Category: Australia

  • Egg Sheeran, Warral, NSW

    Egg Sheeran the Big Egg, Warral, New South Wales, Australia

    There’s an egg-straordinary Big Thing to see in the village of Warral, just outside of Tamworth. Dear readers, please ome-let me introduce you to the imaginatively-titled Egg Sheeran.

    Y’know, like Ed Sheeran, the singing sensation. Pallid and globular with bright orange highlights, it’s no wonder the locals named this egg-normous statue after the carrot-crowned English rock god.

    Unlike Ed, who is known for his bad boy swagger, The Big Egg has an over-easygoing personality. The great big goog sits out the front of the picturesque Kelso Park Farm and has, sadly, seen better days. But I’m not going to bene-dictate whether the owners should clean him up or not.

    Whilst Ed has millions of groupies who swarm after him wherever he goes, it’s rare for Egg to have more than 30 or 40 devotees hanging around him at any one time. But it’s hard to get an eggs-act number.

    Not much is known about this big, concrete ovum – I came up with a duck’s egg when I tried to find out who made it and when. The question of ‘why’ doesn’t even need to be asked. As Ed would say, his namesake Egg is absolutely Perfect.

    Altogether now:I found an egg for me
    Oh, darling, just drive along Werris Creek Road and it will be seen
    Well, I found an egg, beautiful and sweet
    Oh, I’d like to eat him with some bacon and beans!

    I’m in love with the taste of you

    With Ed Sheeran and Egg Sheeran having so much in common, there was room for confusion when I hatched a plan to take Bigella – a lifelong ‘Sheerio’ – out to Warral to meet ‘Mr Sheeran’.

    “He’s playing out here in the middle of nowhere?” a wide-eyed Bigella asked as we a-poached The Big Egg.
    “Yes, Bigella,” I tittered. “I’m just as shell-shocked as you.”

    After pulling the Bigsmobile over by the side of the road, Bigella’s shoulders slumped. Tentatively, she circled Egg Sheeran.

    “He’s not all he’s cracked up to be,” she blubbered. “It’s just a rotten egg sculpture.”
    “Oh well,” I shrugged, feeling very pleased with myself indeed. “Different strokes for different yolks, I suppose.”
    “Shoosh Bigs, you’re scrambling on and on.”

    I had one final, hilarious, surprise in store for Bigella. As she reconsidered her life choices, I stepped behind the egg, pulled on a rubber chicken mask, and emerged as my alter-ego Jeremy Cluckson. I’d barely started gyrating around when Bigella started choking the chicken.

    “Bigella, it’s me, just silly old me!” I bagawked. “I was playing a childish prank!”

    “Of course I know it’s you – I’m eggs-asperated because you brought me all the way out here to the worst Big Thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” she spat. “It’s rusty, it doesn’t look very much like an egg, and it’s in a really shady place.”
    “Yes, there are a few trees around.”
    “No, it looks like someone’s going to come out of that house and stab us.”

    “I think you’re eggs-aggerating,” I replied. “But I’m sorry I fried to you about meeting Ed Sheeran.”
    “You left me with egg all over my face.”
    “To make it up to you, I’ll take you to meet Lizzo.”
    “The vivacious, curvaceous Lizzo? It’s not some dilapidated lizard sculpture you’ve named Lizzo?”
    “Um, no,” I smirked, ushering Bigella into the car for the 15-hour drive to see a dilapidated lizard sculpture I’d named Lizzo.

  • The Big Thermometer, Stanthorpe, QLD

    The Big Thermometer, Stanthorpe, Queensland, Australia

    Queensland’s coldest town is also home to the state’s hottest Big Thing – The Big Thermometer in beautiful Stanthorpe.

    Angular and baroque, with the temperature proudly displayed in bright neon at the top, this massive monument stands ten (thermo)metres high. For our American fans, that’s a (faren)height of 33 feet.

    Unveiled to a chilly, yet curious public on September 4, 2018, The Big Thermometer is the culmination of 20 years of blood, sweat and tears.

    After many heated arguments within the community, construction finally started in mid-2017. Local chaps Albert Piper and Peter Ingall selected and attached the intricate stone façade. By the way, do you think they needed a degree to help build this temperature reader?

    The Sunshine State isn’t known for its icy weather, but Stanny is one of the coldest places in Australia, with a record low temperature of -10.6 degrees – something the locals are freezed as punch about.

    “We’re the coldest town in Queensland and we’re really proud of it and we want to showcase it,” Chamber of Commerce vice-president Mick Spiller babbled.

    “Everyone likes to get a photo taken in front of something big and we’ve certainly got a quality structure there for people to do that – I think the word will spread very quickly.”

    The Big Thermometer takes pride of place in the tranquil Rotary Park, next to the duck-filled Quart Pot Creek and just up from the Visitor Centre. They’ll always give you warm welcome!

    The Big Thermometer’s put Stanthorpe on the map – that’s for tempera-sure!

    Revenge is a dish best served… cold!

    Relations have long been frosty between the people of Stanthorpe and those of nearby Applethorpe, with both claiming to live in Queensland’s chilliest town.

    For decades, Applethorpers had bragging rights, as the Bureau of Meteorology plucked their readings from a fancy weather machine set up in their hamlet.

    Temperatures in Stanthorpe, on the other hand, were manually recorded and submitted to the BOM by rugged-up volunteers at 9am each day, so their arctic dawns never made the morning news.

    Then, in 1978 Applethorpe built the core-geous Big Apple – a true magnet for tourists – leaving the good folks of Stanthorpe even further out in the cold.

    And thus, the true brilliance of The Big Thermometer becomes apparent. Not only does its size and beauty draw visitors in their thousands, but there’s an even fancier weather machine hidden within its blocky bowels.

    Now both towns have Big Things. Both towns have wizz-bang weather-reading machines – and the rivalry is hotter than ever.

    It’s gettin’ hot in Stanny, so take off all your clothes
    I am gettin’ so hot, I wanna take my clothes off!

    When my pluviophilic pal, Gordon, and myself arrived in Stanthorpe, it wasn’t cold at all. It was, in fact a balmy 32.2 degrees – hot enough to melt the horns off Ballandean’s nearby Big Dinosaur!

    “If I’d checked the fur-cast,” Gordon wheezed as we climbed out of the Bigsmobile, “I would’ve shaved my body hair off beforehand.”
    “Weather or not you’re cold or hot…”
    “I know, I know, I need to keep a sunny disposition.”
    “You Mercu-really do,” I chuckled.

    We sat down beneath the branches of a sprawling tree, and watched a parrot land on the crown of the Thermometer. I glanced at Gordon. Gordon glanced me.

