Originally published in the Clifton Courier, September 27, 2017 

I’ve become someone who holidays on the Darling Downs.

I’m not sure how this happened. Growing up, spending time in and around The Womb was a drag. I yearned to be elsewhere.

But now, as I tick over the quarter century mark, I am not only travelling all the way from Sydney to Toowoomba but I’m also enjoying it. I was excited to get here. I was sad to leave. And I absolutely disappointed the heck out of my 17-year-old self.

I’ve tried for the past few hours to try to summarize my time on the Downs, but being very much in need of a good night’s sleep to recover from it, I can’t really string anything too coherent together. So I’m just going to play a lengthy game of peaks and troughs – where you go through and recount the highs and lows of your time. Or, as I like to call it: yeah nahs and nah yeahs (“yeah nah” is bad, “nah yeah” is good).

Yeah nah: My flight was delayed.

Nah yeah: I got to eat free chippies while I waited for my plane to depart.

Yeah nah: The mercury reached three degrees as we approached Clifton.

Nah yeah: Mum had made up my bed with flannelette sheets. It’s hard to top flannelette sheets on a cold night. That’s like crawling into a bed made out of pyjamas.

Nah yeah: I eat a steak while wearing a party hat.

Nah yeah: Was given a free commemorative Carnival of Flowers tea towel.

Nah yeah: I found a wine I actually enjoyed that was moderately priced, tasted like ginger and had the word “crush” on the label. It packed a cheeky 8.7 standard drinks per bottle, if that’s important to you (don’t pretend you’re above checking the percentage before you fork out for it). It went beautifully with my dinner (a doughnut the size of my head) and paired just as nicely with a mosh sesh to Taxiride’s Creepin’ up Slowly.

I bought one bottle and enjoyed it responsibly and in moderation (obviously) for the first chunk of the night.

Then, upon being informed the service of alcoholic beverages was due to conclude, I decided to stock up on my new beloved drop. I saw there was a three-for-two-and-a-half deal and capitalised on it. I had bagged a bargain and had plenty to share with whichever friends whose house I invited myself over to afterwards.

I was on top of the world… or at least 691 metres above sea level (I looked it up).

Yeah nah: Shortly after I made this important investment, I spotted a group of mates standing near a table. I went over, had a yarn and carefully placed two of my bottles on the table.

Unfortunately, someone who had been enjoying their wine a little less responsibly than I was sitting nearby and felt the need to grab the umbrella from the table, knocking it and my two bottles to the ground.

The glass splintered into hundreds of tiny pieces, as did my heart.

Nah yeah: I found a fluffy, leopard print hat on the ground, which improved my mood considerably.

Yeah nah: I woke up after just four hours’ sleep and couldn’t drift off again. I also had to keep a toilet roll next to my head because my nose was running and I couldn’t find any tissues. Apparently the “flowers” component of the festival got to me a little.

Nah yeah: Immediately after I rose from bed I was whisked off to my favourite chicken shop, endemic to Toowoomba. My chicken burger had a hefty schnitty overhang with double special sauce. I’d won the chicken burger lottery.

Yeah nah: I had to board the last plane out to Sydney, which, despite sounding very similar to the Khe San lyrics, is never that enjoyable.

Nah yeah: Seeing Mum, Dad and my sister still waving from the terminal as the plane took off even though they definitely couldn’t see me (I was able to recognise them easily thanks to the size of Dad’s hat, like a beacon of fatherhood flashing across the tarmac).

Yeah nah: Arriving back in Sydney severely underdressed in my thongs and shorts.

Nah yeah: Booking flights to head back to do it all again (except, hopefully, for the wine spilling) for Country Week. The countdown is on.