Published in The Clifton Courier February 15, 2017

I’m sad.

And that’s not just because my bread has gone mouldy or because no one seemed to care when Bernie Mac died of pneumonia like nine years ago.

It’s because this year, I’m missing out on the Clifton Show.

Thanks to a combination of fate, poor organisational skills and my tendency to spend a higher portion of my salary on impulse food purchases than I care to state the exact figure of, I’m just not going to be able to make it this year.

And while the lack of dagwood dogs and reasonably priced XXXX bitters in my system can only mean positive things for my literal heart health, my figurative heart health is taking a nose-dive.

The Clifton Show that is just good for the spirit.

As someone who can count on one hand how many times they’ve missed this fabulous occasion, I know a thing or two about how to milk the Clifton Show for every drop of fun until its udder is an empty, shrivelled udder. Here are my tips to have a rip snorter of a time:

* Wear sensible shoes. This is not the time for white sandals. They will get dusty, you will drop tomato sauce on them and you run the risk of someone breaking your toe while dancing to the inevitable rendition of Working Class Man later in the night. Closed in boots is the only way to go.

* Enter the Boiled Fruit Cake Challenge. Tomorrow night, get some mates together, grab a few bottles of wine and try to interpret the hallowed recipe as best you can. Maybe make it a team effort, pooling all your limited fruitcake knowledge into one unlucky cake tin and hope for the best. Or go up against your neighbours, siblings or spouse and see who can bake best. Loser has to buy the winner a deluxe burger from the canteen with all the trimmings, and whatever tinned delights takes their fancy at the Wattles clubhouse.

Note for the judges: Please name the wooden spoon “winner” of the competition this year. The person who manages to make the worst fruitcake deserves a serious backslap.

And while we’re at it, don’t just restrict yourself to the most intense competition this side of State of Origin.

* Enter something in a bunch of pavilion categories. Especially if you’re pretty ordinary at it. Challenge yourself to beat those Flynn fellows with their baking wizardry. Try to topple Arleen Breeze from her throne of flower arrangement glory. See if your tomatoes stack up against rest in town (just don’t go buying a bag from the roadside stall on Davenport Street on your way to the rec grounds and trying to pass them off as your own, because that goes against the spirit of competition).

You have a good two days to get something together for entry. Give it crack and see what happens.

* Go early. This is especially good when you have entered something in the pavilion section because it means you can check out who you’ve beaten, or whose rose bushes you need to sabotage next year.

* Hit up the junior judging on Friday morning. See how your judgement of cattle stacks up against school children, then marvel at their use of terminology. Slot said terminology into the rest of your conversations for the weekend. Just take care when recycling “good, even fat distribution” or “a nice, thick tail”.

* Have a yarn with a parent of one of the kids you used to go to school with, trying to limit your swear words to the more respectable kind.

* Demand they play The Horses by Darryl Braithwaite after the fireworks go off. Because the gravel dance floor will go off too.

Soak it up people, because you just can’t get an event like The Clifton Show anywhere else. 

Especially Sydney.

* Oh and take a picture with Dad, if you wouldn’t mind. I need more fodder for my #Maccadoes photo stream.