    “It really is an ice Big Thing.”
    “You need to sleet it to believe it!”
    “All hail this roadside attraction.”
    “It’s quite cloud-standing.”
    “Worth stopping for – don’t just look at it through the wind-ow as you drive past.”
    “It’s snow wonder the locals are so proud of their Thermometer.”
    “Although they can be a bit vane about it.”

    “Gordon,” I said gently, taking my chum by the hand. “I hate to rain on your parade, but I need to save some weather-related puns for my entry on The World’s Biggest Thermometer in Baker, California. Now let’s get some photos.”

    “No worries, Bigs, but just remember,” Gordon grinned, holding up a single finger. “No matter how tempting The Big Thermometer looks, please don’t try to climate!

  • The Big Trout, Oberon, NSW

    The Big Trout, Oberon, New South Wales, Australia

    Want to enjoy a scrumptious Chinese dinner whilst admiring an enormous fish? Then head to the charming haven of Oberon, New South Wales, where you can have a photo with The Big Trout as you wipe succulent sweet ‘n’ sour sauce from your chin.

    The scaly scamp, with his flabbergasted expression, lives in front of the Oberon Rainbow Chinese Restaurant and the adjoining Big Trout Motor Inn. He arrived in 1989, a few months after the hotel opened, and has become a beloved symbol of the village, which is famous for fly fishing.

    Why anyone would want to fish for flies, I don’t know – teehee!

    The Trout may not be as large, famous or – let’s face it – handsome as that other Big Trout in Adaminaby, but he radiates with a folksy charm that could warm up the coldest Oberon morning.

    The Big Trout was refurb-fished in 2012, with the motel’s owners casting a wide net to find the right man for the job. That turned out to be local artist Mark Taylor, who not only tackled the task of repainting the fish, but also added the gorgeous mural behind him.

    Thankfully, The Big Trout is in good hands (which is ironic because, being a fish, he doesn’t have any). The motel and restaurant were sold a few years ago, with Chandra and Pav Ratnam taking over the fish-ility in 2020.

    They’ve splashed the cash renovating the hotel’s rooms, so you can spend all night peering out the window at their wet wunderkind, with all the comfort of clean bedsheets and reverse cycle air-conditioning.

    Chan and Pav, your spacious and well-appointed rooms really are the catch of the day!

    A Big Fish In A Small Pond (but it’s empty, so you can get up close and perch-onal for a photo)

    My chum, Gordon, is hooked on fly fishing, so it didn’t take much to convince him to head to Oberon with me. After spending the day with our rods in our hands we were famished, so we splashed off to the Rainbow Chinese for the deep-fried duck with plum sauce and a side of hot chips.

    No seafood for me – I didn’t want to upset the big guy out the front!

    The restaurant is is popular with the locals, so there was a long (fishing) line out the door, but it was definitely worth the bait. Fresh and juicy lamb, pork and chicken, with just the right amount of Oriental tang, tantalise the tastebuds.

    Unfortunately, things soon took a distasteful turn – and I’m not talking about the Szechuan beef, which was magnificent.

    Wanting to show off to his angling buddies, Gordon took to drinking like a fish. Inebriated on rice wine, he stumbled out of the restaurant and started breakdancing beneath the bosom of The Big Trout. Our finned friend, unaccustomed to such boorish behaviour, must’ve mistaken Gordon for a chubby little mealworm, and tried to eat him.

    Trouty, I’ve shared a car with Gordon after he’s had a Chinese feast – so trust me, you don’t want to do that!

    Showing nerves of steel, I grabbed the nearest Ugly Stik and rescued Gordon from the oversized mackerel’s jaws. A cacophony of cheers from the other diners, however, soon gave way to judgemental jeers at the small alien’s vulgar exploits.

    Fortunately, he passed out shortly after I took him back to our room, and I was able to finish my meal and go back to gawping at the big, concrete fish.

    Here is my handle, here is my trout

    When he woke up in our conservatively-priced twin cabana the next morning, Gordon was feeling a bit green about the gills.

    “I’m so embarrassed, I just want to get out of here,” he mumbled, putting on a pair of dark sunglasses. As I smuggled him out of there, Gordon barely even acknowledged The Big Trout. I know it’s a bad hangover when he can’t even be bothered worshipping an overside roadside attraction.

    Reversing the Bigsmobile out of the driveway, a hairy landed upon mine.
    “Don’t forgot my Mongolian lamb with a side of dim sims before we leave,” Gordon grumbled, jabbing a finger at the restaurant. I grinned at him and took off my seatbelt.
    “And some spring rolls?” I asked.
    “Of course, Bigs, and the special fried rice,” he chortled, before giving The Big Trout a cheeky wink. “Oberon out!”

  • Varanus the Big Goanna, Forbes, NSW

    Varanus the Big Goanna, Forbes, New South Wales

    Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother, you’re takin’ a drive, takin’ a drive… out to Forbes! There you’ll find Varanus, the grooviest goanna on the planet.

    The 20-metre-long metal lizard haunts the bushland southwest of town but, despite his remote location, usually has a few scantily-clad go-go girls jitterbugging around him. And this Fever doesn’t just happen on Saturday Nights, because you can see Varanus every day of the week!

    So pop on a crisp white suit and crank up the Bee Gees as we cut a rug with this very special Big!

    Varanus was built by that hippest of cats, sculptor Glen Star. A true visionary with a unique connection to the land, Glen crafted the enormous critter completely by hand, using the highest-quality steel.

    “Anyone who has been camping in the bush has probably seen a lace monitor,” Glen revealed. “The goanna is of special significance to the Wiradjuri people as a totemic animal, and a food source particularly during tough times. The bigger the gugaa (goanna), the more people fed.”

    The result is a remarkable Big that eviscerates the unyielding dichotomy betwixt science and mysticism. Varanus serves as the main attraction of the famed Sculpture Down The Lachlan art trail, along with Bird in Hand and Heart of Country.

    Despite his immense stature, Varanus blends perfectly in with his surroundings. Once the sun slips behind the gumtrees, however, it’s party time for this splendid squamate.

    Forget the Viper Room – the Lace Monitor Room is the freshest place to be seen! Awwwww, yeah!

    I’m not a girl, not yet a goanna

    Meet me at the place where we learned to electric boogaloo. Eleven words on a slip of unlined A3 paper, that had me racing back to Forbes. A town where I’d misspent my youth. A town I never dreamed I’d return to. Would the townsfolk even want me back?

    “John,” I muttered as I navigated the Bigsmobile through the winding backroads of western New South Wales. “Oh poor, sweet John.”
    “You don’t have to do this, you know,” whispered Gordon, placing a tiny hand upon mine. “The last time you helped him, you barely made it out alive.”
    “He’d do the same for me,” I shrugged, a tear rolling down my cheek. “At least, I hope he would.”

