If you’re planning a party tonight, take heed of the following story as told by former camp manager, Huon Grey.
One afternoon sometime during the 1960s a car drove into the camp ground. Behind the wheel was a rather worried looking bloke accompanied by a dog. He climbed out from his car and the following conversation ensued.
‘Gidday, gidday, how’re you doing?’ asked the stranger rather awkwardly. ‘OK.’ says Huon, more than a little curious and noticing that his visitor was completely toothless.
‘We had a bit of a party here last night’, said the man sheepishly, ‘and I got a bit, well….you know, a bit boozed… and don’t remember too much. What I can remember is going into the toilets and, well… you know…I wasn’t feeling too good, the food maybe, and now, well…I can’t seem to find my false teeth. Do you think they might turn up when the cleaners come through? They were mighty expensive.’
‘Well that’s tough luck, I guess they might.’ said Huon. ‘But they’re more likely to be in the septic tank, and that would be the end of them I’m afraid to say.’
The bloke had a look around but had no luck locating his precious dentures and left the camping ground looking downcast and rather forlorn. He returned several times that same day but still had no luck. Towards evening he appeared in front of Huon with a beaming smile complete with a mouthful of teeth.
It seems that he’d almost given up and was understandably feeling quite miserable at the thought of having to shell out a lot of cash on a fresh set of choppers. While sitting with a cup of tea and racking his brains for clues to his teeth’s whereabouts, Foxy, his dog, bowled up to her owner with something in her mouth.
‘Turned out to be my top plate’, exclaimed the once distressed but now visibly relieved man. ‘I encouraged her to get busy looking for the other half and she ran around the back of a tent and started scratching through a pile of muck and there it was – my bottom plate! So here I am, all back together again…’