The Crazy Coaster or 'How Not To Survive the Show'

Baby Angel and I took our life in our hands at the Royal Show on Friday night. If you saw my Best Shot Monday post you will know that she has done this ride before and she was most insistent that the two of us do it together. This is one of those commercial shots they take as you are dropping almost vertically down the most intense part of the slope. There is so much I like about this shot.

Check out the BA and I hanging onto each other's hands.
Check out the cultural difference between the manner in which we deal with the excitement and that of our lovely co-riders next to us!
Could I get my mouth open any wider??? (don't answer that)

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The Show has become an annual torture for our family due to my husband's complete and utter hatred of all places crowded and of Shows in particular.

Now, to be fair, it is a colossal waste of money, a consumerised hell hole, a pageant of rip-off and frenzy BUT- the kids love it. We did as kids. It is a part of childhood!
Who as a child did not get lost at the Show? Who did not spend hours trying to work out which over priced, rubbish filled Show Bag to buy? Who has not thrown up on a ride...or been the laughing stock of their friendship group by refusing to go on ANY rides? Who has not eaten dagwood dogs, bought kewpie dolls or held the pink and green dyed newly born chicks in the poultry house? (Why DID they dye those chicks pink and green?????)

But Himself cannot bear it. Cannot. Bear. It.

This is a man who hates the local shopping mall because he claims women deliberately stick out their elbows to prevent him passing in a crowd. At Christmas he waits until late night Christmas Eve and does it all in one hit to 'get it over with'. He has been known to phone me (inside the mall) from the carpark outside to let me know he's had enough and has had to go out for air.
On Friday night he finally admitted that the crowds give him panic attacks.

But each year, his Small Boy wants to go to the Show and he wants to go with his Dad.

I know for a fact that when we first met and went to the Show with the kids together, about 2 months into our relationship, he was eternally grateful to have someone to share the painful experience with. As time has passed I have learned that it is my job to take the kids into the Showbag Hall (Hell on Earth) while Himself waits outside at the Starbucks equivalent. I try to sort out some kind of plan for the visit which will enable everyone to see what they want to see, give Himself a few breaks and keep the bank balance under control. (the first year we came home with the ugliest 3 ft tall stuffed dog because Small Boy wanted one)

This year we made the mistake of going on a Friday night after a particularly hard week when both of us were knackered. The car park nearly undid us. The police had redirected traffic so that there was only one way in and it was not either of the first two ways we approached the park!! Himself was rope-able. Tyres squealed, language flew and the previously excited and chattering kids in the back were silent and ashen as Dad 'lost his rag'. After enduring this for a few minutes I pointed out that the parking arrangements were not the fault of anyone within the car.

From this inauspicious beginning we struggled to find the carnival mood. Small Boy was overly excited and talking 25 to the dozen in the face of his father's sullen silence, I was overly cheerfully trying to make up for dad's lack of communication and Baby Angel had a face like thunder and kept muttering things like 'over reacting' when she thought only I was in ear shot. I just wish he 'got' the whole point of the exercise. It's about experience and memories. It's about tradition and sharing. Even if what you share is shallow, gaudy and over priced, these are the events that define childhood. The Sharing part!!

We made straight for the food stalls to feed the man. He relaxed a bit with a burger inside him and we managed to make for the Main Arena where the sounds of V8 engines beckoned. (*sigh*)





That's my boys, there; Himself is the one with the cowboy hat and the slumped shoulders



At this point the Baby Angel managed to peel me off and we made for the rides together. The Crazy Coaster was the first experience and it cheered us up no end. We then made for The Mad Mouse, the 40 year old roller coaster in its last year of operation. Thank Goodness. It was funny as we lined up I was filled with memories of my last trip on the Mouse, back in about 1979 I think. I remembered it as breathtaking and exhilarating, full of 90 degree turns whilst peering over an edge...you know the kind of thing. This time around, all I was aware of was the clunking and rattling sensation of the ancient cogs and chains. The Baby Angel loved it. Three words kept running through my head, 'Health and Safety'.......

But we survived and then went on a concerted hunt for costumes and props for the musical. I kid you not! We found punk wigs and el cheapo matching tracksuit tops for a 'Gym' scene. All in all it was a very successful shopping experience. :-)

We made it back to the Main Arena in time to see some lunatic motorcyclists doing somersaults over jumps and to find himself and the Small Boy emerging from the Showbag Hall with the prescribed number of bags......within budget. Excellent result. We stayed for the fireworks and made our way home in a much more cheerful frame of mind than that in which we had arrived. With kids bedded down Himself apologised and explained how much the crowds bothered him and we agreed that there was little point in him going if he was going to spoil it for everyone else.
So it looks like that might be his last year at the Show. I just don't get it. For me its about the kids and how much they enjoy it. Its about the excitement, the wonder, the silliness
.........the Bunnie Ears!!
Oh well. It takes all types and at least at the end of the night Small Boy had had a good time, seen lots of stunt cars, eaten hot dogs, got his show bags and not had a hissy fit.

Result really.

Roll on the Christmas Pageant.