I have a confession to make: I’m a chronic overpacker. The kind who brings six pairs of shoes for a two-night stay “just in case.” The woman who once packed a cocktail dress for a camping trip because “you never know.” My boyfriend Tom has spent five years watching me sit on suitcases to zip them shut while muttering that I’ve “packed light this time, honestly.” The man deserves a medal, or at least his half of the luggage allowance back.
This tendency reached its logical, ridiculous conclusion last August bank holiday when we took what should have been a simple three-day trip to Cornwall. I packed as if we were emigrating, not visiting. My suitcase included four swimsuits (for optimism), a raincoat (for realism), walking boots, three pairs of sandals, flip flops, enough books to open a small library, and outfits for every conceivable weather pattern and social situation—from impromptu beach party to unexpected funeral.
When we arrived at our painfully quaint B&B, we discovered our room was approximately the size of a generous postage stamp, with storage consisting of three coat hooks and a bedside table. My mammoth suitcase had to live in the center of the floor, creating an obstacle course that resulted in Tom tripping over it at 3am and using vocabulary I hadn’t previously heard from him. The next morning, faced with the prospect of either dragging said suitcase across a beach or leaving £400 worth of unattended sundresses in the car park, I admitted defeat. Something had to change.
That’s when I set myself a challenge: create the perfect bank holiday capsule that fits in a carry-on, works for any UK destination, and doesn’t require me to wear the same outfit in multiple Instagram pictures (I have standards, after all)
. After several practice runs—a weekend in Bath, a mini-break to Edinburgh, and a somewhat soggy trip to the Lake District—I’ve refined a system that works whether you’re city-breaking, coastal retreating, or rural rambling.
The secret, I’ve discovered, is not just in what you pack, but in the specific versatility of each piece. Every item must earn its place by working across multiple scenarios and weather conditions. This isn’t about creating a bland uniform—it’s about carefully selected pieces with maximum styling potential.
Let’s start with the foundation: bottoms. The cornerstone of my bank holiday capsule is one perfect pair of jeans. Not just any jeans, but the magical unicorn pair that’s comfortable enough for a train journey, smart enough for dinner, and structured enough to hold their shape after three days of wear. For me, that’s a pair of straight-leg Levi’s 501s in a mid-blue wash. Not skinny (too evening), not wide-leg (too weather-vulnerable), and absolutely not white (disaster for British weather conditions).
Alongside the jeans, I pack one versatile skirt or dress. My go-to is a black midi skirt in a crease-resistant fabric with an elasticated waist (comfort is key, people). This works with trainers and a t-shirt for day, but can be dressed up with different tops and accessories for evening. If you’re more of a dress person, a short-sleeved midi in a dark floral or plain navy works year-round with clever layering. The crucial factor is choosing a fabric that doesn’t crease—nothing ruins the relaxed holiday vibe faster than desperately trying to iron a linen dress using a hotel kettle (yes, I’ve tried).
For cooler weather options, I add one pair of smart black trousers. Not office formal, but something with a bit more structure than leggings. Mine are from Arket with a slightly wide leg and elasticated waist (seeing a comfort theme here?). They work for country pub dinners, gallery visits, or any situation where jeans feel too casual but you’re not about to don cocktail wear.
Tops are where the real versatility happens. I pack four: one white t-shirt (boxy cut, good quality cotton that doesn’t go see-through), one Breton stripe (because I’m nothing if not a walking British holiday cliché), one light knit for layering, and one “nice” top for evenings. The latter is usually something simple but elevated—a silk camisole or a cashmere short-sleeve that takes up minimal space but adds instant polish.
The outerwear situation is where many bank holiday packers go wrong, either bringing too many options or the wrong ones. After much trial and error, I’ve settled on just two pieces: a lightweight waterproof jacket that packs into its own pocket (mine’s from Rains and looks significantly less “outdoor pursuits” than most waterproofs), and a navy blazer that works as both a smart layer for evenings and additional warmth when needed.
Now for shoes—the category where my overpacking reaches pathological levels. I’ve forced myself to limit to just three pairs: white trainers that go with absolutely everything (Vejas or Supergas, nothing that can’t handle a bit of British weather), one pair of comfortable walking sandals for optimistic weather scenarios (Birkenstocks or similar—nothing with straps that will rub after a day of sightseeing), and one pair of smart flats that pack flat and dress up an outfit without taking precious luggage space (I swear by foldable black leather ballerinas from Marks & Spencer).
The accessories edit is equally disciplined: one crossbody bag for day that fits essentials without inducing shoulder pain, one small pouch that can serve as an evening clutch, minimal jewelry that works across all outfits (for me, that’s gold hoops and a couple of slim rings), and a light scarf that doubles as a beach cover-up, extra pillow, or emergency blanket for unexpectedly chilly outdoor cinema experiences.
