These are my sort of people.
I was chatting with a dear lady I've known for many years today. Living alone on her cattle property, she's a fiercely independent woman.
She's eighty, but with the body and come hither looks of a woman a third of her age. For years she's been regaling me with stories of how she flirts with the men working in the neighbouring state forest, inviting them over for cups of tea so she can have a purve.
Oh, yeah, she works it.
She's finding it a bit tough lately though because her mind is slipping with age, but so far she's managed to keep a grip on her sense of humour.
"They're taking my licence away from me," she complained to me today when I bumped into her. "I don't understand it. I'm dreadful in the car - I keep bumping into things and getting lost - but you should see me slashing the paddocks with the tractor! Beautiful straight lines. I really don't understand it."
"Well the thing with roads is they're full of corners," I explained to her.
"That must be it," she agreed. Just then her forty year old son raced past on a mission, not even glancing our way despite passing less than four feet from us. "I've got three more idiots just like him," she said as he disappeared from view. Then she started digging into her handbag. "The councils gone and sent my rates notice to the wrong address. I was just over there trying to sort it out." She pulled out her phone bill. "This isn't my rates notice," she frowned. "Maybe I haven't done that yet."
"Mum!" her son snapped as he approached us again. "I've been looking for you everywhere. You were going to wait for me at the Telstra shop."
"Was I? Are you sure? Oh dear, I've done it again," she told me, chuckling. "I'll worry about the rates notice some other time, I think. I better go straight home." She gave me a cheeky wink. "Shouldn't be a problem if I just avoid the corners."