A couple of weeks ago, my lovely flatmate Kate and I went to the Royal Melbourne Show. Neither of us had been to a show for years - in fact I would be hard pressed to tell you when I last went... I was probably 17.
So we set off on a Friday morning, with a strict code of no dagwood dogs, no scary rides and no showbags over $15. High on the to-do list were the diving pigs, the wine tasting and the Bertie Beetle showbags.
We had a lovely day... albeit a slightly disturbing one.
For starters, there were bogans galore, all with at least five children each (I'm sorry, but this country is never going to advance culturally if it's only the bogans procreating in massive numbers*) and I did wonder how much of the baby bonus/stimulus package was used by one couple to purchase the twenty five showbags (at an average price of $20) and mountains of junk food they'd bought for their kids, but that wasn't the most disturbing part of the day.
Nor was it the line in the show program which alerted us to the fact that at 10am in the DJR there would be "Obedience Trials - Bitches", which I initially took to be some kind of misogynistic segment in a beauty pageant.
No, the most disturbing part of the day occurred when we hit the arts and crafts pavillion. Whilst wandering around the cake decorating area, we happened upon this highly unsettling piece of cake decorating artistry:
Granted, it is very beautifully decorated. As the daughter of a professional cake decorator, I can appreciate such artistry.
It's just the choice of subject. If I'd requested that my mum make a christening cake and she rolled out this little corker, I would send her to the nearest maximum security twilight home immediately.
How would you cut it up? And would it be wrong to request the face?
Wrong. Wrong. WRONG.
And it won a prize. Even more disturbing.
* Yes, I'm well aware that I have not yet contributed to the population growth, however I am still trying to find a man who meets the criteria for fathering my children. It is a work-in-progress.