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In London, acres of daffodils popping up in round-abouts and median strips, herald the end of the cold and announce the hope of a long warm summer, but in Brisbane, Spring does not come pogoing along until after Riverfire.
There really is no spring when you live in the near tropics. You just go from carrying a bit of a cardie at night, 'just in case' to sweating up a storm wearing as little as possible. My thongs never get relegated, neither do my shorts or shortie T-shirts. The transition is often measured in hours, certainly it's not a gradual 3 month slip.
I suppose things start to grow more rampantly and it's a pretty good time to chuck some seeds and stuff in the dirt if you fancy some flowers, and it's necessary to check out the state of the pool water to make sure it's ready for the season opener.
The Warana Festival in Brissie started in 1966 and was pleasant, if a little twee by today's standards. There was a fence painting competition and a street parade and other areas of the Arts were showcased. It grew a bit like topsy until the late 1990s when there was a cracker of an idea and the rest as they say is history.
The Arts are highlighted and people brush off the cobwebs accumulated in the short sharp winter and spend time, day and night, outdoors.
The crackers are a mad, loud, vibrant, smokey, kick up the bum to anyone who needs to be reminded that summer is on its way. The day / night is family friendly and entertaining and fun and well, just bloody wonderful. The Planes and the helicopters and the little bit of nautical craziness on the river are FAB. And then when the fireworks start I am in a magical playground of colour and noise and smoke.
Last night's crackers were the best I have seen anywhere in the world in my whole life. Gobsmackingly great!
I am not too thrilled about the onset of the stinky sweaty season but I do like the Town Crier that makes the announcement.
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