The man in 12A nods briefly as I slide into the seat beside him. We’re pretty excited; on this no-frills flight we’ve somehow managed to score an exit row. Greg stashes the backpacks in the overhead locker and we settle in for what’s going to be a comfortable couple of hours. As we taxi away from the gate I press go on my podcast, Greg’s well into his book and our neighbour’s already asleep. Life’s good.

Not long after the plane has levelled out and the captain has completed the flight info update, the drinks trolley rattles up the aisle.

‘I think I’ll have a coffee,’ Greg says. ‘Would you like anything?’
‘Mmm… tea might be nice. The wallet’s in my bag up top.’

Greg flips open the locker and after a bit of rummaging around, pulls out a small wallet that’s chockablock with credit cards and cash. Greg looks at it, slightly puzzled. We seem to have more money that he’d thought. In the next moment, three things happen simultaneously.

I realise that, though it’s very similar, that’s actually not our wallet. Greg – who hasn’t yet cottoned on – smiles, gives a little shrug and closes the overhead locker. And our neighbour wakes up to see Greg palming his wallet.

There’s a short, though slightly awkward, exchange and the mistake is sorted. Greg replaces the wallet and our neighbour graciously accepts the explanation that we do indeed have a card holder that’s just like his, and that his backpack and mine – both grey Ospreys – are almost identical.

‘What are the chances of that?’ we laugh (maybe just a bit too much).

But by the time we’ve bought him a coffee – using our own cash – we’re all chatting happily about where we’ve come from and where we’re going. Turns out our new friend is from Atlanta, Georgia and is heading to the UK to play golf.

After we land Greg unloads the backpacks from the locker and we laugh again at the strange coincidence of us both having the same bag. Then there’s a pause as our new friend reaches in to get his wallet. It’s not where it was originally, not in the top pocket either…

‘Where is it?’ I whisper over my shoulder.
‘I don’t know – in there somewhere.’

Finally – after what feels like forever – our friend locates his wallet. All good. Everyone’s happy.

We disembark the aircraft, share a warm handshake and go our separate ways, each with a funny new story to tell. This is ours. We’re pretty sure, though, that on a golf course somewhere in England, there’s an American telling the one about the flight he took with a couple of Aussies who tried to lift his wallet while he slept.