As a child there were few things more exciting to me than going to the Adelaide Royal Show – the noise, the crowds, the arcade games and rides, the showbags. But the last time I visited, about eleven years ago, I was a parent with two young kids of my own, and the experience was quite different. I found the noise and crowds nerve-wracking, and the expense draining (both metaphorically and literally). It all seemed so superficial and ugly.

When L suggested we go to the Royal Show this year, I instinctively said ‘no’. But then I reconsidered. Maybe it was time to revisit the experience. After all, I no longer had little children to worry about. And the financial factor was no longer so important. Our busy schedules, however, made finding a mutually agreeable time a bit difficult. In the end, it came down to one option – Tuesday night.

When Tuesday came around, my enthusiasm had dissipated, and the weather forecast predicted cloud and rain. But it was too late to pull out, for L had taken showbag orders from friends and relatives. Somewhat reluctantly, I made arrangements to pick L up after work and drive straight to the Wayville Showgrounds.

We didn’t get off to a good start. The traffic situation near the Showgrounds was chaotic. Greenhill Road was at a standstill. To make matters worse, access to the carpark was restricted to traffic heading east. We were heading west. After a short detour down Richmond Road, we finally got to park the car. Always prepared for the worst, I assembled my ‘provisions’ (headache pills, snacks, umbrella, map, camera, spare batteries, tissues, notebook, pen) and we headed for the entrance.

We weren’t in the Showground a minute before the rain came down. Gently at first, then bigger, colder, more threatening drops. We took shelter in the Jubilee Pavilion. Here there was a mystifying collection of promotional stands assembled under the rather non-descript tag of ‘lifestyle’. Furniture displays stood next to stands promoting chocolate sauce; leathergoods next to hair extensions; the Red Cross next to face painting.

As we wandered aimlessly around the displays, where bored salespeople stood yawning, L practiced her ‘thank you but I’m not interested in your product’ face. This involved some grinning and a little nodding. Soon we had both perfected the expression and successfully grinned and nodded our way out of the Pavillion and into a crowded food court, where wet and hungry showgoers munched on hot dogs, fairy floss and chips.

L wanted to check out some of the animal displays, so we trekked around the Showground in search of sheep, dogs, cats and pigs. We got very wet, frustrated and tired, but didn’t see as much as a tropical fish, as all of the animal pavilions had closed for the day. I tried to cheer up L by tempting her with a ride on one of the many bone-shaking, back-shuddering thrill rides.

She decided the only ride she was brave enough to tackle was the Ferris Wheel. That was fine by me, although I was mildly concerned about the rain. It had eased somewhat, however, and it wasn’t that cold or windy. So we merrily clambered aboard the ride, and as we were hoisted into the air above the brilliant lights of the Carnival area, I pulled out my camera and began clicking away madly. It was a few minutes before I noticed that L was huddled low in the seat, her arms over her face. That was when it really decided to rain.

We were out early on Day Four, heading south to the Territory Wildlife Park. Frosh Baby had counted on picking up fresh sandwiches for breakfast from his favourite roadhouse, but due to some silly bungle, we ended up with four very hot, very messy toasted ham-and-cheese sandwiches. I gave up eating mine after getting butter and melted cheese all over my hands. But FB persevered – never one to give up easily when it comes to food – and somehow managed to eat an entire sandwich while staying in control of the ute.

The Wildlife Park is near Berry Springs, nearly an hour south of Darwin. It covers quite a large area, and getting around to all the exhibits takes some effort. It is so large, in fact, that they have a ‘train’ that runs around the park, connecting all the major attractions. Surprisingly, perhaps, we decided against the ‘train’ and set out on foot. I was generally impressed with the open, roomy enclosures and the connecting parklands. The only thing the Wildlife Park lacked was…well, wildlife! After walking for well over an hour the only animals we’d seen were a couple of motley wallabies and a brolga.

The second half of our tour proved more interesting. The walk-through aviary was impressive, as was the aquarium and the nocturnal house. It was after 3.00pm by the time we got to the exit, and we were both feeling tired and hot. Luckily the cafeteria was still open, so we stopped for ice creams and soft drink. But as we headed back to town, FB’s appetite yowled for more – something quick and meaty – so we pulled into McDonalds for a burger. (Frosh Baby loves great food, but he is not a food snob!)

That night we met up with Astrogirl at the Mindil Beach Markets. After a quick look at the food stalls and a yummy tropical fruit whip, we walked to Cullen Bay for a meal at Raccana Thai. We nibbled on delicious satays and other treats while Astro filled us in on the Darwin singles scene. At around 11.00pm we wobbled towards home.

FB and I were out early again on Day Five. He was eager for me to hear a particular sound he’d discovered in the lift well at Parliament House. We hung around for as long as we could without attracting the attention of security guards, but didn’t hear the sound. (Frosh described it as an ‘electronic bird call’.) We drowned our disappointment over breakfast at Café Uno, where a gorgeous English girl served up the most delicious scrambled eggs.

We took the late morning ferry ride to Mandorah, and went in search of lunch. The hotel on Mandorah Beach boasts of being ‘Darwin’s only beachside resort’ but is far from ‘resort’ material. In fact, it looks like the sort of place David Lynch would film a movie. I half expected to find Bobby Peru sunning himself outside one of the grubby apartments. Inevitably, the lunch menu was sad and tired – all schnitzel and chips.

By the time we got back to the city, Frosh Baby’s belly was making sad moaning sounds, while I was feeling quite faint. It had been hours since our scrambled eggs at Café Uno. We ended up at Kozy on Mitchell Street, which featured an unusual Asian-meets-Mediterranean menu. There was certainly nothing wrong with my vegetarian cannelloni, while FB gave his curry the ‘thumbs up’.

