About 25 years ago I achieved something some people have only dreamed of - I spent time chilling out inside the Big Prawn. I'd been killing time with a photographer while covering a manhunt in Ballina, northern NSW. One night, as we waited for our Chinese takeaway we took a stroll along the street and discovered that the side access door to the Big Prawn was unlocked. In a jiffy we were ascending the interior staircase. At the top, deep within the prawn's massive orange concrete head, was an old foam mattress where one could sit and gaze across the street to the Richmond River through giant, perspex eyes. For decades, every time I drove past on the way to Queensland I'd brag to whoever I was travelling with: "See that big prawn? I've hung out inside its brain."
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Australia's "Big" stuff captures the imagination in a way other landmarks simply do not. They're just plain weird, thus strangely magnetic. I'll never forget nearly fainting with excitement (and car sickness) when I first walked through the hallowed peel of the Big Banana in Coffs Harbour back in the '70s. I've been lost for words standing beneath Queensland's Big Pineapple and Goulburn's Big Merino, and, like hundreds of thousands of tourist drivers, I pulled a confused face when I first laid eyes on the Big Potato in Robertson and wondered why they didn't call it the Big Lump of Shit and be done with it.
But last week, we heard of plans for a Big Thing to outdo all Big Things on this Big Island of ours. Local councillors have mooted that a Big Bogan be built on the banks of the Bogan River in the central-western NSW town of Nyngan. Why haven't they thought of it before? I flipping love it! How could you not?
If built, the steel structure would be a giant man dressed in singlet, shorts and thongs and carrying an esky and a fishing rod. Talk around town is that Bogan Shire councillors won't go over the top and give him a ciggie or stubby holder. I've been to Nyngan once, but it was in 1990 when the entire town was completely under water so I couldn't really get a sense of the joint. But I solemnly promise that if they go ahead with the Big Bogan, I'll be out there within the year with wife and kids in the car to get a first-hand look at our new national icon and share the experience with my family. We'll spend money in the souvenir shops, drop more coin at the local Chinese and buy a few rounds in the pick of the pubs.
I wondered - what with all the talk of ramping up adventure tourism in the Illawarra - whether the Gong might benefit from something as simple as a Big Thing to bring the punters in. The recent triumph of Unanderra's own Darren and Damo made me ponder at first whether a Big Bic Lighter might be appropriate, but let's face it: Wollongong is just crying out for the Big Durry.
The great thing about this initiative is bringing it to life would involve little more than a coat of paint. Although the Big Stack is no longer, Port Kembla is still home to plenty of enormous chimneys that could quickly and easily be transformed into gaspers. Just paint the bottom fifth in cork-tip patterned brown, the remaining four-fifths white and allow room at the top to paint a grey-blue head of "ash". The Big Durry - or the Big Cig, take your pick - could even be fitted with a lighting system to make the tip glow orange-red at night.
Don't tell me people wouldn't come from around the country to be photographed near the Big Cig. And I'll guarantee a percentage of international visitors would make the trip down from Sydney, too. This all got me thinking about my erstwhile home town, too. It's got the big bridge, the big harbour and plenty of big egos, but strangely it lacks a truly Big Thing. If Nyngan can conjure a Big Bogan, Sydney City Council can surely lay on the Big Wanker.
I can see the Big Wanker in my mind's eye, standing defiantly and two storeys tall at Circular Quay, Bondi Beach, Kings Cross or on Manly Corso. Like the Big Bogan, the Big Wanker would wear thongs, but his would be white Havaianas and he'd have a ring on the third toe on his left foot. He'd be decked out in distressed custom-fit jeans, a body-hugging white singlet accentuating his six-pack and showing off the tattoo of Sanskrit lettering for the word "believe" on his shoulder. His head would be shaved, save for his hipster beard, and he'd wear a Rasta-style beanie and Dolce & Gabbana shades. In his right hand he'd be holding a low-carb imported beer, while his left hand would be casually shoved in his jeans pocket, enabling the flexing of his triceps.
Hell, I'd even volunteer to pose for the sculptors.
