Amazing Grace banishes memories of Portugal pain

Unpacking your suitcase after a holiday is a disturbing experience at the best of times, but it was particularly grim in the aftermath of my betting-ravaged Portugal trip.

You know what it's like – you cram everything in the case as quickly as possible in the moments leading up to your hotel pick-up. Dirty pants will contaminate clean pants, trousers need to be folded to the size of handkerchiefs to fit in, and your best shirt will be caked in sun cream and shampoo by the time you reach Blighty.

This time, as I opened the case at home, an Arctic blast had arrived, providing a sharp reminder that I would probably not be seeing sunshine again for at least six months. Worst of all, though, was the colour of the suitcase. A few months ago, when I bought it, I revelled in the colour. But by the time of its maiden voyage, the colour sickened me.