One of the reasons I committed to writing
this blog weekly (which I’ve been doing for about 10 months, by the way, where
is my medal?) was to document for my mostly city-dwelling readers what living
in a country town is actually like. I haven’t really done that much lately,
mostly because living in a country town is a lot like living anywhere else. Do
you guys really want to hear about studying and going to work and paying bills
and doing normal stuff? Nope. But I had a decidedly country-town experience this
weekend, so I thought I would share it with you.
The Dalby and District Show, I’m sure, is
much like many other country town shows. But it’s the only one I’ve been to,
and it’s pretty cool, so I’m gonna tell you about it. We went last year, but I
had only been in Dalby about a month, and everything was new and baffling and
strange. I don’t think I really took much of it in, and it was a cold blustery
day and I kind of just wanted to be at home, I think.
This year, though, we knew what we were
doing. If you’ve never been to a country show, let me break it down for you.
The Dalby show is a wonderful mix of old and new – cattle showing and dressage
next to terrifying rides and neon lights. Think a tiny, way better Ekka, rather
than a shit version of the Ekka. It’s way better because it costs a lot less,
has far fewer gross people in it and is not associated with flu epidemics. It’s
also just a generally more enjoyable experience.
My one criticism would be that the people
who run it, while probably being great organisers, are not so great at
communicating. It was almost impossible to find a schedule either online or in
hard copy, and even when we did it was wrong. We deliberately arrived in time
for the pet parade (a pet parade,
people. A parade of pets. This is not a drill). You have no idea how excited I
was for the pet parade, or how devastated I was to learn it had been cancelled.
After learning that my dreams were over, we
went exploring. First up was the hall, which was filled with all the prize-winning…
everything. Scones, flower arrangements, terrifying cake decorations that look
like the bust of a gypsy, fruit, giant vegetables, crochet, photography, art,
all the things. I suppose it is probably patronising to say these displays were
adorable, and I don’t mean to be offensive, but walking up and down the aisles
in that hall was like going back in time. The creations were generally quite
impressive, but for me the true highlight were the names. A lot of the
competitors are children, and it’s awesome to see them getting involved with
tradition and culture, but most of the names were old lady names. Berryls and
Beverleys, Mavises and Dots. The best part is finding the same name over and
over again. Oh look Beverley took out first prize in the cakes, the crochet AND
the flower arrangements. What a bitch. I bet all the Mavises hate her.
Of course at this point we start to see
students. Boyfriend is a high school teacher, as you know, which meant choruses
of “Hi Mr _____!” “Is that your girlfriend, Mr. _____?” (We were holding hands,
he responded with “no!”- hilarious). The show is an excellent opportunity for
teenagers to be teenagers. I’m sure living in a country town must seem a bit
tough for some of these kids, so having rides and games and sugar and loud
noises for a weekend must be the best. It was fun watching so many kids having
such an excellent time.
After watching the fashion parade and
seeing the sights, I had one thing on my mind. Sheep dog trials. Hoo boy was I
excited about sheep dog trials. Unfortunately, I was in a minority. Far from
the white picket stadium and jeering crowds of Babe, the Dalby Sheep Dog Trials were attended by a handful of the
competitors and a couple of families. Still, it was genuinely one of the most
interesting sports I’ve ever witnessed. The old man next to me could tell I was
interested and shuffled over to me.
“You know how it works?”
Desperate though I was to say, well I’ve seen “Babe” about 50 times, I
settled with, “no, fill me in”.
“You start with 100 points, and then the
judges start taking them off for mistakes.”
Knew
that, I think, whoever
said watching TV and movies would rot my brain did not predict this
conversation, obviously. “What kind of things will lose you points?”
“Going outside of the corridors, see them?
Marked with the pink things? Yeah, your sheep go out of them you lose points.
You miss an obstacle, you lose points. Every time a sheep walks back over
ground it’s already covered, you lose points.”
“Tough gig then?”
“You betchya, best sport in the world”.
To be honest I’m inclined to agree with him, it
was genuinely fascinating. The sheep were aggressive, stamping their feet and
bolting at every opportunity. The dogs were beautifully trained, seeming to
hear the thoughts of their trainers as much as anything else. One guy got so
close to finishing the course, hand on the gate and everything (Babe viewers know what I mean) and his
time ran out. Devastating. At another point, the sheep made a run for freedom
and the dog leapt through the air to stop them. Would’ve been a
disqualification, had there been any biting, but luckily (especially for the
sheep), there wasn’t. Yeah... I know stuff now.
We got some lunch and some lunch dessert, bought
some plants and then headed home for a while. We live just around the corner
from the show grounds so we could hear the noises and shouts all afternoon. We
headed back (no need to pay twice, just flash your ticket, take that Ekka) for
dinner and fireworks. The next evening we watched them again, from our back
door. I’ve never been one for fireworks, to be honest, but while leaning
against Boyfriend, watching bright lights explode in a dark, country sky, I
couldn’t help but think, “This is alright, you know? This is alright.”
