Gentlemen Start Your Crustaceans

While visiting Sydney for her brothers wedding my sister in law Kei very kindly made some time to spend an evening with me.  So where should I take a stylish, sophisticated young woman in Sydney for a brief time?  Crab racing!  Yep,  crab racing where fortunes are won and lost, where dreams are shattered and nightmares become real and hermit crabs become gods!  Small, edible gods but gods nonetheless.

Honesty compels me to admit that the crab racing wasn't my idea.  It wasn't even Kei's idea.  It was the suggestion of a friend of hers who then bowed out at the last moment.  Like all great ideas this one outlasted it's owner and in deference to historical inevitability Kei & I made our way to the Friend in Hand pub in Glebe for the crab racing.

The Friend in Hand is a traditional, old style pub that appears to have been decorated when a tornado struck a life line bin.  It also has a model train running around the lintel which disposed me in its favour.  The place was sparsely occupied when we arrived allowing us to snare a table close to the racing board.  We were a little confused when balloons were distributed and perhaps a little concerned when they started handing out umbrellas as well.  The umbrellas immediately proved their utility when the bar staff started spraying the crowd with water.

And there was a crowd!  As C-Hour approached a collection of students, tourists and the occasional bikie filled up the bar and clustered around the board.  Bang on time, half an hour late a blare of racing music announced the arrival of a man dressed as a crab who would be our emcee for the evening.  The crabs were champing at the bit and the jockeys were getting positively feral but there were formalities before the barrier could be lifted.  There was a balloon bursting competition and a hula hoop dancing competition on the bar while the bar staff continued their periodic attempts to drown their clientele.  Some of said clientele hit on the bright idea of hiding under the bar itself.  This worked very well right up until the point where it didn't at which point it didn't work very badly indeed.

Crab racing works like this; you get a circular board and dump a bowl of crabs in the middle.  At the appropriate moment the bowl is removed and the crabs race hell for leather towards the edge of the board.  Or at least some of them do, some wander in circles doing a little sightseeing and some withdraw into their shells and pretend to be snails until it's all over.  Three dollars buys you a crab which you name and cheer on as it makes its run.

My crab was named Tasty and it came in second.  I was delighted and was already contemplating putting him out to stud when I was informed that to claim my prize I would have to face off against the other place getters in a race to eat some chocolate salty balls.  The challenge was to get the plate absolutely clean afterwards.  I lost that because I wasn't prepared to do what the winner did which was wipe the plate on her hair.  I know, I'm a princess.

After a second round of crab racing the emcee capped the evening by inviting guys to do a striptease on the bar.  I decided to leave that to others.  For one of the guys who got up it definitely was not his first rodeo.  An attractive young woman also got up glad of an opportunity to demonstrate how pleased she was with her plastic surgeons handiwork.  In her defence there does seem to be little point in paying for them if you're not going to flaunt them.

With proceedings drawing to a close Kei and I made our way back to the transport hub which would funnel us towards our respective accommodation pausing only to eat some McDonalds on the way.  Do I know how to show a girl a good time or what?