    It was almost closing time at the Post Office Hotel when I pushed through the heavy wooden doors. There he was slumped on the bar, surrounded by empty beer cans and framed by a halo of light from the toilet.

    “John!” I cried.
    “That’s Mr Travolta to you,” the figure slurred, then his eyes widened when he saw me. “Bigs!”

    We embraced, and it was if no time had passed since we’d first met on the set of the poorly-received Look Who’s Talking Now, where I’d performed admirably as John’s stunt double.

    “Bigs,” my pal blubbered, “I’ve wasted my life on my acclaimed acting career when I should’ve been focused on what’s important – travelling around Australia looking at oversized roadside objects.”
    “John, you’ve had one of Tinseltown’s most storied careers, money, women and –”
    “And I’d give it all back just to visit Ally the Alpaca.”
    “Come on now. You’ve visited many Big Things.”
    “Thirty-four,” he wept. “I’ve only seen 34 Bigs.”
    “Oh dear,” I gasped, taking the Hollywood hunk in my arms. John, I had no idea it was this bad.”

    John Travolta reached for another beer and I slapped it out of his hand.
    “You don’t need another drinky-poo,” I cooed, stroking his luxurious hair. “The only thing that will fix you is an enormous metal lizard.”

    John nodded sadly, and there was a flicker of hope in his chocolatey eyes.

    “Now put on that stunning white suit you wore in Saturday Night Fever,” I smiled, “and let’s get out of here.”

    But I don’t feel like dancin’ when the old goanna plays
    My heart could take a chance, but this Big Thing will make your day

    By the light of the silvery moon, John Travolta, resplendent in his flares and wide-lapelled cloak, chest hair bristling in the breeze, twirled the inimitable Bigs Bardot through the Australian bush whilst Varanus the Big Goanna watched on, smiling.

    “Here I am,” John cooed, busting out a brief crab dance. “Prayin’ for this moment to last.”
    “Livin’ on the music so fine,” I cawed, doing the floss beneath the eucalypts. “Borne on the wind,
    makin’ it mine.”
    “Night fever, night fever,” we called in perfect unison. “We know how to do it. Gimme that night fever, night fever. We know how to show iiiiiiiiiit!”

    John and I collapsed to the heath, breasts heaving as we stared up at Varanus. The creature peered back approvingly and, for a moment, all was well in the world. Bigs Bardot and John Travolta would cross the Land of the Bigs, disco dancing in front of other large lizards such as Dirrawuhn, The Big Water Dragon, Lizzo, and Joanna the Goanna.

    “Yo toots, I gotta split,” John finally said, shattering my illusion of peace. “My private jet is waiting to take me to a bat mitzvah at Ron Howard’s place.
    “Lead the way,” I grinned, looking over at my friend’s custom-built Boeing 707-138, parked a few metres away from The Big Goanna. “I’ve been meaning to pitch a script for a Land of the Bigs movie to Ron for a while. Think Schindler’s List meets Screwballs.”

    “Aw, Bigs, you know I’d like to,” shrugged John, spinning on the spot and then pointing, dramatically, at the full moon. “But I just don’t have the room, babydoll.”
    “There are 189 seats on that aeroplane, John.”
    “Pookie, you know I need those seats for all my Academy Awards.”
    “John, John! I thought we were going to see Arthur Sprout tomorrow…”
    But John was already sailing through the skies on his luxury airliner.

    By the time I’d hiked the 5.5km back to Forbes, Gordon was finishing his nightcap in the front bar of the Post Office Hotel. Seeing my bedraggled party suit and broken-hearted gaze, he gave me a comforting smile and drew me in for a cuddle.

    “He did it again, didn’t he?” Gordon sighed, ruffling my hair. I just nodded sheepishly.
    “Then let’s dance it out,” he grinned. As we took to the pub’s dance floor, the people of Forbes surrounded us, hips thrusting and arms waving. For one night, the pubs of this central western village were transformed into the discotèques of late-70s Brooklyn.

    Oh, and if you’re wondering whether John’s ever been back to Forbes, the answer is a resounding no – and a few of the burlier members of the local rugby team will be there to meet him at the entrance to town if he tries to return.

    Travolta, you have been warned.

  • The Big Diver, Darling Harbour, NSW

    Diver, Australian National Maritime Museum, Darling Harbour, New South Wales, Australia

    Depression, much like a hideous squid from the darkest depths of the deepest ocean, wraps its slimy tendrils around us all at some point or another. Tragically, Big Things, despite their beauty and fame and cultural importance, are no more likely than the rest of us to escape its wrath.

    Never is this more evident than with Diver, who stands forlornly out the front of the Australian National Maritime Museum.

    On the surface, he has it all. Designed by the incomparable Tim Kyle and installed in November 2021, Diver’s the tall, dark and handsome dude all the girls want and all the guys want to be. At five metres from weighted boots to bulbous helmet, he has a splendid view over the Sydney skyline.

    Chinese tourists line up for hours for a selfie with Diver, before kissing his plinth for luck. Children stop in their tracks to gawp, overwhelmed by his grandeur. Despite this, Diver remains cloaked in loneliness, his intricately-detailed tunic separating him from the harsh realities of the outside world.

    To stand with Diver for a moment, to hold his cold metal hand and listen to the mournful melody of water lapping at his enormous feet, is to understand the folly of mankind. This, my fellow Biggies, is desolation made flesh.

    And it was all by design.

    The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

    Installed to mark the United Nations Decade of Ocean Science for Sustainable Development (which runs from 2021–2030, and really could do with a snappier title), Diver compares and contrasts the plight of modern man to the solitude of the endless brine. Whilst a regular-sized diver may explore the bottom of the ocean, Diver helps us explore the very essence of humanity.

    “The piece presents as a metaphor for anonymity and introspection,” Mr Kyle explained to a wet-behind-the-ears scribe. “The sculpted suit acts as a symbolic armour, serving to reinforce his isolation. The scale elevates the figure’s melancholic presence, while retaining the formal elements of traditional sculptural language.”

    Tim, sweet Tim. It’s as if you took all my insecurities and wrapped them in the veil of an anatomically-correct roadside attraction.

    And thus, we may never know the real Diver. Like a deep-sea explorer trapped at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, helplessly watching his oxygen run out as the world trundles on miles above him, this Big is an enigma wrapped inside a mystery ensconced inside a three-bolt copper diving bonnet.

    Coda

    Forever changed (refined?) by the cold indifference Diver showed towards us, Gideon the Guacamole and I wandered through the brisk Sydney night. We gorged ourselves on cookies and cream gelato and boba tea encrusted with cheese foam, whilst avoiding the elephant in the room; the poignant despondency we had born witness to.

