Can’t blog – Boychild and I are off to the Show. Girlchild has already put away childish things and has done the evening trip with the teenage posse. I thought I’d repost this from my old Blogger Cast Iron Balcony, September 2003. This will be my first experience of the show since they’ve torn the old horse and cattle sheds down and rearranged the whole thing, so I expect to wander around lost a fair bit.
Melbourne Royal Show
The little boy and I went to the show. I was suffering sensory overload from the fairground and rides so we wandered through the horse pavilion. This is an old building left over from the old ones built in the 50s, a run down, lofty shed. The loose boxes occupy about four rows in the space and at the end of every row there is a little tea room area, with an electric jug and some ratty old chairs and a table. This is where the people from the country hang out in between competitions and beauty treatments (for the beasts, not themselves).
We tiptoed along one row which was full of heavy draught horses. It seemed as if the owners had ordered the horses by size, so that every one we looked at was huger than the last. The very last one had a head, I swear, the size of a man’s torso. Or at least a teenager’s. I’m not sure but I think I saw cloud around the withers. That was a BIG horse. He looked at me the way I look at Maltese terriers. Next door was the little tea room – rest area thing. There, slumped on a director’s chair, was a grazier type, in his 60s I think. He had the checked tweed jacket and the moleskins, and he had three or maybe four championship ribbons and sashes swathed around his shoulders like an evening wrap. He was fast asleep.