.

Sometimes, though, the old me resurfaces – and reverts straight back to the 80s.

So what's brought her back? Luggage, that's what.

Now let me make this clear – I haven't got this far in my life without decent luggage and I'm off on a round-the-world jaunt in a few weeks. And before you say it, luck had nothing to do with it. It's taken almost a decade of saving up.

Anyway, there's lots of connecting flights so we decided we needed lightweight, tough cases with wheels and those new TSA locks.

Apparently our American cousins have started opening up 10 per cent of luggage as part of their security measures. And if you don't have these special locks, they are quite likely to break the existing ones, leaving you unable to close your case. So it was common sense really.

It called for a quick trip to Manchester – sorry, it's still my spiritual home – and that's where the problem started.

You can tell we're in the middle of a credit crunch. Never in all my life have shop assistants been SO obsequious. The level of fawning was obscene – almost on Pretty Woman levels. We were probably the first people they had seen all day.

And did you realise you could spend over £300 on a fairly standard suitcase? Madness.

But it all took so long that, while my better half managed to sort out a matching-ish cabin bag, I lost patience.

Well, I could pick one up anywhere, right? Wrong.

I looked everywhere for a bag that would sort of match the case and had a slot thing at the back that would fit over the trolley handle.
Nothing. Well nothing that looked half decent.

And that's when it kicked in. Obsession.

Now you would think, given the present economic situation, that I would have better things to worry about.

Nope. Not a chance. Once obsession kicks in, the old materialistic me resurfaces.

The pursuit of my quarry began to dominate everything. I spent every spare moment trailing round shops but to no avail. A couple of times I thought I had found it, only to stop myself at the last moment because the bag in question just wouldn't do.

Then I started fretting. It's sad really. And pretty stupid. There was only one thing for it. Back to Manchester.

I'm fairly sure the shop assistants couldn't believe their luck. Twice in two weeks – and ready to buy.

As you might imagine, I am now sorted out with a dinky little bag. I am also well and truly in the doghouse. Let's just say my other half doesn't particularly enjoy shopping.

Still, at least the old me has disappeared. Until the next time.