Was living in Germany and my mom was visiting. We'd decided to fly back to CPH rather than drive. Taxi ordered, we head for the train station with an assortment of bags, wheelies and a singular backpack holding my laptop, phone, keys, wallet and other important bits and pieces. I arrange with mum that she'll take the backpack onboard and I'll slug the rest. Train arrives, we board and grab a couple of seats on the 1st floor of the carriage.

As we motor down the rails I ask for my backpack, which results in mum looking like a dear caught in the head-lights. Yup, she forgot it at the station. We hop off on the next station, jump into a taxi and head back. As we approach the original station, it's cast in a series of flickering blue lights. Yup, someone's seen the backpack sitting all by it's lonesome and called the law. They were in the process of cordoning off the station, when I quietly ask an officer if the issue might be related to a black backpack sitting on a bench on the platform between tracks 3 and 4. He looks at me puzzled and asks it it's mine. I sheepishly say yes, thinks it is, and he walks me to the platform. True enough, there she is. Mum and I receive a right old bollocking from no less than 3 police officers, with both of us frantically looking for a hole in the ground we can disappear into.

We catch the next train going to DUS, but by this time we're not just fashionably late but nearly fatally so. I call my girlfriend and pass her our details, allowing her to check us in on-line (smartphones were not yet that smart, and my Crackcherry at the time certainly didn't have to mojo to perform such transactions), and we make a wild dash from the train station to the terminal, through security and - for the first time ever - breeze past the smoking room and head directly for the gate. We made it, barely, and mum had the honour of buying no less than 4 Jack D's as atonement. Which, for a 1 hour flight, isn't bad at all.