Mystery of the granny backpackers in the night

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The midnight silence was abruptly curtailed by a shock of sound.
A noise indicative of an approaching stampede emanated from the tin roof above.

After hours of relishing a gripping narrative by headlamp in the comfort of a cozy bed, my golden solitude was interrupted. Maureen the ‘manageress’, a bastion of meticulous preparedness for the CWA Outback Mothers Memorial Hostel, had lost all her usual composure; she charged in, nightie flying. As she burst into my room, I put down my book like a guilty teenager busted in the act.

Her voice radiated with a frightful fervour, “The pipes have burst, I just know it!”

I jumped up out of bed to turn on the lights, and help Maureen locate the leak.

The wavering voice of my elderly neighbour called out tremulously through the wall, “What’s that noise?”

Suddenly, the frightful commotion subsided.

“That’s it!” Maureen exclaimed, “Whatever you’ve done, you made it stop!”

An old granny voice sheepishly sang out, “It was my vibrator! It has a mind of it’s own!”

Peels of laughter tore through the house, rewarding our outback granny detectives for another job well done.

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Comments

[iona]

such blend of artless human with humanity
hi S wild humour love it I