Lessons from losing my wallet… again

Lost wallet

Stock image. Filled with far more valuable things than my own wallet, no doubt. 

AS anyone close to me will know, I’m no stranger to losing my personal effects. I’m not talking about random bits either. I’ve lost my phone at music festivals and other events and I’ve lost my wallet more times than I care to recall. That includes the time I lost it on the bus and chased said bus all the way to the other end of the main street, only to find my wallet had vanished in the space of 20 minutes.

Upon checking into my Melbourne hotel room on the weekend, I realised that I had lost it once again. It could have been in any number of places, too. It could have been at the airport in Sydney, it could have been on the plane, it could have been at Melbourne airport, it could have been on the bus we took from the airport to the city, it could even have been sitting somewhere randomly on the side of a Melbourne road, catching the eye of a human statue who could do little but stare.

Despite having not even a faint idea of it’s whereabouts, instead of getting frustrated and admonishing myself I remained oddly hopeful and unworried. Sure, it had all my bank cards, my drivers license, even my EB Games Membership Card (Level 2 and all!) and my membership card to the local leagues club, but all of those things can be replaced, right?

I called the airport, I called the airline, I lodged a lost property claim with the bus company, and I waited. No one had seen it. Still I wouldn’t let it bother me. I called the bank and had my cards temporarily suspended instead of cancelled and I went about having a great weekend. The only time I thought of my wallet was when I would do my pre-leaving check for personal effects.

On the morning of our return I thought I’d try one more time. I called the airline in Melbourne and they told me that in fact my wallet HAD been found, and turned in, BACK IN SYDNEY. My relief was palpable, despite being pretty sure it was all going to end for the best anyway. Somehow the wallet had made it back to Sydney on board the plane and been recovered by staff. Happy ending. My thanks to the people at Virgin.

What I realised during this time is that I DIDN’T NEED MY WALLET (or its contents) ONCE! Thanks to being able to check in digitally on flights with no ID, I got on the planes easily (what terrorism threat?). Thanks to cardless cash and being able to pay for things with your phone I didn’t need any of my cards either. Thanks to having a beard and looking older than already I am I wasn’t carded once. Not one time during the weekend was I left frustrated by not having my wallet.

I guess that just proves that there’s always something to learned, even if its relatively useless information and even a slightly sad indictment on modern times. I know we’re moving towards a cashless society and all our personal info is on a huge mass of various databases. I’m not naive.

Call me old fashioned, but I still like the feel of a fat leather object stuffed in my pants, so heavy with useless receipts, old cards, a guitar pick and other random shit that I have to make sure I’m wearing a belt just to stop it pulling my pants off. The days of the wallet might be slowly fading, but I’ll do my best to ensure it goes out in a blaze of slightly-warped-by-my-asscheeks glory. Vive le Wallet.

Solving the homeless problem

homelessTHE differences between Sydney and Melbourne are many, but one of the most prominent features I noticed on my recent trip south was the sheer abundance of charity cases trying to stop people on street corners, buskers (both good and truly appalling) everywhere and homeless people.

The first two didn’t really surprise me – in many ways Melbourne is what I imagine Sydney would be like if  people from Newtown were in charge. Cultural? Maybe – but at what cost? How many dreadlocks does a city really need?

What I didn’t expect, though, were the homeless people. Maybe up here they’re all residing in their tented communities in the middle of parks, but the number in Melbourne at any given time were astounding. They sit there, inert, often asleep, with those poorly written signs on damp cardboard that they know we’re not reading beyond the first line.

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Don’t Go Hoarse Over Horses

horse-bettingSo the Melbourne Cup was yesterday, and people are outraged. Not because of the billions of hard-earned dollars the TAB takes from problem gamblers and drunken idiots every day, not because of the photos of those munted chicks passed out on the grass, but because two horses died.

It’s sad. I can openly admit that two of the saddest moments I’ve ever experienced in my life were the death of my dogs. Sure, family members and friends were more than sad, but I love animals. Not in a Corey Bernadi kind of way, but something much more wholesome.

Horses broke their legs, and were shot as a result. Or maybe one of them had a heart attack – they jury’s still out. I’m not sure where, but perhaps someone should call them back in. Animal rights activists are jumping around like mad, which I personally find insulting to the horse. Continue reading