People stream towards the entrance in knots, ravelling at the ticket booth then flowing easily again once through. The grounds are sparsely populated, when the five of us arrive mid-morning on this warm September Sunday; although, by midday we know the place will be packed and busy, filled with swarming, massing crowds. But for now, there’s a slower more peaceful tempo: the walkways and lawns mostly empty, the show-rides without queues, the day just waking up and getting started.
As is our tradition, my four teenage children and I stroll first towards our favourite stalls where we’ll buy hot coffee and cinnamon donuts: our show-day breakfast. Once that’s done, we’ll find somewhere to sit and plan out our day’s activities, or at least where we’ll start. But there’s no rush. So we meander along the network of pathways which wind between side-show booths, food-stalls, face-painting tents, farm produce exhibits; through pools of exotic appetising aromas, cheerful carnival music, glitter, movement, vibrant colours. We plunge in and out of the cool shade cast by the scattered gum-trees flanking the paths; they stand tall and majestic, so typically Australian, startlingly beautiful against the bold bright sky beyond their dappled olive branches.
Soon we’ve got our drinks and food and we’re sitting at a table on a raised platform which looks out across long green lawns at the heart of the showgrounds. The coffee is rich and invigorating, and the donuts coat our fingers and faces in sugar. We sit back in our white plastic chairs at our white plastic table and this is exactly where we all want to be today. Simply enjoying ourselves.
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