Shit Happens

Welcome to the Agglomeration

Good Friday for 2009. And quite a good friday it was indeed. Today I went to the Easter Show with two of my good friends Duncan and John and this detailed first person account of the proceedings and happenings that occurred at this strangely popular annual event begins when I have been dropped off by my Dad at about 5 minutes walking distance from the Show itself.

Deciding that nothing could be possibly more fun than proving my own statistic wrong, I take 8 minutes walking the distance from where I was let off to the agreed rendevous point, a bench outside Olympic Park station. As I make my way along the relatively straight path to said bench I have my trusty mobile phone in my right pocket, my camera in the left, a backpack with a bottle of homemade water (yeah that's right) with 30% lemon juice (woo for arbitrary statistics) as well as my wallet that contained some items of pecuniary nature. I decide to avoid the oncoming crowds of eager Easter-Show visitors by zigzagging my way haphazardly and soon see both Duncan and John in the distance walking toward me, saving me a trip to the fabled 'Bench of Meeting Place'.

A trip that I subsequently take anyway because of a particularly ingenious scheme that John devised for skipping the incredulously lengthy queue in front of the Ticket Sales Office which stretched approximately 29000 lengths of the width of my right thumb, give or take about 29000 lengths. Anyway, we proceeded to the ticket office at Olympic Park station and purchased a Showlink ticket for the same price as a Child's admission ticket with the added bonus of free public transport for the rest of the day. While Duncan and I were both pondering how John managed to come up with such a devious and successful idea, he took his self-glorification one step further, by pondering why other supposedly more smarter individuals didn't think of it. Not wishing to steal his thunder quite just yet, we walked to the entrance of the Easter Show itself.

One obstacle stood between us and the Show, a row of ticket-eating-and-spewing turnstiles. Now John, being the Easter Show addict that he is, didn't have a Showlink ticket like Duncan and I did, but rather a member's pass which pretty much enabled him to lots of special features and privileges as well as unlimited access to the show - Yes, it does sound like the premium membership of a porn site, but I swear that isn't the case in this instance - and so he faced quite a conundrum as we approached the turnstiles because he was not prepared to insert his flashy laminated card into the potentially dangerous flashy-laminated-card-eating-machine. And so, his second trademark idea for the day was to walk in front of Duncan as the person in front of them entered his ticket and walked through, and as the gates had not yet closed, John - with a degree of speed, stealth and co-ordination not frequently seen - slipped through the turnstile unscathed.

Watching on with amazement, we expect some sort of fallout - yes, the nuclear kind - but when John wasn't approached by a security detail or shot down by a rooftop sniper in the next ten seconds, we decided to take our good luck at face value and proceed to enjoy everything that the Show had to offer - which turned out not to be too much, but that's beside the point.

The first stop was the Woolworths Food Dome and we perused the number of stands carrying a range of culinary delights from chocolate cake to chocolate cake soap. We took samplings of anything we could such as fudge and chips but it was mostly a process of 'Oh look at this stand, I want to buy something here, oh but look how expensive it is, maybe there's some cheaper elsewhere, let's look a bit further before we buy anything' - rinse, lather and repeat.

From then on, we set off to the Showbags dome before it was completely saturated with the stench of human sweat to fulfill one of the long unfulfilled dreams of John. Buying a Powerade sports bag that he could use in Uni. While he proceeded to carry out this business transaction, Duncan and I decided to have a gander at the remaining bags on offer, deciding that they fell into one of three categories:

1. Food (thereby pointless)
2. Plastic Crap which we wouldn't use (thereby wasted)
3. Movie endorsed Crap such as Hannah Montana, Camp Rock and High School Musical 3 (thereby death-inducing)

and so we decided that none of the showbags took our fancy, and therefore being the wise entrepeneurs that we are, we didn't buy any.

