So I'm in the crappy white van with Maureen, about to turn on to the dirt track to escape after our final meal delivery at the infernal pensioners' flats, when we hear all this screeching squawking noise. Looking over, we see a bunch of people gathered around a white car jammed full of aboriginal people (like, about 17 of them), and a woman in these huge, HUGE filthy beige droopy baggy underpants being pushed into the back seat (on top of the 9 other people sitting in there) by some guy, and as she falls forward into the car with her bum sticking out, he starts spanking her.
I just sat in the driver's seat, staring for a few seconds in a "W...T...F...?" kind of way, then unbuckled my seat belt and started scrabbling around me for some kind of weapon (toss-up between the delivery list clipboard or a small plastic esky lid) while thumbing my mobile phone for the police number, but Maureen stopped me.
"Nah, she okay, dat her husband tryin to stop her fightin' dat other sheila."
"What? Why is she only wearing underpants?"
"Dat how dem women fight eh. Dey take clothes off, have a big fight. At least take pants off anyways."
"You're kidding."
"She allright, dem Wiluna mob, dey sort it out. Already puttin clothes back on."
Oh well that makes it all right then! Silly me! We drove off, back to the relative sanity of the aged care hostel, where Raylene was deep in planning notes for Seniors Week, asking us if we had any suggestions for activities we could run as part of our open day. Sadly my suggestion of hand-to-hand underpants combat around the communal gidgie fire was knocked back, despite the likelihood that it would be both popular, and memorable.
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