    “Golly gosh, Mr Bardot,” Gideon finally said, as he wiped foam from his quivering lip. “I sure am glad we have each other.”
    “And Bigella,” I replied. Gideon looked so happy I thought he might burst.
    “And Gordon and Gordina.”
    “And Lee Kernaghan.”
    We grinned at each other, pleased to have a loved one to share this moment with.

    Without special someone to take along for the ride, we’re destined to drift aimlessly through the pitch-black ocean of life. It’s the people we meet along the way that make this journey through the Land of the Bigs so special.

    If you or someone you know are going through difficult times, please contact Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636, or visit them at beyondblue.org.au.

  • iDIDIT!, Birtinya, QLD

    iDIDIT!, Birtinya, Queensland, Australia

    People are always complimenting me on my childlike exuberance (or, as they usually put it, my emotional immaturity), so when I found out there was a six-metre-tall statue of a playful kiddie on the Sunshine Coast, I grabbed Bigella and trundled over there.

    After having my sippy cup and an afternoon nap, of course!

    iDIDIT! was created by babyfaced artist Russel Anderson in 2017, and can be found frolicking in Birtinya’s lively Village Park. A tribute to the young and the young at heart, its not unusual to find dozens of poeple monkeying about on the grassy knoll he rests upon.

    Whilst there I even witnessed a pensioner, 95 if he was a day, trundle up on his mobility scooter and then, inspired by the statue’s splendour, pull off a a perfectly-executed backflip with a half-pike.

    “I did it!” he cheered afterwards.

    Rambunctious Russel spent more than eight months fashioning iDITIT! from more than 250 layers of weathering steel, providing a timeless appearance that contrasts magnificently against the impermanence of youth.

    “Every layer was hand-drawn and cut into about a thousand pieces that had to interconnect – there was no ‘oopsy-daisy’, I only got one go at it,” Russel told Salt Magazine. “There were in excess of 6000 holes and bolts to hold the pieces together.

    “It was a weird shape too – there was a wiggly shirt and wiggly hair. It was about trusting I’d designed it correctly. I’d never done anything like it before.”

    The public responded, not surprisingly, with youthful zeal. Then a gutter journalist wrote a hit piece revealing the cost of iDIDIT! – a very reasonable $220,000, paid for by property developers Stockland – and a bunch of big babies threw their toys out of the pram in the worst way possible.

    New Kid On The Block

    iDIDIT! became the target of an online hate campaign that bordered on child abuse. Russel – poor, kind, talented Russel – was crushed. His gift to the world, which breathes life and levity into a nondescript park, was putting smiles on faces every day of the week. But it wasn’t enough for some.

    “It put me off doing art,” Russell wept. “It gutted me. I put everything into it and it got to me. I was thinking, ‘I can’t comprehend I’ve built this with that amount of money’. Most of the cost was materials, the steel, the cutting and the labour to weld it. It’s Australian steel, too – I could have bought it from China, but you don’t know what you’re getting.”

    Well the Chinese do have their One Big Child Policy – teehee!

    “People I know jumped on Facebook and tried to tell people the facts, but I didn’t want to engage with people. I thought, ‘this is my personal life. I don’t want to be attacked for something I worked hard for’. I’d just built the best thing I’d ever built!”

    One would assume that the good folk of the Sunny Coast – home to The Big Mower, The Big Pineapple, Matilda and The Black Ant – would be more open-minded.

    Russel’s tale is a perfect metaphor for the loss of childhood innocence. If iDIDIT! – cheeky and pure and made of several tonnes of dilapidated metal – must bend to the societal pressures of bigotry and ignorance, what hope does a regular-sized child have?

    Well I Guess This Is Growing Up

    The sculpture transforms throughout the day, as if experiencing all the stages of boyhood. At dawn, iDIDIT! stands cold and alone against the blooming Queensland sun, reborn every morning. By noon, the piece shows off its scuffs and scrapes, a melancholy elegy to misspent youth. And finally, at dusk, iDIDIT! is wrapped in a cocoon of darkness, signalling the end of childhood and the inevitable journey into adolescence.

    “The boy has a bit of a serious message underneath it all about rehabilitation, but it’s meant to be fun and joyous,” Russel continued. “I’m not trying to offend people and I’m not political in any way. That’s my thing about public art – I’m trying to lighten things up a bit. Aesthetics are important of course, and workmanship. It needs to be well built.”

    Well, iDIDIT! is certainly well-built. I’d need to do months of Billy Blanks’ Tae Bo to build up lats like that!

    “The boy is very accessible and that’s really important to me,” added Russel. “You have a memory of doing a handstand and you relate to it instantly. I’ve not really done figurative work like that as a rule and it meets my criteria – the whimsy, the playfulness – there’s so much I can do in that world.”

    It was this waggishness that so enchanted Bigella and moi as we sat in The Big Child’s shadow.

    “You know, Bigella,” I whispered, gently taking her hand. “iDIDIT! has inspired me with his innocence and joy. I think it’s time we had a child of our own.”
    “Oh, Bigs!” she gasped, a tear meandering its way down her cheek. “Do you really mean it?”
    “Yeah, a statue just like this would look great in the front yard. I’ll give Russel Anderson a call, right after you change my nappy!”

  • The Big Footy, Ungarie, NSW

    The Big Footy, Ungarie, New South Wales, Australia

    Ungarie, a speck of a town hidden in the scrub between West Wyalong and Lake Cargellio, is remarkable for two reasons. Firstly, the Daniher brothers, a quartet of fearsome footballers who rose from obscurity to become the most celebrated sportsmen in the country.

    Secondly – and most notably – The Big Footy, which was built in their honour and looms large over the sleepy village of less than 400 people.

    Terry, Anthony, Neale and Chris Daniher made their marks with the Essendon Bombers, and in 1990 became the first set of four brothers take the field together. All up, the gang played 752 games in the AFL. Their legend has only grown in Ungarie, where the lads have taken on almost mythical status.

    The Big Footy, which is five metres long and weighs 800kg, was revealed to the public just after specky – oops, make that brekky! – on March 10, 2018. There must’ve been a lot of people calling out, “Baaaaall!” that day!

    “It’s very much indeed an honour,” Terry told a clearly-impressed reporter from the ABC. “It’s not something we ever thought would happen, but I think it’s wonderful.”

    “The Big Footy is great for our family but also for the community,” Neale added. “Ungarie is a tiny town in the middle of nowhere but a big-hearted community. If this means a few more people stop in town, that’d be a good thing.”

    More Than A Game

    Andrew Gordon and a couple of mates built The Big Footy in a workshop in Albury. Working with steel and fiberglass, the boys obviously had a ball making it!

