The BOGI Spring Fair

Note:  BOGI stands for Brisbane Organic Growers Inc.
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This was my first BOGI Fair where it rained.  Last year, armed with potted plants to donate to the BOGI stall and home-made cheese muffins destined for sale in the "cafe", I had turned up very early to help.

Penny had made special pinnies for us kitchen workers to wear.  How superior I felt wandering around in my official brown and green apron that announced: "Yes! I am indeed one of the kitchen ladies."

How different it all is this year.  I had been feeling "quite poorly" of late.  Without the usual cardboard boxes full of plants and muffins, I arrive around 10am and excuse myself from kitchen duties.  Walking from stall to stall without my uniform, I am now a non-entity, a nobody, just one of the crowd.  I had even left my BOGI badge at home.

Some people recognise me and stop for a chat.  I'm not good with names.  When the sweet-faced lady says: "Colin Campbell was supposed to open the Fair at 11:00, but it's now 11:25", she looks familiar but I have no idea who she is.  One of last year's kitchen ladies, I suspect.

Colin Campbell is an Aussie TV and radio garden guru and pin-up boy to us earthy set.  Second only to that Tasmanian, Peter Cundall, he is a sex symbol to the thinking octogenarian gardener.  I spot him not far away and point him out to the sweet-faced lady.  He's wearing "old man" brown trousers, navy jumper and cocky's hat - an ensemble sure to set the hearts of us old chooks a-flutter.

He's sitting at a table signing copies of his latest book, "Garden Something or Other".  He's certainly changed his tune since I first heard him on the radio years ago.  Back then, I don't think he would have been caught dead at anything of the organic persuasion.  His usual advice was "just spray the bugger with this nasty chemical guck".

Two fat ladies have got his ear and I wander off to look around.  There's a sign on the Rare Breeds Exhibit that says: "PLEASE USE THE HANDWASH BEFORE PATTING THE PIGS".  Not "after".  Before.  They obviously don't want their pristine pigs soiled by nasty human hands.

I do a quick round of the stalls - vegan living; Northey Street City Farm, permaculture, native bees and the like.  A man is giving a talk on worm farms but I don't stop to listen.  I consider myself quite knowledgeable on this subject, having Googled it to death when I first bought mine.

The same two fat ladies are still talking to Col.  My inner tiger wants to stride up and say: "Move over, bitches!  He's mine."  Instead, I crook my basket sweetly on my arm and head for the car."

I'm not really up to the Fair today.  I'm going home to bed.  Next year.  Next year.  I should have my prize-winning herbal display ready by then.