Legends from our own lunchtimes

Friday, June 18, 2010

The roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd...

The Nambour show was on today, and I couldn't help but be disappointed in the sloth and almost arrogance of the show people.  My fondest memories of sideshows are of tenacious salesmen who would crawl over cut glass to get everyone passing to have just one more throw at the cans. 

Noisy they were, and active, thieves to a man, or so "they" would have one believe, dressed in clothing they'd no doubt stolen from a charity bin to reflect their true life poverty.  They'd abuse one if they took a photo, feigning terror lest the tax man should see it, never explaining why the tax man would be interested in my family albums or what sort of audit would be required for him to get a peep.

Wouldn't the Mercedes Benz' they used to tow their caravans have been a bigger clue for the Commissioner, I used to wonder.

Now, well they just sort of hang around really with tummies full, feigning disinterest without even a hint of desperation, waiting for passers buy to throw a few spare fifties in their direction.

I wandered the length of them without once being accosted, not once did I feel compelled to try for my pick of the top shelf.

As a result, I went home unladen. 

No box of chocolates, no giant kewpie doll on a stick.

Nothing but memories of the good old days, when shows were shows!


1 comment

cara said...

If they sold Dagwood Dogs and Fairy Floss in cardboard packets, this would be the warning picture.

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