My sister, Leanne, just called me from somewhere out in the suburbs. Evidently, she’s pulled over at a service station, having a small nervous breakdown on account of her handbrake deciding to haywire on her. How that came up while she was driving at a 100km/h is beyond me, but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.

Then again, Leanne seems to get herself into somewhat inexplicable situations at the best of times. For example, just last week she was telling me that a family of magpies had made itself at home in her ducted heating. Since when is that normal behaviour for magpies? Anyway, I’m sure there’s something to the handbrake situation and it seems fair to want to do something about, although I do wonder if her level of concern is fully warranted.

It’s not really for me to say, I suppose. I told her I’d help her locate some recommendations for a local motor mechanic. Brighton being the nearest suburb, I’ve tried to convince her to jump back in the car and keep driving until she makes it there. She’s not having a bar of it on the grounds that anything to do with brakes is not to be messed with.

Maybe that’s a fair call – it’s not for me to say, and she should probably take the word of a qualified auto mechanic over mine. She might be waiting a while for that to happen is all, and I’m pretty sure that a few hours in a servo will send her over the edge. Then I’ll have to come and pick her up, just like that time a few months back when Leanne thought her car had completely broken down.

As it happened, all that was needed was a quick visit to the local garage in Brighton for car repairs. I wonder if Leanne can get a mobile mechanic to drive about an hour out of town to look into her complaint? More to the point, am I going to have to drive out to said location from Melbourne? If so, she’s going to owe me big time.