Wellies, Boobs And Fireworks

Tonight we went to the bonfire night that’s held every year in the park at the end of our street. I usually avoid it like the plague because it’s basically a fun fair in the mud with a few dodgy fireworks to watch … and I really hate mud. But this year I went because it was a prime opportunity to wear my new wellies. Or my traitorous gum boots as Rob calls them.

Aren’t they luuurvely? My British transformation is almost complete!

As soon as we walked down the muddy slope to the park, Holly spotted her favourite ride that she spent an entire day on at Luna Park last time we were in Sydney. (The wellies worked a treat by the way, except now I may need to get Rob’s shoe cleaning toothbrush out of retirement to get the mud off them, you can read about that here).

After about the 7th time she’d been on the ride and after I’d checked my Facebook and Twitter and read all my emails whilst making myself feel sick watching Holly churn up her dinner that she’ll probably vomit up at 3am, I noticed the interesting art work painted on the ride.

I wonder why they put stuff like that on theme park rides? It’s clearly not aimed at women .. I mean most of us would see that, figure we’ll never look like that and then head over to the donut truck across the oval. Oh wait, you don’t? Maybe I’m in my own club there.

It’s certainly not for the teenagers that go on the ride, they have their backs to it and anyway they can get way better pictures off the internet.

I think it’s a clever marketing ploy – a direct attempt to distract the Dads while their kids empty their wallets without them noticing because they’ve got their eyes glued on the hot chic’s ‘interesting personality’.

‘Sure you can go on the ride for the 94th time, little Johnny, I’ll just stand here and erm, watch’.

I rest my case.






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