Tuesday Tesco. Not the airport.
That’s the difference. We’ve already done the holiday go-bag — flights, security letters, packing like you’re emigrating with a pharmacy. Useful if you’re actually going somewhere. Most of us, most weeks, aren’t. We’re doing the school gate, the bus, a supermarket run, a waiting room with a hard chair and a flare that’s decided today is its day.
So this is the everyday kit. The small, ugly, loyal bag that lives in the car, the rucksack, or by the front door. Not glamorous. Not a “wellness haul.” Just logistics for a flare day in UK life.
If you’re new here and still clocking what HS even is, start with our What is HS? page, then come back. This post assumes you already know the messy bits.
What’s in the kit (quick list)
- Spare dressings or absorbent pads you already trust
- Spare pants (dark, soft waistband)
- One soft clothes swap (joggers or plain tee)
- Gentle unscented wipes + hand wipe / gel habit
- Spare dark top when leak risk is real
- Your usual over-the-counter pain relief if that’s your habit (not a prescription)
- Short phone notes for GP / waiting-room brain fog
- Nappy sack / small bin bag for the wet dressing
What this kit is (and what it isn’t)
It’s not medical advice. Site footers cover that. I’m a bloke living with HS, writing what has saved me from a worse Tuesday — not telling you what to take, how much, or what “should” work.
It isn’t the travel post. If you’re packing for a flight or a weekend away, go read Travelling with HS. Different job. Different bag. This one is for when the furthest you’re going is Lidl and a school pick-up.
It also isn’t a redo of the wardrobe essay. Soft clothes matter on a flare day — we covered friction, underwear and seams already in What to wear with HS (UK friction & clothes). Here I’m only talking about what goes in the bag, not rebuilding your drawer.
The bag itself — small, boring, ready
Mine’s a zip pouch. Nothing fancy. Something you can open one-handed in a disabled toilet or the car before you lose the plot.
- Keep it packed on quiet days — don’t build it at 7am while swearing.
- Restock after a bad week. Used the last pad? Empty wipe packet? Fix it then.
- One home — car, rucksack, or hallway hook. Hunting mid-flare is its own hell.
Modest on purpose. Not a suitcase. Enough for the next few hours without a leak turning into a full meltdown.
Spare dressings / pads
If you’ve got HS that weeps, you already know: the dressing that was fine at breakfast can be a sodden joke by lunch.
What I personally keep:
- A couple of spare dressings or absorbent pads of the sort I already use at home
- Something to stick or hold them if that’s how your setup works — tape, tubular grip, whatever you’re already using
- A spare nappy sack / small bin bag for the wet one you’ve just peeled off (public bins exist; dignity still matters)
I’m not naming this as treatment and I’m not ranking brands here. We’ve gone deep on that in Best dressings for HS in the UK. Everyday kit rule is simpler: carry what you already trust, not a science experiment in a car park.
Spare pants + a soft clothes swap
Leak risk and damp dressings make spare underwear the least glamorous, most useful item in the bag. Darker pair. Soft waistband. Ones you’d actually wear, not the emergency novelty pants from 2014.
On a flare day I also keep one soft spare bottom or top option light — joggers or a plain tee — for when the outfit you left in has lost the argument. Not a full wardrobe. One swap. If clothes and friction are your main fight, that longer post is the place; this bag just carries the backup.
Clean-up without a drama
Public toilets. Car parks. The “I need two minutes” before school pick-up.
Lived pack for me: gentle wet wipes (unscented if perfume winds your skin up — mine often does), an extra wipe for hands after a dressing change, hand gel if that’s your habit after a public loo — not as an HS cure, just basic aftercare.
You’re not scrubbing for theatre. Clean enough for a fresh pad, then back to the day. Pat, don’t sandpaper yourself. Friction’s already doing enough damage.
Spare top when leak risk is real
Armpit flares, chest-area leaks, that sudden strike-through through a light shirt — a spare dark top in the bag has saved me more times than I’ll admit in polite company.
Doesn’t have to be smart. Has to be dry, loose enough not to fight the new dressing, and dark enough that you’re not staring at a map of the day on your chest. Double-layering a vest under a top is a travel trick that also works for ordinary leak-risk days — I’ve used both.
Pain relief — what I personally pack (not a prescription)
I keep my usual over-the-counter pain relief in the pouch — the same stuff I’d take at home on a rough day. That’s a personal packing habit, not a dose plan, not a brand recommendation, and not me telling you what to swallow in a bus station.
If your pain plan involves prescription meds, that’s between you and your clinician. This kit just means you’re not stranded empty-handed at the school gate inventing a pharmacy out of thin air.
Phone notes for GP / waiting-room brain fog
Flare days scramble your head. You walk into a waiting room and forget every useful sentence.
I keep a short note on my phone:
- Where it hurts / what’s leaking / what’s changed since last time
- What I’ve already tried at home (dressings, rest, whatever your routine is)
- Questions I actually want answered — not a novel, three bullets
Not a medical protocol. Just self-advocacy for when your brain is soup and the appointment is ten minutes. Same energy as packing pants: reduce the chance today gets worse because you went in empty-handed.
UK scenarios that actually happen
School run. Dressing shifts in the car. Two minutes, a wipe, a spare pad — kit in the motor beats hoping the school toilets help.
Bus / train. Wet pad, nowhere private. Spare pants + zip bag for the old one and you can still finish the journey.
Tesco / Lidl. Trolleys, bending, freezer-aisle heat — classic flare day comedy. Soft spare layer and a wipe beat abandoning the shop mid-shop.
Waiting room. Hard chairs, delay, brain fog. Phone notes beat blanking the GP. Spare pad means if something gives under the fluorescents, you’re not inventing a plan from nothing.
None of that is holiday packing. It’s ordinary British life with a body that doesn’t always cooperate.
Quick answers
- What’s in an everyday HS bad-day kit? A small zip pouch with spare dressings/pads, spare pants, gentle wipes, optional spare top, your usual pain relief if that’s your habit, and a short phone note for waiting-room brain fog.
- Is this the same as a travel go-bag? No — this is Tuesday Tesco / school gate / bus / waiting room. Holiday/airport packing is the Travelling with HS post.
- When do I build it? On a quiet day. Restock after a bad week. One fixed home (car, rucksack, or door).
Soft close
Build the kit on a quiet day. Restock it after a bad one. Keep it boring and close.
If you want the wider kit thinking beyond a pocket pouch, our HS survival toolkit is a springboard. Dressings deep-dive and the travel go-bag sit next door when you need them — different jobs, same disease.
Living Life With HS is patient-led — Support, Awareness, Self-Advocacy. Hang about the site if it helps. Share a Story when you’re ready via the Your Stories form. No pressure. No “just think positive.”
Pack for Tuesday. The airport can wait.