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Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Pinky and the Townsville V8 Supercars.

I’m not sure what I was expecting from the V8 Supercars when I optimistically suggested to Scotto we might buy a couple of one day passes, but I will say I was unpleasantly surprised at the outcome.

There was a free shuttle bus leaving from the sporting complex down the road. The problem with it though, was that the complex is massive and covers about eight blocks. We had no idea where the bus was going to stop and a significant amount of bickering took place until we finally spied the bus trundling towards us in the distance and stalked its progress around the cricket field.

We walked beside the track after first arriving and I felt the adrenalin rushing through my body as the cars whizzed by at up to 250 kilometres an hour. Thrilled by the noise and action, I took a photo.

Good photo huh?

I need to time it better, I thought.

So I took another.

This went on for quite some time until discouraged; I gave up my photographic pursuits and hopes of a possible article in Muscle Car or a guest spot on Top Gear

Perhaps when I splurge on a proper camera instead of using my Nokia phone, I mused.

After a good hour of walking around the crowd of 55 000 diehard fans we finally found a piece of turf… on a mound… in the hot sun. 

Ah… lovely, I thought. It’s just what I need to nurture that Basal Cell Carcinoma on my left ankle.

                      Naturally we had brought neither a seat nor umbrella.

Not a shade sail in sight and there we were lolling under the midday sun in the world’s melanoma capital.

I found myself uncontrollably gawking at a kid of about four years old with a mullet reaching down his back and the Ford logo shaved into the side of his head. His parents looked normal and I wondered what might compel a sane adult to inflict that on a defenceless child.

After the Top Ten Shootout I began to feel faint so we went for a walk around “The Paddock” (the back area of pit lane), where Scotto was able to lurk around the Red Bull racing garage in the hopes of catching a glimpse of his V8 poster boys. Or the Grid Girls… I’m not entirely sure.

Still feeling lightheaded, I suggested we purchase some plastic cheese, wood-fired pizza from one of the dodgy stands which of course we had to eat standing up brushing away flies and kicking up dust like a pair of old, weary horses.

We’d been there for two hours and I was already more than willing to forfeit my seventy-five dollar ticket and go home and watch it on the telly… which we did.

It was much more comfy and the drinks way cheaper.

I told you I wasn't the sporting type.

Have you ever prematurely left an event you've paid a considerable amount of money to see?