    “The three of us have been working pretty hard. It had to be done and it had to be right,” Andy chirped after unveiling his creation, which cost just $60,000 – about the price of a pie at the MCG these days. “We started in September and the last 20 per cent of the job took 80 per cent of the time, which I guess is always the case.”

    You always give it 110 per cent, mate!

    “I reckon the last month or so, there weren’t many finishes before midnight and plenty and 1am and 2am finishes,” he added. “I wanted it to be as perfect as possible, and I’d say it’s perfect enough – but only just.”

    Thanks for ‘sherrin’ that story with the world, Andy!

    Up there, Bigs Bardot! Have a go, ya mug!

    Egged on by my travel buddy/personal concierge Gordon (the cherubic alien, not the chap who built this Big), I kitted up in a traditional Aussie Rules tunic for a photo sesh with The Big Footy.

    “36-24-36 – hike!” I chuckled as I played kick-to-kick with my petite friend, deftly goose-stepping around the verdant grounds of downtown Ungarie.

    As I was catching my breath, a funny little man trotted over with a look of astonishment on his face.

    “Bigs, I’ve never seen a display of athleticism quite like that,” the fellow gasped. “My name’s Eugene Kransky and I’m a talent scout for the Sydney Swans. I’d like to offer you a $5 million contract and a three-bedroom apartment overlooking the harbour.”

    The little guy held out a contract and a pen, hopeful tears pricking at his eyes, and my heart broke for him.

    “Eugene,” I said gently, “I appreciate your offer, but you know my loyalty lies with with the Big Things of Australia. Becoming a highly-paid sporting idol and sex symbol would just get in the way.”

    “Bigs, please,” Eugene wept. “The Super Bowl is this weekend, and we’re no chance of winning it without you. The whole country’s counting on you, mate.”

    “Alright, Eugene, keep your wig on,” I reassured him, as we walked into the sunset. “But make it $10 million, and I demand you sign Ernie the Shepparton Giant to be our wicket keeper.”

  • Larry the Lobster, Kingston SE, SA

    Larry the Lobster, Kingston SE, South Australia

    He’s huge, he’s handsome, he’d probably taste great slathered in a few litres of garlic butter. Please put your pincers together for the loveable, legendary, and oh-so-large Larry the Lobster!

    Jut watch out – he can be a bit crabby!

    At 17 metres tall, 15.2 metres long and 13.7 metres wide, and weighing in at four tonnes, Larry casts an imposing shadow over Kingston SE. Antennae up and maxillipeds agape, he welcomes visitors to the remote beachside town three hours south of Adelaide.

    World-weary travellers and little nippers alike will gasp in delight at Larry’s intricate exoskeleton and friendly, knowing eyes, which have been rerceated in stunning detail. He looks wonderful from a distance, but it is only by getting up claws and personal with The Big Lobster, sprawling out between his prodigious pereiopods that the full extent of his grandeur can be fully understood.

    Larry could very well be the Holy Grail of Big Things – culturally relevant, world famous, fantastically-realised, and astonishingly large. Needless to say, he’s a crust-see attraction!

    Could there be a better way to spend a crisp May afternoon than by taking a shellfie with a gigantic lobster, then popping into the on-site cafe for a fishburger and a strawberry thickshake?

    The service is snappy but, remarkably, they don’t serve lobster. But that’s probably for the best – it might upset Larry!

    As Happy As Larry

    Local lobster fisherman Ian Backler is the man to thank for coming up with the idea for Larry. After returning home from a holiday in the United States – where he undoubtedly gawked at many oversized roadside attractions – he was inspired to create one of his own.

    Teaming up with charismatic local chaps Rob Moyse and Ian Hannaford, the trio devised a plan that was as innovative as it was bonkers; build an enormous sea creature that would appear, to the untrained eye, to be attacking the town’s new tourist information centre. The just sit back and wait for the tourists to start pouring in.

    And there was only one man who could pull it off.

    Enter Paul Kelly. No, not the folk-pop icon, the visionary who built Scotty the Big Scotsman. Displaying rare genius, Paul bought a spiny lobster from a local fish and chip shop and had it stuffed to serve as his muse.

    Paul then rented out a warehouse in Adelaide and, over the next six months, built The Big Lobster. He started with a monstrous steel frame, then carved the details from foam, slathered the whole thing in fiberglass, and stood back to bisque in the lobster’s glory.

    On December 15, 1979 hundreds – perhaps thousands – of perky pescatarians lobbed up to see South Australian Premier Dave Tonkin reveal The Big Lobster to the world. In my mind, I picture Dave, atop a cherrypicker, lifting up the lid of one of those silver serving trays to reveal the enormous creature. But, in my heart of hearts, I know this to not be the case.

    Something like that would be cray-zy, even for a noted prankster like Dave Tonkin.

    But wait… there’s more-nay!

    As his shell-ebrity has grown, other crustaceans have attempted to steal Larry’s thunder. The town of Shediac, Canada is home to an imposter known as The World’s Largest Lobster. They should rename him The World’s Largest Con-Job as, at a paltry 11 metres long and two metres tall, the creature’s not even big enough to be served in a seafood basket at the local bowlo.

    Best to stick with Lucky Larry and some of Australia’s other supersized sea creatures, such as The Big Prawn, The Big Prawn, The Big Prawn or Gabby the Yabby.

    In 2015, a crayfish sculpture in Qianjiang, China pinched the Guinness Book of Records title for The World’s Largest Crustacean Sculpture. This was claws for concern as, much like the PRC’s faćade of democracy, it’s a big, fat lie. Despite claims that it’s 15 metres tall, photos show that this Oriental charlatan is only slightly larger than your average Chinaman.

    I’ll bring it up with Xi next time we meet up to play pickleball.

    Dirty Gordon, Crazy Larry

    Gordon was unusually quiet, ruminating over a bucket of calamari rings as we sat in The Big Lobster’s immense shadow. I’d expected the little alien to come out with one of his usual pithy comments, or try to climb up Larry so he could ride him. There was nothing, however, but the contemplative chewing of perfectly-cooked seafood.

    “You know, Bigs,” the plucky lad finally said, wiping tartare sauce from his chin as the sun dripped towards the horizon, “Larry really is the best of us.”

    I simply nodded, then watched a heron swaggering through the scrub as I allowed Gordon the time to gather his thoughts.

    “He’s the reason that we travel up and down these dusty roads,” my friend continued, jabbing a furry finger towards the towering lobster. “Why we’ve given up any vestige of normal life to chronicle to stories of Australia’s Big Things. A handful of normal men took a ludicrous idea and turned it into reality, and in doing so changed the culture of this country forever. They made millions of people happy with a work of art that, hand on heart, can proudly stand alongside anything the human race has ever accomplished.”

