Originally published in The Clifton Courier, September 26, 2018

I forget something on pretty much every trip I take.

I currently don’t have a wise-cracking seven-year-old son called Kevin to leave at home while on holiday, but I wouldn’t put it past me. Because it seems I always forget something. One time, on a work trip, it was my laptop. Another time, while heading to a music festival, it was my ticket to said festival.

I’ve just come off the back of another trip home and am astounded by the things I forgot. It wasn’t so much what I omitted from my luggage, but more the things that slipped my mind.

And as I sat on the carpet at the airport, attempting to counteract my sloppy appearance by typing on my laptop like I was an important businesswoman, I collated everything I forgot (well, at least, the things I remembered that I’d forgotten) during this trip:

My phone charger: I could picture it, still plugged into the wall at my sister’s place, mocking me. I hoped I had enough battery left to crank some sweet tunes on my flight; otherwise it would have been a disaster.

I like having a bit of a chat with the person next to me, but an hour-and-a-half is a long time to make small talk. Plus, I don’t know anything about the weather, haven’t kept up with the NRL and haven’t watched a single episode of The Bachelor, so wouldn’t be able to pull my weight when discussing current events.

As such, eliminating the pressure to make conversation by listening to music is a must.

Plus, I doubt the captain takes music requests and, even if they did, would probably ignore my demand they play The Whole of the Moon four times in a row.

A white jumper: Yes, I made the mistake of wearing white to an event where red wine was served. And this might not have been such a disaster last year, when I could only stomach the sickly-sweet white wines that, despite making you feel like an overused dishrag the next day, don’t leave a physical mark on your clothing.

But now I’m a red wine drinker. I don’t even dilute it with lemonade anymore. And that makes for high-risk sessions.

I suppose that’s why red wine is associated with maturity, because by the time you begin enjoying red wine, you’re supposed to be able to handle your drinks… well, supposed to, anyway.

I left my jumper to soak in the laundry tub at my friend’s place, so I’m hoping to pick it up in a few weeks, crisp, clean and wine-stain-free.*

* I have yet to hear an update about the state my jumper. But, then again, I haven’t asked. I feel like it would be a bit rude. 

A bunch of flowers: I’d bought a bunch of birthday roses for Mum and put them in the fridge at my friend’s house to keep them fresh until I met up with her.

But when I met Mum for lunch, I realised I’d left the flowers behind. So I did the honourable thing: I splashed out and shouted her a round of cheesy garlic bread.

I was disappointed because, while the holy trinity of carbs, cheese and garlic makes for one heck of a birthday treat, flowers would have been a nice touch.

However, I am hoping my accidental floral offering to my mate might entice her to wash my jumper.

Now, this all sounds a wee bit negative. And one of my sisters told me I was a Pessimistic Polly – my words, not hers – so I’ve decided to look at the positives. Here are some of the things I remembered on my trip:

A festival-appropriate coat: This is an old parka of Mum’s I once borrowed and never returned. It’s a great size for throwing over a jumper and, as I discovered, has the perfect pocket-depth to hold a bottle of wine on each side.

The time of my flight home: I was once so late to the airport I basically sprinted across the tarmac to the plane and never want to cut it that fine again.

Sure, that time I made it to the plane, but the stakes were too high.

I mean, buying one plane ticket back to Sydney is distressing enough, but buying two because I missed the first flight would be too much to bear. So I arrived with at least 40 minutes to spare.

This left me enough time to get to the plane without having to re-enact Home Alone (I know, two references in one column… Christmas is coming ya filthy animals). I had time to indulge the weird three-trips-to-the-bathroom-before-flying superstition I’ve developed.

And I even had enough time to sit around the airport to write this column – which I’ll hopefully remember to send at a reasonable hour.*

* I did not. According to the timestamp on my email, I sent this to the Courier at 11.39pm.