Losing It

I got a call earlier this evening from a nice man named Wayne at QPAC, informing me that he had my wallet. I was most surprised, as I was unaware that it had left my possession.

I'd been at the Concert Hall today to watch The Wah roll off the QUT production line as a freshly-minted graduate (a very proud moment; although we stopped short of greeting his debut into Bachelorhood with a vuvuzela blast, which was the triumphant sound that welcomed one of his fellows).

In all the excitement I must have left my wallet somewhere, and had no idea it was missing until Wayne gave me a buzz. He said it had been handed in, and he had tracked me down through the White Pages. I arranged to drop by tomorrow to pick it up, marvelling at the kindness of strangers that still exists in the world.



It was a much more pleasant experience than the last time I lost my wallet, at Hong Kong airport back in September. I'd just purchased a beautiful Swatch watch (I'm slightly addicted to Swatch watches), but left my wallet on the counter. I only realised after I cleared Customs, meaning I couldn't just pop back to get it. I went to about three different frustrating helpdesks before finding someone who would actually help. The kind staff used their own iPhone to find the number of the Swatch shop, and call them. One of them then crossed back through to get the darn thing. I was incredibly relieved.

By the way, that story proves the value of gluttony. I only realised the wallet was gone when I was queuing up for a Starbucks. Had I not had a craving for a chocolate cream frappucino, I would have boarded that flight sans money, credit cards everything.

Anyway, my father would tell you I'm a shocker for losing things, particularly wallets. It's true, I've lost my fair share. I remember the first one I lost was at Hawaii airport, just as we were beginning a two-month family trip in 1991. It wasn't much, but $24 in greenbacks is a lot to a 10-year-old.

The most spectacular wallet loss was probably in 1999, when I was leaving work at Coles to drive to a rehearsal at Redcliffe. I'd bought a few supplies and left the wallet on the roof of the car before driving off. I had wondered at the time why a car behind me was honking its horn so violently. A couple of weeks later all my cards arrived in the post, in an envelope with no return address. So I was never able to track that person down to say thank you, or to ask what had happened with to the $40 cash I had in the wallet at the time.

The other thing I've lost recently - along with my dignity, my patience and Paradise - is my beautiful Zoom Q3 audio/video recorder. Damn I loved that thing. It was sitting in its blue pouch on the kitchen bench one day, then bam! Gone. I've checked everywhere - the house, the car, work, my desk at parliament - and nothing.

Though not particularly Catholic anymore, my mother still swears by the sniffer dog abilities of St Anthony, the patron saint of recovering lost things. But St Anthony must be aware of the copy of The God Delusion on my bookshelf because he hasn't come up with the goods on that one.

"Somebody tell Spielberg I'm all over it."

I'm sure I can't be the only one. What have you lost?