    Gordon’s words encapsulated my own feelings. All I could do was hug him in the waning light, until the ink black night enveloped us. When I finally opened my eyes, Larry the Lobster was illuminated, hovering over us like a four-storey fever dream.

    “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I smiled.
    “Sweet,” chuckled Gordon. “Can we get some butter-and-fennel-poached lobster rolls on the way home?”
    “Shhh,” I giggled, bundling Gordon into the Bigsmobile. “He’ll hear you!”

  • The Big Corkscrew, Berrima, NSW

    The Big Corkscrew, Berrima, New South Wales, Australia

    Bon appétit, sweeties! It is I, erudite New York socialite and cultivated wine snob, Bigs von Bubbles. But then you already knew that, ya putz!

    Rare is it that I venture past West 29th – it all gets a bit ethnic for my cultivated tastes – but, when I heard there was a gigantic corkscrew at the Bendooley Estate in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales, Australia, I knew I had to see it.

    After all, if the Aussies need a corkscrew the size of a taxicab, just imagine how much yummy booze they must have – hick!

    Not wanting to miss out on the soiree, I scrambled to book a flight on one of the few airlines that will still have me. (My heartfelt thanks to Motu from Air Eritrea, who made sure I was never without a carafe of alcoholic baboon milk – an East African favourite – during the 67-hour flight)

    The journey, and my brief incarceration at Sydney Airport, were well worth it. The Big Corkscrew, which was created by the captivating David Ball and installed in 2015, proved to be whimsical, offbeat and, dare I say it, fermented in melancholy. A love letter to alcohol dependency, if you will.

    “That’s lovely,” I muttered to myself after an appropriate period of admiring the Corkscrew. “But I have a Big Thirst, so where’s the Big Wine Bottle?”

    The Turn of the Screw

    Imagine my disappointment to discover that Bendooley wines – despite tantalising the tastebuds with zesty notes of plum and cherry – are served in teeny tiny 750ml bottles. Us Noo Yawkers like to drink out of 44 gallon drums, so that just wouldn’t do.

    Trembling uncontrollably, I scoured the estate’s luxurious grounds for for a bottle large enough to quench my cravings. Finally, a kind soul revealed that the nearest Big Bottles were in Pokolbin and Rutherglen – too far for me to travel to before immigration officials could track me down.

    Fortunately I was able to hitchhike to Australia’s cultural hub, Dan Murphy’s, to purchase the finest flagon of goon I could find. Only the freshest and most flavourful viño would do.

    Oh, who am I kidding? I’d guzzle methylated spirits out of a windsock if it came down to it – hick!

    The rest of the afternoon is a deplorable blur of alcoholic excess, as I well and truly wore out my welcome at Bendooley. After crashing a wedding and knocking over the three-tiered Boho-inspired cake I was, mercifully, ejected from the estate whilst professing my unyielding love to the newly-betrothed.

    My sincerest apologies, Malcolm and Rekesh.

    Teehee, it’s only me – a brief note from Bigs Bardot

    Buenos noches, Land of the Bigs fanatics! It is I, the inimitable Bigs Bardot. I had a bit of cheeky fun writing this entry in character as my alter-ego, Bigs von Bubbles, and took a little creative license for humorous effect.

    What I didn’t embelish, however, is how much I enjoyed my visit to Bendooley Estate.

    Nary a drop of alcohol has passed my supple lips, so I am unable to report on the fine range of Bendooley wines, but the charcuterie board, with its sumptuous selection of cured meats and homemade pickles, was like heaven on earth. Pair that with attentive service and rustic pastoral views, and you have the recipe for a ‘vintage’ afternoon.

    What a corker!

  • The Cowra Eagle, Cowra, NSW

    The Cowra Eagle, Cowra, New South Wales, Australia

    Rising above his surroundings like a Soviet phoenix, The Cowra Eagle serves as a tribute to the wedge-tailed wonders of Western NSW. With his barrel chest and piercing gaze, this Big has watched over his comrades since 1972.

    No wonder he’s the hawk of the town!

    The majestic creature was conceived and designed by the ever-affable Don Kibbler. Inspired by Cowra Council’s original corporate seal from 1888 – which featured a joyful eagle resting atop a cluster of rocks – he set about creating a landmark all Cowrans could be proud of.

    Don turned to talon-ted ironmonger Colin Cranny, of local company Lachlan Steel, to fabricate the Eagle. The sinewy legs were donated by the generous Dick Murney, and were made from two bore casings.

    The end result was a real sight for soar eyes – but the Eagle was missing a certain je ne sais quoi. He was originally built without his ‘shoulders’, and these were tacked on by prominent Cowra signwriter Peter Slattery.

    Tourists swooped into town in their thousands to sit in his shadow, surrounded by roses and marinating in the sweet sound of birdsong.

    When the new Visitor’s Centre was built in 1987, the Eagle was moved to his current position closer to the main road – without the rocks to cover his shapely pins. Many a feather was ruffled by the show of skin, but there are no claws against that.

    Let’s Go Where Eagles Dare!

    “Woh-oh-oh
    Come on fast, you can come on slow
    I’m just crazy ’bout the way we move
    Doin’ the Cowra Eagle Rock.”

    Gordon was in high spirits as we swaggered out of McDonald’s, Oreo-encrusted McFlurrys in hand, and sauntered towards The Cowra Eagle. He’d been yodelling along to his Daddy Cool cassette for days leading up to our visit, but his voice trailed off the moment he saw the avant-garde avian.

    We stood there, ice cream dripping down chins, in gobsmacked silence. Even amongst the towering liquidambars, the winged wunderkind rules the roost. The Eagle’s raw construction and brutalist lines seem, at first, more at home in some snow-swept Russian hellhole – but he retains an undeniable 70s sense of fun.

    This a Big who would look great with an afro wig perched atop his head. Make it happen, Cowra Council!

    Though unique in his design, The Cowra Eagle is just one of many oversized birds found across the Land of the Bigs. New South Wales is home to The Big Chook, The Big Kookaburra, Stanley, Charlie, The Big Bowerbird and Canoli. There’s Pelican Pete, Katey Seagull, The Big Parrot and The Big Honeyeater in Queensland. Bruno, Chickaletta, The Big Kingfisher, The Big Emus and another Eagle all live in Victoria. And, of course, Tasmania’s Big Penguin.

    As Gordon and I spread our wings for these photos, a young girl and her grandfather wandered over.
    “Look at that bald eagle,” gasped the child, pointing in our direction.
    “Fascist!” shouted Gordon.
    “Yeah, my closely-cropped hairstyle is a fashion choice,” I sneered. “I could grow it out any time I want.”
    “Fascist!” Gordon repeated.

    I doubt he knew the meaning of the term, bless him, but it’s the unbridled hatred that counts.

