A month ago I ended up at home for the “Show Weekend�. For all you city folks, ‘The Show’ is the agricultural fair that happens in my little town each year. When I was young I thought it was the most exciting event of the year, generally because it was the most exciting event of the year. Aged 7 or 8 I would watch agog at the bumping cars and swinging boats. My favorite was the chair-o-plane. As the name suggests you would sit in a chair, suspended from a thin chain, frequently narrower than the chunky gold necklaces of the staff, and the machine would hurl you around in the air – thrilling.
Each year some mechanical disaster would occur, it was never fatal, but enough to give an extra frisson of excitement to the ride. Generally they couldn’t stop the machine and candy floss filled kids would rotate for hours until someone managed to shut it off. Junk food and stomachs under G force pressure had catastrophic results for those standing in projectile range. In the pre-litigious days kids would be compensated by the offer of free rides all weekend. Despite the trauma most would have undergone this was broadly welcomed, although I’m sure some still twitch when they have to sit in a bucket chair.
Along with the amusements there are competitions for top cow and bizarre things like best bale of hay or sod of turf. To this day I have no idea how the latter are judged, but I love that in this Celtic Tiger 2.0 country people are still competing for ‘Best Bale of Hay’.
One year I won a competition. I got third in the under 12’s painting competition. A huge achievement as I was one of the few children not to cheat by tracing my picture with some greaseproof paper from a coloring book. How the judges never noticed that the town was filled with expert Walt Disney animators is a bit of a puzzle.
The other big feature of, ‘the show’ were the stalls. All the travelers and some of the locals would set up shop on a sheet by the road and sell all manner of crap that they had collected during the year. Our town was way ahead of the recycling trend. My favorite stall was and still is the garden ornaments; where else can you purchase a quarter size donkey and cart or a full size cement eagle with hand painted red eyes? The best statue is the waving cowboy, he looks a bit like ‘Woody’ from ‘Toy Story’ but fatter and with a 40 a day Lucky Strike habit. It’s been 20 years and he still hasn’t sold.
As I got older the show became interesting for vastly different reasons - teenage hormone heaven. A new kind of horse trading was going on. The bumping cars was the main transaction zone. Guys would hop in bumping cars and girls would plead to ride beside them. Naturally anyone with a hint of breast, real or tissue was very popular. The deep country boys were a whiz due to their experience of driving tractors and they took infinite pleasure in hammering the crap out of the soft townie boys. But the bumping car king was always the fat ugly kid who had loads of money and could pay for infinite rides. For once he would be the most popular guy in town. How much must he have loved that weekend?
Regular readers will know that the teenage years were not overly kind to me (queen of the ugly people), so I would hang by the cars until no other girls were left and I would get a go. Notably things haven’t moved on that dramatically from my teenage bumping car experiences, except now I hang out by the bar, the breasts are real, but I’m still looking for ride. The show goes on….
Assuming you are very drunk, in a dark room and squinting - a lot. Email me on Irishflirtysomething at hotmail.com
September 16th, 2007 at 11:21 pm
There weren’t any agri-shows where I was brought up, Flirty (the farmless London suburbs). The big occasion was Guy Fawkes Night but it was a bummer for us guys - the really stunning girls always found some better attraction elsewhere. But when I was a local journalist I had to fight them off - they were convinced I spent all day chatting up celebs. Writing obits, more like, but I was loathe to disappoint them.
Hope you’ve sorted out your access problems, BTW. I know you’re a respectable gal but I was being denied access once too often….
September 17th, 2007 at 12:13 am
“still looking for a ride”: Hilarious!
The rides were big for me as a kid, as well, but now if I want to get dizzy, I’ll drink too much vodka.
September 17th, 2007 at 7:40 am
Well the highlight of my year as a little boy was running about town trying to kiss all the roses during the rose of tralee. It’s no wonder I ended up the way I am.
September 17th, 2007 at 8:42 am
I’m with Medbh: still looking for a ride is a gem!
Our one was half-fair half-gymkhana so the rich kids stuck to the showjumping and out of our way which was great.
For equine pursuits we, the poor kids, had a donkey derby.
I’m guessing that like yours, ours didn’t have a tunnel-of-goats. Looking back, I think that was a terrible oversight.
September 17th, 2007 at 9:07 am
Nick - sorry site maintenance is ongoing, should be fine this week. Sure I’d never deny ya
M - liking the vodka logic
Con - you were damaged for life.
Primal - donkey derby I like, but tunnel of goats is just fab.
September 17th, 2007 at 10:18 am
and like all teen ‘feathers all stubby and brown’ ducklings you’ve now matured into a swan.
September 17th, 2007 at 10:22 am
I was that fat kid…so many tokens, so little time. In Cork we used to call the travelling funfair The Merries. Why? Because they were merry I suppose.
Mmmmm candyfloss.
September 17th, 2007 at 10:56 am
I wondered if you were back for it. I thought of you when I drove through on the Sunday. I didn’t stop but it seemed quite orderly compared to Killorglin, or Kenmare which had a bunch of horses and ponies on whom fortune had forgotten to smile. Did it turn into a river of dhrink later?
September 17th, 2007 at 10:58 am
73man, ‘Merries’ is short for merry-go-rounds!
September 17th, 2007 at 11:00 am
I was a city person who went to a farm show thingy near my grannies farm. I was sharp and cool and knew how to brush my teeth unlike my (actual) country cousins.
September 17th, 2007 at 12:14 pm
IsIt- swan or just old bird, not sure?
73 - dad called them the Hurdy Gurdies.
Conan - I was only a day tripper.
Man - ah, wasn;t that bad!
September 17th, 2007 at 12:26 pm
Conan - you have shattered my dreams. As for Hurdy Gurdies - that’s one of my own father’s too. I think I feel a new blog coming on.
September 17th, 2007 at 5:44 pm
Well aren’t ye very sophisticated with yer mechanical chair-o-planes? At the annual Field Day in my town (nothing as important as a show) we had the chair-o-planes alright but there was a poor fecker in the middle turning a crank (and no I’m not making this up). If you wanted to go fast you had to turn up early in the day while he still had a bit of strength in his arms.
And my dad called them hurdy gurdies too! I’d forgotten that…
As for the ride - *snigger*
September 17th, 2007 at 8:28 pm
73 - why has conan shattered your dreams?
Caro - I don’t believe you - brilliant !
September 17th, 2007 at 9:08 pm
Swan sweetie.
September 17th, 2007 at 11:23 pm
We had “shows” like that where I grew up too. Like you, the teenage years were very unkind to me, and the best thing I had to say about them was that I didn’t wind up with a kid from getting a ride at the show.
September 18th, 2007 at 7:46 am
because now I know the origin of the word merries: there’s no magic in the world any more. Sob
September 18th, 2007 at 9:46 am
I was always almost as afraid of the boys as I was of the rides when the teenage hormones made me look like the creature from the black latrine.
The fear of the boys has gone and the rides are now positively encouraged but the aura of the black latrine still lingers apparently. Boys are rubbish.
September 19th, 2007 at 6:30 am
That was hilarious and awesome as usual. The blog world has such talent toiling away. I’m glad I found you, Flirty.