It's in there, somewhere

My mother recently called me an "old woman" because a bought a potpourri container at the show.  You know: one of those lovely wooden bowls with a decorative lid designed to let out the aroma from the potpourri stored within.

I made some comment about needing to get some potpourri now that I have a lovely potpourri container, and she just looked at me and said "you really are turning into an old woman, you know that?"

I went to the show this year.

I hadn't intended to, as I usually avoid the show like the plague.  The last few times I went I found it rather unpleasant - full of loud noises, overpriced rides, ridiculously expensive showbags and tacky stalls all selling the same cheap Chinese garbage.

Yes, I realise I really do sound like an old lady at this point.  Let's face it, I was born a grumpy old lady - I'm just waiting for my hair colour to catch up.

Anyway, I have been harbouring a hankering to visit a "real show" - a proper country show with things like cakes and chutneys and cross-stitch and chickens and cows and sundry other things that may or may not involve the letter "c".  A real show, where people win prizes like "best in show" and everyone else bitches about them bribing the judges.  A "real show", where you can watch woodchopping and show jumping.  A "real show", which may or may not involve the sudden death of the local vicar in the middle of the jam judging competition - leading to an amateur sleuth helping the police solve the crime...

Okay, that last bit probably isn't a deal-breaker, but you get my drift.

As it turns out, I was house-sitting a place that was walking distance from the show, and I thought I might just go after all and see if I could find the show I wanted to see somewhere under the overpriced showbags.

So, I went to the show.  And I found it.

They had buried it deep.  I only found the craft displays and flowers because I new that particular space existed.  If you didn't know it was there, you would have walked right past it.  I found things like the military memorabilia exhibit completely by accident.  I found the chickens and the cows - but the time it took me to do so meant I missed out on seeing the circus.  And while I saw some woodchopping, it wasn't because I actually knew when it was on.

I didn't manage to get my hands on a time table.  I kept hoping someone on a loudspeaker would say "and now, on the such-and-such arena, you will see such-and-such" - but all I could hear was dozens of pre-recorded "Buy our stuff!  You totally want a dagwood dog!" messages blaring from the food stalls.

I wonder why people feel it has become necessary to shout "hot chips!" at passers-by these days.  I certainly didn't notice anyone suddenly going "Of course!  I had completely forgotten to eat deep-fried food!" as a result of the constant stream of noise...

Eventually, after doing a couple of loops of the place and having a ride on a Ferris wheel (I do love a Ferris wheel), I decided to go home and eat real food for lunch.  As I was walking away from the showgrounds, I realised I hadn't seen any cakes or jams.  Had I missed them?  Where they ever there?

Oh, well.  At least I got a nice potpourri container out of it.