  • The Big Bread Clip, Dulwich Hill, NSW

    The Big Bread Clip, Dulwich Hill, New South Wales, Australia

    Yes, that’s a giant plastic thingy used to keep bags of bread closed, made from thousands of little plastic thingies used to keep bags of bread closed. And they say Australia lacks culture!

    Officially known as Monolith, The Big Bread Clip was unveiled to a bewildered public in November 2018, bringing a touch of glamour to Sydney’s inner west. Unique. Elegant. Colourful. This crust-see attraction is a delightful, playful tribute to one of the most underappreciated packaging devices on the planet.

    Gary Deirmendjian designed The Bread Clip, with the help of students from Dulwich High School. Overseeing the project was teacher and self-confessed Big Thing tragic Shane Forrest. Understandably, Shane’s since become the toast of the town.

    Without wanting to blow my own crumpet, this is the culmination of my selfless campaign to have Big Things added to the New South Wales bread-ducational curriculum. I’ve worked tirelessly with the state government to ensure every student has the opportunity to build a Big. After all, the next generation needs to learn the three R’s – reading, ‘riting and roadside attractions.

    Move over, mathematics, you’ve become stale!

    Girls Just Wanna Have Bun

    Boasting a level of detail rarely seen on a Big, this is a glorious example of postmodern artistry. By re-using oodles of bread clips, it also serves as timely reminder to recycle. Oh, and you can even poke your head through the centre for a bappy snap!

    You can find the dough-licious Big Bread Clip within the sprawling Johnson Park, sandwiched between a basketball court and a playground. It’s the perfect place to walk your dog or sit down to eat a roast chook roll, but it’s easy to get lost – so don’t baguette to bring a map.

    Invite your chums along to break bread, and you’ll really be the loaf of the party!

    This wholemeal – oops, I mean wholesome! – Big has become in-grained in the community. He joins The Big Cauliflower and Discobolus as Sydney’s most prominent tourist attractions.

    The Big Bread clip is like muffin you’ve ever seen. Last but not yeast, you knead to know is that it’s worth taking a clip out to see him!

  • The Big Tutankhamun, Buronga, NSW

    The Big Tutankhamun, Buronga, New South Wales, Australia

    Walk like an Egyptian to beautiful Buronga, near Mildura, where you’ll find an eight-metre-tall tribute to King Tutankhamun. All together now – Way-oh-way-oh, ooh-way-oh-way-oh!

    Surrounded by swaying palm trees and perfectly located by the roadside for a selfie (don’t forget to Nile!), King Tut provides the full Egyptian experience, without the 45-hour flight to North Africa. Like Cairo, there are a few dodgy types lurking around, so don’t get caught up in any pyramid schemes while you’re there.

    The Golden Goliath rules over the luxurious Edge Motel, a building that bears an uncanny resemblance to the Great Pyramid of Giza. But does the pyramid have OptusVision and and a 5.9 review score on Booking.com?

    Apparently there used to be a world-class restaurant onsite, with a range of food and sphinx served by head chef Gordon Ramses. But he left to open Anubis-tro somewhere else. And a word of warning to my friends in the Bitcoin community; despite the sarcophagus out the front, the little chap at reception doesn’t accept cryptocurrency.

    Locals say that, much like the Egyptian Pyramids, the owners used slaves to build the motel – but I had a good look around and it seems like they just used bricks.

    Stop by to say say hi-roglyph!

    Tutankhamen presides over a rough area of Buronga, so it came as no surprise when, as I struggled into my custom-designed Egyptian tunic, one of the local bogans hung his head the window of his souped-up Kia Stonic and yelled, “Show us ya Tuts!”

    “You must’ve ingested one too many cans of kicky beer, buddy,” I screamed at him. “There’s only one Tut in Buronga – and he’s right there in front of you!”

    Fortunately, the hotel room Gordon and I shared was well-presented, with relatively few scarab beetles scurrying around. My only complaint is that the bed was a bit hard, so I had to visit the Cairopractor the next day – teehee!

    We were kept up into the wee hours by Cleopatra and her six kids in the next room who, after a bit of back-and-forth, invited Gordon over to be her Mark Antony. Thanks for the offer, Raelene, but he has enough mummy issues as it is!

  • The Big Kingfisher, Strathfieldsaye, VIC

    The Big Kingfisher, Strathfieldsaye, Victoria, Australia

    Amidst the rolling glens and castle-like homesteads of the sprawling Imagine Estate, an enormous kingfisher surveys his kingdom. This steel-and-perspex critter was built by gifted artist Folko Kooper and, perched high above a billabong, offers a breathtaking photo opportunity for all Bigs-thusiasts.

    Pleased with my happy snaps – my light grey shirt really popped against the native flora – I prepared to leave the park when an unusually hairy gentleman, bereft of shirt, invited me to lay down beside him on the estate’s lush grass. Wriggling a little closer, his unkempt beard tickling my cheeks, the man presented me with a toothy grin.

    “Bigs, did you ever hear the story of the Fisher King?” he asked.

    “Don’t you mean the kingfisher?” I replied, gesturing towards the giant, blue-and-brown bird perched above us.

    “Kingfisher, Fisher King, I always get that front to back,” the screwball squawked. “Anyway, the story begins with the brightly-coloured kingfisher as a chick, having to spend the night alone in the forests of Strathfieldsaye, to prove his courage so he can become king of the entire medium-density housing development.”

    “Ooh, I wish I had some popcorn,” I cooed, snuggling in closer to the shaggy street urchin. “This is getting good.”

    Hail to the Kingfisher

    “Now, while he’s spending the night alone, the little bird is visited by a most unusual vision of a fire,” my chum chirped. “Out of the fire appears the Holy Grail, symbol of God’s divine grace. And a voice said to the kingfisher, ‘You shall be keeper of the Grail, so that it may heal the hearts of all the world’s winged creatures.’”

    “Oh me, oh my!” I piped up. “I had similar delusions after I ate a whole tray of lasagne right before bed!”

    “But the kingfisher was blinded by greater visions of a life filled with power, and glory, and beauty. And in this state of radical amazement, he felt for a brief moment not like an average-sized bird, but like a really, really big bird – like The Big Kookaburra…”

    “Or the The Big Pheasant? The Big Eagle? The…”

    “Yes, Bigs, that’s quite enough of that. So the bird reached into the fire to take the Grail, and the Grail vanished, leaving him with his wing in the fire, to be terribly wounded.”
    “Golly, this sounds like it’s getting a bit gruesome for Land of the Bigs!”

    “Now as this bird grew older, his wound grew deeper,” the crackpot continued. “Until one day, life for him lost its reason. He had no faith in any avian. Not even himself. He couldn’t love, or feel loved. He was sick with experience, and he began to die.”

