Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve heard it all before, but it was another beautiful day in paradise today, although I have still not had to hold up my end of the bargain of going for a plunge in the pool if the temperature tops 20^o.

Ahead of us today, we had a fun filled schedule in mind, taking in the sights, smells, sounds and touch of the carnival. The annual Alice Springs Show has come to town and we are off to enjoy the heady atmosphere. Us, and it seems like everyone else, had the same idea, as the show grounds were crammed to bursting point with sugar hyped excited kids, harried show bag laden parents, dust ridden station hands on a rare trip to town and the likes of us, bugged eyed tourists drinking in the wild ambiance of a true country show and all the curiosity it garnered. Along with the flamboyant, over amplified spruiking of the sideshow alley attendants, all egging you on to burst a balloon with a dart, catch a rubber duckling from a doughnut shaped pond, choke a clown with a pingpong ball, or knock off a tin silhouette of a duck with an air rifle in the hope of procuring an unneeded giant stuffed panda, there was the loud distinctive fairground music being pumped out on a incessant loop from the garishly whirling and whizzing rides, accompanied by the never ending screams of mixed terror and delight from those intent on bringing back up their showground lunch of fairy floss, hot dogs, toffee apples and assorted lollies and chocolates, all washed down with a substantial stream of fizzy soft drink.

Only slightly quieter, but no less packed with thrilled patrons, the long tin sheds that served as pavilions were full of the handiwork of locals and other displays. From the youthful scribbles of kids to print worthy photographs of semi-professionals, from single flowers to huge floral arrangements, from eggs and produce to delectable looking cakes and biscuits, it was all arranged for display and judging, ribbons, medals and awards being handed out in all manner of categories. Another old shed was set up like a market, lined with stalls selling everything from stained glass knick-knacks, to clothes, to as seen on TV gadgets that seem like a bargain when you get three for the price of one, until you get home and realize that even one was too many. The third pavilion housed stands operated by local businesses and services, all replete with tables of free goodies. We managed to collect an undeterminable number of pens, notepads, stickers, balloons and even CDs, as we swept through grasping at whatever we were able, the mantra “If it’s for free, it’s for me” running a never ending track through my mind.

Out in the streaming, warm sunshine, we were treated to more typical rural sights and activities. The Flying Pig Show springs to mind, which featured astronomically quick pig races as well as the highlight of the demonstration, the high diving pigs leaping in a single bound from springboard to pool.

Racin’ Bacon.

Flyin’ Bacon.

Several country outfitters had set up their mobile stores on the edges of the grassy arena, which piqued my interest, especially when I found yet another pair of boots to add to my burgeoning collection. Bec couldn’t even say no, considering her purchase of a pair of boots already this trip.

Now, That’s My Sort Of Truck.

That brought us to the livestock displays, where snooty canine owners were waltzing their over coiffed pooches around the ring, while chickens, roosters and turkeys competed in a cacophony of cock-a-doodle-dos and muscular bovine beasts snorted in their steel fenced pens.

Weary from our day of roaming from end to end of the show grounds, we sat down for a short period to watch the grand parade. As well as an escort of emergency vehicles from all of the services, riders atop fantastic equine specimens and a cavalcade of cattle, there was an odd assortment of private vehicles, obviously invited to take part as they belonged to sponsors. There was even a motorised disability scooter taking part.

The Grand Parade Comes To Life.

Our day at the show came to a conclusion with a brief joyride in a helicopter. Six minutes of airtime saw us soar high overhead of our caravan park, Mount Gillen and back to land softly and all too soon at the oval from whence we started. It was exhilarating, seemingly floating in the clear sky, just a gentle thump of the rotors cutting through the air above us audible through the sound deadening headsets.

Along The Ridge Line.

Bec Enjoys The View.

Coming Back To Earth.

We left the show, our faces plastered with smiles as big as those on the clowns in the sideshow alley, although we quickly went from feeling like mega rich luminaries, being chauffeured around in a private chopper, to having to suffer the deflating indignity of dumping the contents of our dunny can only minutes later as we left the show grounds. As I poured the contents down the drain at the public dump spot, the helicopter flew overhead, almost as if to humiliate me.

By the time we returned to the van, we had been out for about 5 hours, the longest we have left the dogs to their own devices this trip. It was with somewhat anxious concern that I thrust the door open, to be greeted by them hurtling from the bed excitedly towards me. For the remainder of the afternoon as well as showing the dogs some affection, so they know that we still love them, we spent some time performing the necessary evils of housework before going out to dinner.

Thanks to the incessant adverts we have seen on TV, we headed for the local ‘Gillen Club’ where Friday nights is wings and ribs night at the Bistro. What sounded like a good time as we ordered it, a full rack of beef ribs each, served with chips and an all you could eat salad bar turned out to be our undoing. Bec slavered through half of her rack, leaving me to complete the challenge. A rack and a half later, my head was starting to swim as the meat sweats threatened to engulf me, in front of me sat only a plate of sucked clean rib bones. YUM!

Until next time, have fun, stay safe and don’t forget to write.