The final pieces of the puzzle are sleepwear and swimwear. One swimming costume (let’s be realistic about British swimming opportunities), lightweight pajamas that wouldn’t cause embarrassment in a hotel fire evacuation, and underwear that accommodates the various necklines and hemlines of your capsule.
When packed with military precision into a carry-on (rolling, not folding, and using packing cubes for maximum efficiency), this edit takes up remarkably little space while covering all bases for a typical bank holiday adventure.
But the real magic isn’t just in the packing list—it’s in how these pieces combine to create distinctive outfits for different scenarios and destinations. Here’s where the versatility truly proves itself:
For a city break with gallery visits and nice restaurants: Black trousers + white t-shirt + blazer during the day, switching to the “nice” top for evening. Trainers for day, smart flats for dinner. Crossbody bag throughout.
For a coastal town with beach walks and seafood dinners: Jeans + Breton + waterproof for breezy beach walks, switching to the skirt + light knit for evening fish and chips watching the sunset. Sandals for warm weather, trainers for cooler days or longer walks.
For a countryside retreat with hiking and pub lunches: Jeans + white tee + light knit with trainers for gentle walks, upgrading to the blazer for pub dinners. The waterproof stays in your bag because, well, Britain.
The true test of this system came at Easter when Tom and I took a five-day trip that combined Edinburgh (city), Northumberland (coast), and the Scottish Borders (countryside). My single carry-on handled all three destinations seamlessly, while Tom watched in amazement, having become accustomed to my usual sherpa-worthy luggage.
What I’ve learned through this process is that successful bank holiday packing isn’t about deprivation—it’s about curation. Each piece should be the best possible version of itself: the perfect white t-shirt, the most flattering jeans, the waterproof that doesn’t make you look like you’re about to lead a school field trip. Quality matters more than quantity, particularly for hardworking basics that need to maintain their shape through multiple wears.
Color coordination is equally crucial—my palette stays within navy, white, black, and denim blue, with perhaps one accent color if I’m feeling adventurous. This isn’t about being boring; it’s about creating a micro-wardrobe where everything works together, eliminating those “I brought it but can’t wear it because nothing matches” items that usually take up half my suitcase.
Of course, there are destination-specific additions depending on the exact nature of your bank holiday. A city break might warrant a slightly smarter shoe if you’re hitting fancier venues. A beach holiday might justify a second swimsuit if swimming is genuinely on the agenda. A walking holiday might require proper hiking boots rather than versatile trainers. But the core principles remain: versatility, mix-and-match potential, and ruthless editing.
Weather contingency planning is perhaps the most challenging aspect of UK bank holiday packing. I’ve been caught in everything from unexpected heatwaves to biblical downpours, sometimes within the same afternoon. The layering pieces are key here—the light knit that adds warmth under the waterproof, the scarf that provides sun protection or extra warmth as needed, the blazer that works as a light jacket on mild evenings.
The one area where I refuse to compromise is toiletries. After one disastrous experience with hotel shampoo that turned my hair into something resembling a brillo pad, I now decant my essentials into travel containers rather than relying on random hotel miniatures. The same applies to skincare—bank holidays are already challenging enough for skin (travel dehydration, different water, excessive cream tea consumption) without throwing unknown products into the mix.
Technology is another consideration that can quickly eat into your luggage allowance. I’ve learned to be disciplined here too: phone, slim portable charger, and Kindle (loaded with at least three backup books for different moods). Laptop stays at home unless absolutely necessary for work—bank holidays should be about disconnecting, and most emails can wait until Tuesday.
The ultimate compliment to this system came from my most fashion-conscious friend Leila, who joined us for a weekend in Whitstable last summer. After three days of different outfits from my minimalist luggage, she asked how I’d managed to bring so many clothes in such a small bag. When I explained that she’d seen my entire holiday wardrobe just styled differently each day, she was genuinely shocked.
“But you didn’t wear the same thing twice,” she protested.
“Same pieces, different combinations,” I explained, feeling unreasonably smug about my conversion from chaotic overpacker to capsule wardrobe evangelist.
The greatest benefit of this approach isn’t just the practical ease of traveling light—it’s the mental space it creates. Without the burden of excessive choice or the nagging feeling of “did I bring the right thing?”, I can actually focus on enjoying the break rather than managing my luggage. There’s something genuinely liberating about having exactly what you need and nothing more.
So this coming bank holiday, as you stare down at an open suitcase wondering if you really need three “just in case” outfits, multiple “options” for each day, and shoes for entirely hypothetical scenarios, I urge you to embrace the carry-on challenge. Your shoulders, your travel companions, and the poor soul sitting next to you on the packed train will thank you. And you might just find that limitations breed creativity—in packing as in life.
