Packing with "Three Men In A Boat"

I'm going touring in the UK in a week, as the support act for The Spooky Men's Chorale. This time I'm determined to travel light. So I've been inspired by some classic packing advice: George's, in Jerome K. Jerome's most excellent book Three Men In A Boat: "We must not think of the things we could do with, but only of the things that we can't do without."

The author comments: "I call that downright wisdom, not merely as regards the present case, but with reference to our trip up the river of life in general. [...] Throw the lumber over, man! Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need — a homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends, worth the name, someone to love and someone to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink; for thirst is a dangerous thing."

Three Men in a Boat is one of my favourite books ever. First published in England in 1889, it tells the story of three friends who go on a holiday up the Thames River. It's so funny, and still rings so true, over 120 years later. It's testament to the writer's talent, I think, that the humour in it is still accessible to us even though the English language has changed — the writing style is a lot more formal than you'd find today, but so beautiful. I love it when J fancies he is ill because of the symptoms he has read in an ad for liver pills, Harris and George's disastrous attempt to pack the hampers, the account of Harris singing a comic song, the time he gets lost in Hampton Court Maze, and their terrible experiences trying to open a tin of pineapple. Humans have changed so much over the last hundred years, but not at heart; if this book is any guide, our warmth, curiosity, inventiveness, and general "larrikiness" are inherent in our very DNA. And thank goodness for that.

Anyway, I recommend the book to you, whether you're travelling or not. It's really good company in the same way that Robert Frost poems are, and is also a curious window into a past reality.