I’ve never been to a drag car racing event before, and it’s probably fair to say that there is little chance I’ll be making it a priority to return to such an event after today.

The venue was Calder Park, about forty or so minutes from Melbourne. It’s a dusty, somewhat neglected race circuit that is as attractive and charmless as a lumpy truck stop waitress going through a bitter divorce. Where Formula One has glamour and glitz, drag racing has tattoos and tits (and not the kind that you want to see!). It was, by any standard, a festival of fine Bogantry.

As fun as it was to watch the various races, the on-track action was not as interesting as watching the sun cooked the herds of people gathered to inhale the fumes of fuel and enjoy the aroma of scorched rubber. As the voices of the commentators crackled over the loud speakers and ricocheted around the arena they mingled in the air with the roars and growls of engines. It’s fair to say this wasn’t really my kind of event, but it was a lot of fun because of the great and almost surreal people-watching opportunities.

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