A short food break ensued when John bought a Turkish delicacy (not be confused with Turkish delight) which he shared with us. That tasted fantastic, and having refueled we set off to the adjacent dome - The Zone - which would be the place where Duncan and I finally found what were looking for. Our quest ended at a poster store which featured beautiful pictures of all famous rock/metal bands imaginable as well as a few depicting vulgar yet humorous social analysis, one of which I consequently bought. It was entitled 'Shit Happens' and it is currently sitting rolled up on the desk next to me because of a Blu-tack deficiency in my abode. Duncan purchased a laminated Nightwish poster as well as an unlaminated Trivium poster, while John had a struggle with his morals as he couldn't decide between the superior poster - Quantum of Solace - or the superior movie - Casino Royale. Appearance finally won over logical reasoning and he decided to part ways with ten dollars for his Quantum of Solace poster.

Feeling all poster-ly and what not we decided to settle for some lunch, and what better to ease our rumbling stomachs than the very Muscle-Beach-esque 'Cheese on a Stick' accompanied by freshly made lemonade? Absolutely nothing, so we settled with this option by watching some of the Woodchopping festivities. We arrived too late for the main competition but we were treated to watching some (un)co-ordinated muscled men (and a woman) throw axes at a target painted on a trunk. The TAS and NSW competitiors managed 2 bulleyes and 14 points, while an utterly fail QLD thrower got only 7 points. The highlight of the event was when the QLD competitior was prepping his 2nd throw, and I was in the process of asking Duncan "Has the axe ever not wedged itself into the tree?" I was only halfway through this sentence when 'itself' was cut off by the sound of an axe hitting a tree trunk and subsequently falling onto the ground with a resounding 'thud'.

After seeing some Frenchmen fail at this task we decided to head off once more on our journey and as we made our way to where the dogs were supposedly having a competition, Duncan introduced both John and I into the game of 'Spartan footwear watching', as he would say 'This is madness' whenever some Spartan footwear attire could be distinguished from the tumultous crowd to which we would feel unnecessarily obligated to reply in a loud and disruptive tone 'This is...SPARTA'. When we got to the dog show, we immediately realised the error of our ways. The show was a complete success...of inactivity. A dog would be led on, and if it was female, we'd laugh when the commentators said 'Now let's welcome our next bitch...' and after a minute or so of doing nothing, it'd be announced it would a prize of 'Best Bitch in '. As I said, total inexplicable porn.

So we retraced our steps with following our metaphorical bits of bread and string back to the Food Hall where we started our visit, to undergo some more vigorous sampling and buying. John and I sampled some Indian curry, while Duncan bought a small but heavy bag of everything liquorice. Delicious. After that when we realised we still had an hour to go but we had exhausted practically everything we wanted to do (we were vehemently opposing the idea of going on the rides) John decided that he would spend all his available money at all costs, even if it meant squandering it at rigged game stalls. And so squander at rigged game stalls he did. Firstly, he paid $5 for a two shots of Basketball. He gone one of the two in and so won some small white disfigured gloop of bear. Then $4 was paid at a 'Test your Strength' game because rowers apparently feel a need to prove their 'buff'ness and somewhat hilariously he didn't perform as well as the five year old girl before him. Better luck next time. At least you've got a disfigured orange gloop of tiger.

Then we decided it would probably be the best idea to return home prematurely so as to post the pictures taken on Facebook and write a lengthy and comprehensive recount of the day's events on Blogger. We bid farewell to John but not before an interesting encounter with some other more junior Newingtonians led to the following conversation between Random Girl #3 and Duncan:

Random Girl #3 - Oh Lewis, I know that name! That's why you look so familiar. Are you related?
Duncan - No.
Random Girl #3 - Oh.
Duncan - Yes, I am...
Random Girl #3 - No wonder! You look exactly like him!

As we quickly took our leave to the station we found that it was 5 minutes until our next train. We took photos (just one) until my camera battery died and then spent the next minute wondering why I bothered to pick up a free Daily Telegraph showbag which contained a DVD case for a 8-part Wildlife series except the case was empty and there were no disks in there at all. Stupid product placement. Stupid cross-promotion.

We caught our train to Central and there as my train was leaving in one minute, we parted ways.
And so I was to return home and quickly go on my computer to post an album on Facebook containing said photos and then write this blog entry.

Now that it's done, there's only one thing left to do. Find Blu-Tack for my 'Shit Happens' poster!

Till next time, may you agglomerate all your unpremeditated contemplations