If you grew up in Brisbane as I did, August meant just one thing - The Ekka (although truth be told I never heard it referred to as anything other than The Exhibition until Kerry Maloney read out an essay in Sister Finbarr's class in Grade Seven. Weird that I remember that, but still). The Royal Queensland Show was for a child (well this child) about three things - the rides, the showbags and the fireworks. Back then fireworks were a huge deal and not something at every school fete. In later years I grew to love all the free entertainment, the animals, the displays, woodchop, racing pigs, cake icing, cooking displays, fashion, agricultural displays and food, food food. IT has certainly brought hours and hours of excitement to my family. This year there was one more thing to lure me through the gate. This year I had finally got around to entering photographs in the photography competition. It took me until the final hours or the closing day of the 10-day show to make it to the fine arts pavilion where I was delighted to find all eight of the prints I had entered made the final cut and were displayed. No ribbons of any colour but I am assured that with the thousands of entries received each year just making the short list is a win in itself. Damn pleasing too.