301. Drinking wine out of small French tumblers

It's all Russell Norman's fault. The tables at Polpo are so small and close together that normal, long-stemmed glasses would get knocked over and break and also they are Not Cool. He gives you your wine in a small Duralex tumbler and I've got to like it. So now I drink wine at home out of a Duralex tumbler and sometimes Herself joins me and sometimes she rolls her eyes. But that's quite normal. Anyway, I wouldn't do it with Good Wine, we've got Herself's Granny's crystal for that. But the vino collapso we enjoy on a daily basis tastes none the worse for its humble vessel. Maybe next I'll try a goat-skin.

300. Charlie Connelly

Ooh, this must be the cheeky chappie section of the blog. Charlie is the author of Attention All Shipping and other books. They're easy to read, deceptively learned and informative, and there's something charming about his scruffy, lumbering approach to travel that makes it seem more possible than it sometimes does. Because I have read my favourites more than once, sometimes I skip the history and count how many pies and pints Charlie manages on one of his trips. I think he'd be a laugh to have a drink with, and he could help my tune my ukulele. And no, that is not a euphemism.

299. Jamie Oliver

Whatever you think about his social work, his recipes work. I've got most of his books and everything works, first time, and it's always delicious. And I love his knife skills. What?

298. Christmas, according to my dog (with editorial by me)

When I can be bothered to stop sleeping on my dog-bed* in the big warm place* (*sofa, *living room) I will use my iPaw to go onto the Interwoof. I will go to Dogazon and buy the Shouty one* (*George) a chill pill and the One I Like Who's Never Here* (*Tracey) a map of Walberswoof. Then I will buy Auntie Anna some delicious dog treats that she can feed me, hopefully while I"m lying on my favourite dog-bed* (*Anna's bed) being tickled and crooned over for hours and never told off or shouted at or made to go outside if it's dark or cold, unless I want to go in and out and in and out and particularly just at the really good bit at the movie which always makes me Muttley* (*laugh, evilly) because they think I am so stupid but I am not.

Then lots of tasty* (*meat or cheese) will fall from the sky, preferably into my open mouth while I'm lying on my favourite dog-bed having my tummy tickled, then this will continue forever. I do not see why this should be limited to one day. THIS SHOULD BE MY LIFE*

*This is her life

297. Hot Chocolate

Not the band, the drink. You have to have the proper Cadbury's drinking chocolate, not one of those instant packet things that you add water to. That's at very least. You could have Charbonnel et Walker, if you like, or Valhrona or whatever. But if it's cold and wet and miserable, and you don't really like tea, it's the drink of champions. No marshmallows - unless you are a child or one of those adults who carries a backpack in the shape of a sheep.

296. Efficient packing

One (possibly the only) good thing about budget air travel is that one small bag forces you to pack efficiently. There's that great scene at the beginning of 'Up in the Air' in which Gorgeous George is packing to go on another of his trips and everything is immaculately pressed and he only takes what is necessary and it fits perfectly into one small, wheelie suitcase. Twice, recently, I have tried to emulate his efficiency, with pleasing results - although I wasn't going away for very long! And I am helped enormously by my rucksack in a pouch, bought for me by my genius mother-in law. Because the real trick is not remembering to travel light, it's making sure that your things are stored in the best places to help you move through your journey with the greatest speed. So the clear pouch with the toiletries goes inside the case but into the separate liner in the lid, so the whole case doesn't have to be opened at security. Kindle, paper, notebook, pen, lip salve, hand cream etc goes in the front pocket of the case. Passport, wallet, boarding card, phone go into coat pocket, which can be closed by way of poppers or zip. Shoes are easy to get on and off. You'll feel so smug while all the others are waddling about holding up their trousers or trying to get their knee-high lace-up boots back on while 300 impatient travellers zap them with their eyeball lasers. And then you'll get to the front of the queue for the plane/taxi/bus and you'll be so smug you'll probably spontaneously combust. But it will have been worth it.

295. We Don't Eat by James Vincent McMorrow

If our inner lives are like onions – layer nestling next to layer, with the sweetest, most vulnerable bit protected at the centre – then this song hits me somewhere near the middle. Not sure why, it's just one of those things. It has special resonance just now because it's about him moving to the coast to write his album, but it stopped me in my tracks long before we thought to move to the seaside.

I've attached it here - have a listen. Tell me if your throat swells.