A Greyness of Nomads

As many of us are aware, technology has subverted the evolutionary order of things so that species-threatening stupidity is no longer likely to result in nature killing off individual herd members lacking in basic intelligence or wit.

Two loads of grey nomads arrived yesterday and within seconds were outside the laundry block complaining about where they could "hook up" to have running water in their caravans, which were parked literally fifteen feet away from the water taps in the ablution block - like, you would have to walk further than that in your house. But these were your fat shambling slip-on shoe type nomads, people who are so unfit that you wonder how they made it out of the house long enough to buy a caravan without having to be hospitalised en route.

Reminding them that they were at a roadhouse hundreds of kilometres away from a town in the remote Western Australian outback YOU MORONS where tragically we do not have the resources YOU COMPLETE NONGS to install personalised plumbing so that IDIOTS LIKE YOU can consume our limited water supply had no impact on their tiny Diet Coke & diabetes medication-laden brains. Fifteen minutes later I discovered them, working together as a wheezing, shuffling team, installing yards of hoses in the men's shower block and running them to a "portable" washing machine which they thoughtfully placed on the access path. This took them over an hour; clearly less trouble than carrying their single load of washing to the perfectly good washing machine in our laundry room ten feet away.

They then pestered me about tourist activities in the area, having been too busy for the past three months of travelling from Queensland watching MasterChef on the satellite TV to spare any time for research. "So what's Monkey Mia like?" asked one of the women. I said I thought it was a bit overrated but cute if you wanted to do the feeding thing. The seven-thirty am start for the dolphins put them off, however. "Well we certainly won't be getting up that early just to see some dolphins. Don't they have later feedings during the day?"  I indicated that I was unfamiliar with the dolphins' busy timetable and my little "bon mot" about the dolphins having rostered days off went unnoticed. "Doesn't sound worth while. What about the stromahelotomatolite thingies? They any good?"

At this point I wondered when they were going to notice that I was holding a mop, wearing latex cleaning lady gloves and speaking with a foreign accent, clues that any normal person might identify as "probably not a reliable source of detailed local knowledge". I suggested they try the radical step of calling Monkey Mia themselves, but this proved too much.

"Sounds like Kakadu all over again" said the first lady. "All that driving and petrol just to look at some scenery for half an hour, why bother?"

They've gone out for the day anyway, but I'm sure they'll be back in time for MasterChef. I hope the magnificent sunset vista of the outback that they've blocked off with their annexe doesn't spoil the view.