Forget the detailed itinerary – a 12-day trip that included the vertiginous 2,446-metre Kotorma pass on horseback – the packing list alone ran to a dizzying several pages. Sleeping bag, sleeping bag liner, three pairs of jodhpurs, chaps, riding boots, waterproof riding coat…

I hadn’t seen anything like it since I went to prep school aged ten as the first girl at Ashdown House. My mother took me from Brussels to Harrods uniform department with an extensive list. I left with a St Trinian’s trousseau of navy kilts and Aertex shirts, tuck box and trunk.

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As D-Day approached last week, I managed to source most items for the riding safari. If I had any spare time I’d take everything out, check it against the list and repack it into my father’s green Samsonite expedition bag, which he’d taken to China when he was following in the footsteps of Marco Polo for the second time a few years ago.

I also borrowed his binos to examine the majestic scenery, and flora and fauna, of the Tien Shan. I wanted to see the scops owl that had kept Owen Paterson awake when he did this same trip last year with Charles Moore of this parish.

True freedom, I told myself, wearing the same clothes I’d worn on the plane, was to travel lightly

True freedom, I told myself, wearing the same clothes I’d worn on the plane, was to travel lightly

In the end I had so much stuff that I split it up (this is boring but important for the tale of two bags that follows). Mountain Warehouse soft black rubberised sausage for boots, chaps, riding hat and rainproof jacket, and the squishy Samsonite for everything else, of which there was plenty.

As I checked in at Terminal 2, Turkish Airlines insisted the smaller black bag from Mountain........

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