I’d checked into my Qantas flight online the day before, and waited ‘til after the 9am rush hour before calling an Uber…… when my phone peeped. It was a message from Qantas at 8.59am.

“We have had to make changes to your booking from Perth to Darwin due to operational constraints on the aircraft operating this flight, which means we have fewer seats available…”

They had rebooked me on Virgin, departing 10 minutes earlier than the original flight. Hastily I locked my bag, picked up my phone to book an Uber and went to wait at the verge.

‘Terminal Four.’

“You’re going to Terminal 4?” Yes, and I told him what had happened.

“But Virgin Airways operate from Terminal 1,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes – but I’ll make certain if you like?”

“Please!”

He did, while manoeuvring through the traffic. “You’ll have to change your destination,” he said, which made me confused. “On your Uber order.”

“Oh, how do I do that…”

Eventually, we arrived at Terminal 1, and I hurried to the check-in, commandeered an attendant and showed him Qantas’s message. He was a star. After trying to book me in, going behind the scenes and trying yet again, it appeared to work. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“I just need your ID,” he said.

I rummaged in my backpack, then, horror of horrors, realised I’d left my bumbag on the sofa at home. I rang my son. It went to voicemail. Take a deep breath, Jane. There was no time before take-off anyway for him to go to my house, collect the bumbag and battle with traffic to the airport.

“Don’t worry,” said the attendant, “I’ll see what I can do.”

He fiddled again with the computer behind the desk, and “There – it’s gone through,” he said with a flourish. “Here’s your boarding pass and baggage label – let me put it on for you.” He led me to the counter, and my bag disappeared.

In a daze, I climbed the steps to Departures and found my way to the Gate. A pleasant looking couple sat opposite me. My mind was working overtime. I know – I’ll ask my son to scan my driving licence ID and Medicare card and email them to me. My tour was fully paid, so I didn’t really need my credit card.

There was an announcement from the Boarding Gate. A long one. I raised my eyebrows at the opposite couple and cupped my ears, mouthing “can you hear what’s being said?” They shrugged.

People were standing up and leaving. Our flight was cancelled. We had to collect our baggage from the carousel and go to the Airline Information Desk. There I was, stranded with no ID, no money – and I was going to miss my connecting flight from Darwin the following day. Maggie was the name of the lady opposite. She pressed $50 into my hand. I couldn’t refuse her.

At the carousel I waited and waited. Then I noticed a bag hanging off it on the other side. It was mine, and the metal rim of the belt had caught on the zipper tag, tearing the corner of the case. I took it to the baggage window. No, they didn’t have any tape, nor any claim forms. I would be helped at the information desk.

The queue was miles long. Maggie was halfway up. She came to me. “Come and join us in the queue.” I needed to sit quietly and try to think straight. At least there was now time to get my bumbag – but my connecting flight worried me. I collared the Information lady after she’d addressed us all and asked for her help.

No – Qantas had to see to my onward booking, as they were the initiators of my trip. I tried to contact them by phone – no luck. I rang my Travel Agent, but they told me that matters were now in the hands of the airline. They couldn’t do anything for me.

I went out to the taxi rank and asked the fare to Terminal 4. It was $40. I wasn’t going to spend that much with the $50 note I had in my hand.

Then my son rang me. “What do you want me to do, Mum?”

“Can you please come – and bring my bumbag and a replacement suitcase?” And he did.

I transferred my belongings while he spoke to the Information lady. No – she confirmed that we had to contact Qantas. He drove me to Terminal 4 (ten minutes in heavy traffic). The Qantas office was closed, and they were still unobtainable on the phone.

We went back to Terminal 1. I tried to give Maggie back her $50, but she would have none of it. I asked for her mobile number.  “We must meet up after our respective tours.” (They were going on the Ghan from Darwin.)

Meanwhile, my son got back to the Travel Agents, demanded to be put through to the person I’d been dealing with, and persuaded her that it was her responsibility to change my Darwin-Gove flight and my hotel booking to the day after. Which she did.

AND I MADE IT TO THE START OF OUTBACK SPIRIT ARNHEM LAND TOUR!

But I didn’t feel I wanted to fly anywhere in Australia ever again…