ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Lost and frightened on the edge of town, a Betoota Heights sexagenarian began to panic.
Marrion Rhiannon, a popular interior designer and art curator, found herself outside a textile factory in the outer south-eastern suburbs of the Betoota City Limits this morning without any means of getting herself back to her French Quarter offices.
What’s typically a short 20-minute drive, the 62-year-old recently lost her licence after a long seafood lunch at the Royal Diamantina Club and was forced to take a taxi.
However, none of the town’s 17 licenced taxis would take the booking as many of them have been burnt heading out there only to find nobody there.
“So I hailed the first bus that came past,” she said.
“I glanced at the timetable but I couldn’t make sense of all that gibberish. I haven’t caught a bus in years and I just had to get my bearings.”
Mrs Rhiannon stopped the 9:23 am 481 to Betoota Grove without any intention whatsoever to board it – she just had to be sure it wasn’t going where she needed to go.
Darcy Overell flicked on the blinker and jibed the big blue and white Volvo into the bus lane and opened the door for the flighty Virgo, only for her to begin bombarding him with questions as soon as the vehicle came to a halt.
“Are you going to the French Quarter, darling?” she asked.
“Ah nah. Kind of. I go down Harvey Avenue to Buckland then head up the hill to the Grove. It’s a little bit of a walk…”
Marrion interjected.
“Yes I know where that is, I’m just asking you if you’re going to the French Quarter because that’s where I need to go!”
Darcy smiled back, his tie dancing in the breeze.
“You’d be better off waiting for a 420. That goes to the French Quarter via the O’Hay Quay. It shouldn’t be too long.”
With that, Marrion alighted from the bus and the doors swung shut and the good people of Betoota Ponds were back on their journey into town.
More to come.
