You’ve got the right stuff TERMINUS HOTEL Morgan

I ROCK UP TO THE bar of the Terminus Hotel at Morgan with a message from a mate.

Tony’s a water man - a bloke whose enthusiasm for boats, especially wooden sailing boats, knows no plimsoll line. A few months earlier he was sailing his new obsession up the Murray with his son, Tim, and as they were mooring at Morgan the young fella stood on something nasty and slashed his foot. Badly.

They wrapped it up (yes, gaffer tape was involved) and headed into the pub, a pub they’d never been to before. They were told the town was medico-deficient on Saturdays – the closest qualified help was at the Waikerie Base Hospital 40kms away.

And getting there?

“Not a problem”, said the Publican, “take my ute. There’s no keys, just turn the lock and it’ll start. Oh, and the windows don’t work, the levers are buggered but it’ll get you there. Help yourself, it’s out the back”

They got