Watching the international netball test. Photo: Julian O’Brien.
Some people plan their weekends with military precision, while I seem to accidentally fall into events like a woman who’s tripped over her own good intentions.
One minute I’m out for milk, and the next I’m holding a raffle ticket, wearing a flower crown, and cheering for a convoy of trucks. I never quite know how it happens.
Here are five Illawarra events I didn’t mean to attend — but did anyway.
1. The international netball test
I’ve never been much of a netball fan. I’ve had only two serious goes at playing the game in my lifetime.
The first ended with me in a short skirt and T-shirt playing in the snow (I’m not exaggerating), unable to unzip my school bag post-game because my fingers had frozen and no longer had any feeling.
Decades later, I found myself in a mum’s team, Achy Breaky Knees, which made the grand final purely because we were the only team that didn’t forfeit all season.
Not because we were good — just because we showed up. Which, as it turns out, is 90 per cent of life and 100 per cent of netball success.
So when hubby surprised me with tickets to my first international netball test in Wollongong to see Australia and South Africa, I wasn’t sure what to expect.
But I’ll admit — it was thrilling. These women were fierce. Lightning passes, high-flying intercepts, and absolutely no-one calling for a sub because they “just need to stretch their hamstring for a sec”.
2. Bunnings sausage sizzles — the gateway drug to suburban adulthood
There was a time when weekends meant long brunches and nights out on the town. Now they mean Bunnings and a sausage wrapped in bread.
I don’t even know how it happened. One minute I was tagging along “just to grab a lightbulb”, and now I’m spending my Saturday mornings debating the merits of organic fertiliser for Roma tomatoes and mentally comparing DIY grout colours.
Worse, I now get genuinely excited about that sausage sizzle, as if I’m indulging my senses at a fine dining restaurant.
Somewhere along the line, I became my mother — standing in the outdoor furniture section, tomato sauce on my chin, saying, “It’s just nice to look, isn’t it?”
3. The dog festival (usually uses the word “paws” in its title)
After a decade of insisting “we are not getting a dog,” I now own a toy cavoodle named after something you spread on toast and, apparently, attend dog festivals.
There I was, prancing through Shell Cove surrounded by dachshunds in tutus and border collies wearing sunglasses.
I even bought dog-shaped biscuits — with icing and sprinkles — for the dog.
I drew the line at the matching owner-pet outfits, though. (Mostly because they didn’t have my size).
My bingo card that somehow lacked the winning numbers. Photo: Kellie O’Brien.
4. Bingo mornings at The Shellharbour Club
I don’t know how I ended up here. A friend suggested a morning drink at “Shellys”, and the next thing I was clutching a dabber pen like it was a loaded weapon, waiting for “legs eleven”.
The women on the table next to us were professionals. I knew this, because they had three cards on the go, a lucky troll doll, and a look of complete focus.
I, meanwhile, was frantically scanning my sheet, already half a beat behind the caller before the second number was called out. By the end of the 52 numbers that led to someone calling “bingo”, I somehow only heard six of them.
So, I didn’t win, but I did walk away with a souvenir dabber pen that now sits proudly on my desk — a trophy from my brief but intense foray into competitive bingo.
5. Illawarra Convoy (aka the most wholesome traffic jam you’ll ever get stuck in)
You set out for milk and end up waving at a parade of semi-trailers decked out in pink, blasting horns, and raising money for kids with cancer.
There’s something about Illawarra Convoy that gets you right in the chest.
You might’ve just been trying to cross the road, but the sheer joy of it — the crowds, the music, the good hearts behind the wheel — gets you every time.
You clap, you tear up a bit, and you forget the milk entirely.
Chances are I’ll forget the milk again when it rolls around on 16 November.
Honourable mention: Any local fair or market
Every Illawarra resident has done it — “just ducked out” for something small and returned three hours later with a churro, a raffle ticket, and a knitted beanie you’ll never wear but couldn’t resist.
I don’t plan to attend these things. But maybe that’s the point.
Sometimes the best parts of living here are the things you stumble into — armed only with good intentions, the car keys, and loose change for a sausage in bread.
