Frog in a Bowl

Travelling further north on our return to Brisbane, we stopped in for a night in the Upper Hunter region at a motor inn in the little town of Scone. Getting to the Upper Hunter was a bit of a shock to the system as I was expecting this leg of our trip to be comparable to our stay in Pokolbin, at least in terms of scenery and quaint travel stops. It seems that the Upper Hunter bears little resemblance to its southerly neighbour, as the only sight that excited comment on the drive was the coal power station at Muswellbrook.

Scone itself was cute enough to explore on foot. Old heritage buildings from the early 1900s were scattered along the main drag and local business displayed a flair for clever puns and humour. I know I’d certainly be tempted to make use of a laundrette called “The Lost Sock”. The only disturbing pattern we observed on our short stroll was a curious passion for horses, clearly illustrated by the number of equestrian themed accommodation and the sole restaurant in town dubbed “Canter”.



What really stood out about our stay turned out to be an amphibious assault on our lavatory as we were leaving for dinner. A tree frog had obviously decided that our bog bowl would be a nice spot for a rest, and we were in firm disagreement. Being “city folk” we immediately asked our host for advice on the matter, to which he promptly laughed and suggested closing the lid and flushing. Apparently these visitors are fairly common events and contribute to country charm.



It took two flushes to repel our guest, and upon lifting the lid after the first attempt I was greeted to a look of thorough indignation from the mouth of the u-bend. Movement threatening to breach the water surface had an air of retaliatory response, so I swiftly shut the lid and unleashed another swirling deluge, which thankfully had the desired effect this time. Ah, these little country towns.