It’s Summernats weekend in Canberra. The annual spectacular of burnouts, boobs and vile boguns.
I am unfortunate enough to live near the centre of Summernats action. My local shopping precinct crawls with groups of repulsive leering twats, whose viscous gaze hovers heavily over any female in the healthy weight range with audacity that only occurs because it’s Summernats – a celebration of thuggish bogun male heterosexuality. I felt like I needed to wear a burqa just to go to the library today.
Every street in Canberra is a dragway for the weekend. Participants and voyeurs prowl the city with blasting stereos and growling mufflers, yelling at women out of their windows. During this ‘family event’ held in an almost exclusively middle-class city, the adult stores and brothels have their biggest trading week of the year. Police brace themselves for widespread drunken violence and a rise in sexual assault and harassment claims. If I had a daughter, I’d lock her up. Hell, I lock myself up rather than endure days of being permanently nauseated by this rubbish.
So I’ve bunkered down for the weekend with the most contrary influences I could locate – romantic French films and modern philosophy books. I’m eating vegetarian food at home and abstaining from alcohol. Hopefully, by cushioning myself with all things feminine, intellectual, wank-ish and arts-ish I can feel insulated from the sound of burnouts and crowds of cheering just-out-of-jail morons in my street!
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