Teh Royal Show - Part II

After the baby-chicken fiasco, it was off to get a $10 mini custom horseshoe made by the authentic Royal Show blacksmith. With the baby's name stamped into it, we were off to watch some woodchopping.

Woodchopping is awesome. They have either vertical or horizontal logs and big guys come up and chop them in half. I've chopped logs that size in half and it took me half a day, back before the most exercise I did in a day was push the mouse all the way to the top right to click the X. It takes these guys under a minute. There's always one guy that takes forever and you have you wait for him to finish, lethargically denting the wood with an axe that's suddenly become far too heavy. He usually gets the most applause, a tribute to the underdog, like a one-legged marathon runner.

Freshly hewn woodchips still clinging to our clothes, it was time for a beer so finally, off to the Coopers bar we went. As an aging drunk cracked onto the She_Admiral, I ventured to the bar and ordered a couple o' pints. This process repeated itself until the boozehound leering at my wife left and with him took the main source of my amusement. Damage - 4 pints. Back to the show.

By then it was "amusements" time. Any other time of the year, or at any other venue, they're called "rides", but at the show, they're officially "amusements". I loaded the She_Admiral up onto the miniature "Spinning Teacups" and immediately thought of TEA's own miniature - Splado. Chuckling to myself I watched wife 'n' baby spinning around at the 3 RPM that the She_Admiral had deemed to be a safe, non-spew speed and stoically snapped away with the camera. Same deal with the miniature trucks. Brilliant.

Thrillseeking gene satisfied we resolved to get some showbags and leave, and made out way through "Every Player Wins a Prize" land where some bird running a "Land the ball in the bucket" game yelled out for us to have a go. Momentary eye contact was all that was required for her eye tractor beams to lure me in for a "free try". It was the game where they have a plastic tub tilted 45 degrees towards you and you have to land 2 out of 4 balls in it to win something. If you hit the bottom of the tub, the ball bounces straight out and you're not allowed to ricochet off the sides or the top or bottom rim. Tubgirl handed me my balls (hah) and Icommenced my free turn. Sneakily, all the spare balls were stored in the "test tub" so when you lobbed a ball in, it generally hit one and then dispersed all its energy to remain meekly in the tub. This made it appear all too easy. Trial concluded, she asked if I wanted a shot for real. "Naarp!" I burped, but she She_Admiral was already scanning the display of stuffed animals, so I coughed up the $10 payment and got another set of balls.

First one was brilliant, arcing gracefully into the tub and staying there. Perfect! Or was it. Tubgirl stepped over and pointed at the sign - "If they hit the rim they don't count". "Yeah, so how was that one?" I asked. "Hit the rim!" she said, all previous "Roll up and have a go" cheerfulness drained from her carnie face. As there was no way my first inebriated toss was faulty, it was on. On like Donkey Kong!

Second lob was well clear of anything resembling a lip, landing dead onto the first ball. Both jumped around and stayed in, much to the chagrin of Tubgirl. "So, just one more, yeah?" I breathed in her direction, sweet second hand Pale Ale advertising my beer-laden intent. With beady eyes looking for any signs of error, Tubgirl could only watch with horror as the skillful backspinning third ball lofted into the tub, making contact over the lip and onto the sloped surface of the inclined tub, skidding almost to a half before gently contacting the first two balls. Victory was mine, an achievement announced with an appropriate Viking Quest bellow, while Tubgirl racked her poorly indexed brain for an excuse not to pony up the loot. Her thoughts were interrupted by a cry of "THAT ONE THANX!" from the She_Admiral, pointing at a fluffy stuffed dog. As Tubgirl reluctantly retrieved it, I piffed the last ball into the tub baseball-style, where it landed dead-centre and bounced back out into my waiting hand. I lobbed it gently to Tubgirl and we were on our way again for another celebratory beer.

While the Ensign ingested the cheap fibres of the stuffed animal into her infant lungs, I sipped a cold Paley and reflected on a day well spent. Any day away from the WCS is by default a good day, but this one was even better. Bright sunshine, cold beer and a happy little family plundering cheap trinkets from carnies - it simply couldn't get any better.

At least not without showbags, which we piled onto the baby like she was a Taiwanese "Master of Logistics" before trekking back to the car. Pissing onto the South Parklands, I made a mental note to record the charitable act at www.savewaterpissinthegarden.com when I got home.