April 14, 2011

Why are the Woogs eating Mince?

Woogs are eating mince because we have a plan to go to the Royal Easter Show next week. And it is a known fact that you need an obscene amount of money to go to the Royal Easter Show. We are not big on rides, limit the showbag frenzy and try not to buy too much crap. Even still, we manage to drop a motza at the show.

So while I go and read my new book, I will share with you a report from last years Royal Easter Show.

The streets of Sydney were empty on Good Friday, as it would seem the entire population had descended on the Royal Easter Show. Woogs included. We emptied out our bank accounts, wrote mobile numbers on kids backs, had several fights in the car and then we were there. We handed over $100 for 4 tickets. Mr Woog kept asking "What do we get for $100?" and I kept replying "Entry." It eventually dawned on him and he went pale.

Oh I love the show. I could sit and watch people all day. The fascinating mix of families that stroll by. There are clear groups of people that attend the Royal Easter Show. Too many to mention. I will however point out my favourites.


To me, the sideshow is not about the rides and games, but the people who run them. They are either morbidly obese or dangerously scrawny. Either way, they are without fault unattractive. They love smoking and grunting. You do not want to fuck with a carnie. I love them. I want to make a documentary about them... or at least watch a documentary about them. How did they become a carnie? Why is it ok to live in your ride? Where do your ten kids go to school? Where do you wash? Do you wash? What about carnie turf wars?? Oh the endless questions I would ask a carnie.


Always skinny, particularly the more successful at showing you get. You do not see fatty boombarladies in tight pants at the Royal. Slim and pretty. These are the lucky ladies who were born lucky little girls whose daddy's bought them ponies and then ferried them about to show them off. The younger kids seem disinterested and I suspect they would rather be eating a dagwood dog. The mums and dads check their Rolex's to see what time the Open Champions Novice Reserve Under 8 Girl Rider with Plaits starts. There is much polishing of ponies and chatting with the Maple-Browns. Fantastic.


I like the dog people. They are very very committed to their dogs, as long as the dog is absolutely perfect. The women who show dogs have terrible dress sense. Very bad. I think they are saving their money to import frozen dog sperm from the States, when they should be really freshening up their wardrobe. They are normally chunky and wear boxy two-piece suits in a pastel colour with Kumfs. The men, however are fantastic! What a competitive spirit! All very serious and on edge while competing, only to let out squeals of delight when they are named winner. I watched the King Charles Spaniel Best In Breed class and almost wet my pants, such was the tension. And when the bitch won, there was delightful squealing from almost everyone!


A surprisingly cheerful crew who are slaves to their charges. Cat Breeders usually live in squalor while their cats often lap up luxury in specially built shelters. You can be charged thousands of dollars for a pedigreed cat and it will come with a super bad name such as Belvedere Dandelion Perfections. The cats are confined to small cages except when they are felt up by a judge for a few minutes. This is because cats are notoriously uncooperative. This cat must have been tasered before this shot was taken. It looks a little grumpy, considering all the prizes it has won.


Like ours, except more members. Mum pushing a double pram which is laden with 35 showbags. She may or may not be yelling. Dad walking ahead with a few more kids. He may or may not be wearing a silly head piece from one of the showbags. All will be eating something from the carbo, deepfried, sugary, salty family and laughing at horse poo.

I love the show. We have already begun a savings plan for 2011. We will give the Robosaurous a miss and head straight to the flying pigs next year. My inner westie came out when we watched the precision driving team and we all enjoyed a bowl of curly fries, which taste just like regular fries, except they are curly. I only had to visit the public loo once which for me is a good thing as I have a phobia about them and suspected the ones at the show would be truly heinous.

We managed to find the exit without losing anyone or anything and we were up one Angelina Ballerina and one Cowboy showbag. And a maxed out credit card.

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