After years spent working on Australian magazines, I know that Rule One is to avoid offending non-Sydney-based readers by referencing Sydney.
Everyone outside of Sydney, hates Sydney. And with good reason, Sydney-siders are greedy, selfish, real-estate obsessed snobs. It is a city of wankers, a superficial place with little other than the harbour to recommend it. Although I must say that often you’ll find the driver who just cut you off and flicked the bird could easily morph into the delightful person who chats away with you in the Post Office queue. I suppose when forced together like this, perfectly lovely people survive with hackles up and their rude faces on.
Unfortunately I was born here and all of my family are here – which inhibits my natural desire to flee the congested, aggressive, unaffordable streets for some lovely smaller town where I might be able to raise my children with a yard devoid of overhanging balconies and police visiting to check how the neighbourhood dealer is faring.
So whilst I seem stuck here with a massive mortgage and medium density housing, I do like to try and soften the blow by enjoying the benefits of my home town when they occur. And really, they come no better than the Sydney Easter Show, which is bigger than Ben Hur and where the Vegie Smuggling family found ourselves on the weekend.
For those of you interstaters who’ve never been, stick with me, I’ll give you a guided tour…
And there you have it. $300 spent wisely to get jostled by crowds, sore feet, a tummy upset and a few broken bits of plastic… aaaahhhh Sydney, how I love you.
We’ll be back next year.