Later that afternoon we found ourselves at the Ski Club on the Fanny Bay foreshore. I didn’t see much skiing, but there were plenty of people at the bar or scattered around the grassed area that served as the group’s ‘clubrooms’. FB and I bought some champagne and drew up a couple of chairs to watch the sun go down over the Timor Sea.

It was my last night in Darwin – the City of Eternal Summer. The air was warm, the atmosphere fresh and friendly, and the sun, as it disappeared beneath the horizon, was a perfect orange ball. As I sipped champagne, and watched the sky turn a beautiful orangy-pink, I decided that Darwin wasn’t a bad place at all.

For some reason I had imagined Darwin as a dry and dusty place – a sort of ‘Alice by the Sea’. This notion was dispelled before I’d even set foot on Darwin soil, for my plane flew over the city when landing, curving around over the sea and allowing for views of the lush green gardens adorning houses along the foreshore and nearby suburbs. Soon enough I was rattling through these same streets in a dusty ute, my good friend, Frosh Baby, at the wheel.

I was in Darwin primarily to spend some time with FB, whose recent past had included a week in hospital with a nasty bout of pancreatitis, and a horrific crash on an outback highway, which ‘wrote off’ his nearly-new Suzuki 4WD and sent him back to hospital. We planned on eating out, listening to music, watching movies and maybe a little sightseeing. After a short tour of the surrounding suburbs we returned to FB’s temporary home in Ludmilla.

The house was situated in its own little slice of Top End forest, complete with towering palms, screeching bats and squawking ‘bush chooks’. We sat on the patio until well into the night, talking about music and other nonsense while listening to possums fight in the undergrowth. It was hard to believe that only twelve hours ago I’d been in the middle of a South Australian winter.

The following day, FB took me on a guided tour of Darwin and surrounds, his commentary peppered with observations on the culinary curiosities of the area – ‘That’s where I bought some fabulous spring rolls’ or ‘They make the most delicious noodle soups’. Given FB’s obsession with tasty food my stay in Darwin was likely to include more than a few great meals.

We visited Cullen Bay, Mindil Beach and East Point, then headed north through Nightcliff and the suburbs of Casuarina, before returning to the city via Palmerston and Berrimah. Predictably, the tour ended in food. We stopped briefly at Stokes Hill Wharf, but were not tempted by ‘Schnitzel Magic’ or any of the other harbourside eateries. Instead, we stopped at a place imaginatively called ‘Chinese Restaurant’ for some satays, fried wontons and beef ho fun.

On Day Three, we visited the Darwin’s Art Gallery and Museum, and then returned to Cullen Bay for a wonderful meal at ‘The Sicilian’. The afternoon was spent at the Aviation Museum, where we marveled at assorted instruments of destruction, before heading to the Casuarina Shopping Centre for a last minute cd and dvd splurge at JB Hifi.

That evening we lazed about at home watching trashy movies (’The Doll Squad’) and large chunks of David Lynch’s cult tv series ‘Twin Peaks’. I hadn’t seen the show since it aired on tv back in 1991, and enjoyed getting reacquainted with Dale Cooper and friends. The show still seemed very fresh and funny. In fact, it was a lot funnier than I remembered it.

I went to bed at about 1.00am, but didn’t fall asleep quickly. I lay there for an hour or so, listening to the sounds of wildlife in the garden below, the ‘Twin Peaks’ theme music tumbling around in my brain.

L has always been a caring, sensitive person, particularly when it comes to animals. It was always assumed that she would grow up to become a vet, a zoologist, or work with animals in some other way. This might have been the case had she not organised work experience at a local wildlife park. She’d arranged to spend a week there, but didn’t make it beyond the first day.

One of the first things L was asked to do was sort freshly killed baby chicks. She found it heart-breaking work. The chicks had been gassed, but some were not dead, and chirped pathetically amid the piles of tiny corpses. The people L worked with made stupid jokes about the job, particularly when they saw how upset she was. They jokingly told her that she would have to shoot and cut up a horse the following day. She didn’t go back to find out if they were telling the truth.

L was traumatised by the experience. She subsequently changed her mind about working with animals, and decided she would no longer eat meat. The problem she had with becoming a vegetarian was that she didn’t actually like vegetables. With no meat or vegetables, L was left eating bread, cereal and not much more. She has since tried become a vegetarian, and failed, on several occasions.

I’m not sure what brought on this latest attempt to convert to vegetarianism. It might have something to do with the chicken incident earlier in the year. In any case, a few weeks back, L announced that we were no longer eating meat. I said that I was happy with that, but asked that she organise and help cook the meals. I’m not that fond of meat myself and pleased to get any help in the kitchen. L sifted through a pile of cookbooks, wrote a lengthy shopping list, and helped buy the ingredients.

The first night L made a mushroom frittata. It was a bit thin and crumbly, but otherwise quite okay. That’s if you liked mushrooms. L tried very hard, but ended up eating around them. The second night we had a leek risotto. L spent all afternoon cooking the dish, and was so pleased with how it looked and smelled that she rang me at work to tell me how wonderful it was going to be. She was right; it did look and smell terrific. Unfortunately, eating the dish was hard work. The leek was thick and chunky, and the rice wasn’t cooked through properly. I ate half of my serving, while L only managed a few mouthfuls.

The week’s remaining meals were a little more successful, if not entirely satisfying. We had veggie burgers one night, then tomato, basil and fetta pizzas another night, and lastly honey-glazed potatoes. By the end of the week, L was tired and grumpy, and sick of working in the kitchen (I was tempted to point out that I’d been doing it for 16 years), and I was feeling more than a little hungry.

On Saturday night we bought chicken-and-chips from the local takeaway store.