    “Criminy,” I wept. “That’s exactly how I felt when they tore down The Big Pineapple.”

    “Really, Bigs, can we go five minutes without hearing about The Big Pineapple?”

    The Last Kingfisher of Bendigo

    “One day, a fool wandered into the estate, and found the kingfisher alone by the entrance to the carefully-landscaped Emu Garden,” the teller of tales tweeted. “And being a fool, he didn’t see a king of birds. He only saw a bird alone, and in pain. And he asked the kingfisher, ‘What ails you, friend?’

    “The kingfisher replied, ‘I’m thirsty – I need some water to cool my throat.’ So the fool took a cup, filled it with water, and handed it to the creature. As the kingfisher began to drink, he realised his wound was healed! He looked in his wings, and there was the Holy Grail, that which he sought all his life. And he turned to the fool and said with amazement, ‘How can you find that which my brightest and bravest could not?’

    “And the fool replied, ‘I don’t know. I only knew that you were thirsty.’”

    The two of us lay back in silence, allowing the enormity of the story to wash over us. I turned to my new friend and when I did, his eyes were deep and blue and crinkled in the corners.

    “And that’s why they decided to build a statue of kingfisher here?” I whispered. “So that the people of Strathfieldsaye shall never forget that what they yearn for may harm as well as heal? That redemption can be found in the unlikeliest of places?”

    “No,” the vagrant shrugged. “Some suit in Melbourne probably picked it out of a catalogue in order to give the place some semblance of character. I just like the story.”

    And with that the hobo sat up, brushed the grass from his shoulders, and wandered off into the labyrinthine streets of Greater Bendigo, never to be seen again.

  • Lizzo the Lizard, Somersby, NSW

    Lizzo the Big Lizard, Somersby, New South Wales, Australia

    It’s Big Thing o’clock, yeah, it’s lizard-thirty
    I’m here in Somersby and it’s real purty (okay)
    Is everybody set for someone scaly?
    Who you can visit all up on the daily
    Lizzo can make you smile quite gayly
    How you feelin’? How you feel right now?

    Ooooh, Lizzo the Big Lizard’s a treasure
    Find her near the Aus Reptile Park, yeah
    Oh, she’s not the creature she was or used to be
    Uh, Biggies, she’s even better!

    Turn up Pile Street, then on the right
    I got a feelin’ you’ll see something nice
    Okay (okay), alright
    It’s about damn time!
    Stop for a photo, yes that’s the way!
    I got a feelin’ she’s gon’ make your day
    Okay (okay), alright
    Lizzo is damn fine!

    In a minute, you’ll go completely mental
    ‘Cos Ploddy‘s nearby to pump you up
    So is Frilly, she’ll make you feel really silly
    But remember you’re fabulous
    I enjoyed Lizzo so dang much
    I split into like two Bigs Bardots
    One to get up, one to get down
    Both will help you smile, not frown

    Ooooh, Lizzo the Big Lizard’s a treasure
    With her frilled neck and toothy smile, yeah
    Oh, she’s not the creature she was or used to be
    Uh, Biggies, she’s even better!

    Liz might be ageing, but don’t have a fright
    I got a feelin’ she’s gon’ be alright
    Okay (okay), alright
    Oh yeah she’ll be fine (fine)
    Older Big Lizards can, still celebrate (alright)
    I got a feelin’ Lizzo wants to go out and play
    Okay (okay), alright
    She’s still in her prime

    Lizzo’s comin’ out tonight, she’s comin’ out tonight (uh-huh)
    To Club Troppo tonight, ‘cos it’s Saturday night (wooooo!)
    Vodka Cruisers tonight, get in a fight tonight
    Okay (okay), alright (alright)
    It’s Troppo time!
    Club Troppo’s closed tonight, (oh no) has been since ’06, why? (closed since ’06, why?)
    Nowhere to go tonight, Gosford is dead tonight (woo)
    Need a plan for tonight, let’s break the time-space continuum tonight (break the time-space continuum tonight)
    Okay (okay), alright
    Let’s go back in time!

    And that’s the story of how Lizzo the Big Lizard, Bigs Bardot the much-loved roadside attraction savant, Gordon the rambunctious alien, Gideon the gooey guacamole, and Bigs Bardot’s evil-yet-whimsically-handsome clone invented time travel, just so they could head back to 2001 and dance to Craig David’s 7 Days whilst sucking on watered-down frozen cocktails and avoiding the near-constant dancefloor scuffles at the legendary Club Troppo.

    A brief note on Lizzo’s current legal situation

    It’s recently been brought to my attention that Lizzo – the remarkably talented, deliciously robust, African American pop singer, not the remarkably large, deliciously anatomically accurate, Indigenous Australian lizard – has been cancelled due to some rather serious sexual misconduct charges.

    Please be aware that the passionate and diverse Land of the Bigs team does not condone such behaviour. After months of negotiations with the Australian Reptile Park, I’ve been assured that Lizzo’s open invitation to the Quoll Experience has been revoked.

    Woo child, we’re just sick of your bulldust.

  • The Clam, Long Jetty, NSW

    The Clam, Long Jetty, NSW

    Hallelujah! Your prayers have been answered, because Brother Bigs is here to introduce you to a clam of biblical proportions. And, best of all, it doubles as a church, so you won’t have to take a break from worshipping Big Things in order confess your sins to a man of the cloth.

    It’s a miracle, baby. A dadgum miracle!

    The Clam rises divinely above Long Jetty, long known as the pearl of the Central Coast, and perfectly capture’s the area’s beachy aesthetic. An unassuming Big, The Clam can only truly be appreciated from the air. Which makes sense as it was, after all, built to appease a higher power.

    A shrining example of modern architecture, the Clam-thedral’s details are simply heavenly. The exhalant siphon has been lovingly recreated, and the prominent – some may even say provocative – umbo is almost indistinguishable from the real deal.

    Surrounding The Clam are understated lawns and pastors – oops, I mean pastures! – that are perfect for a moment of quiet reflection. There’s even a few psalm trees round the side.

    Whilst not as large as the similarly-shaped Big Oyster, please don’t allow this to alter your perception of The Clam. This is a truly special Big, an icon of the Central Coast, and a sacrosanct structure that should be admired and praised.

    There’s often a congregation outside to admire The Clam, which is no surprise because it’s a holy lot of fun!

    Wham! Bam! Thank you, Clam!

    Owned by the disciples of the Greenhouse Church, the mass-ive Clam is more than just a pretty ventral margin. Gatherings are held each Sunday, and the centre is also available for functions and weddings – making The Clam the only Big you can get married in!

    Of course, matrimony is nothing but a pipe dream for yours truly. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

    Any zealot of the Bigs really needs to make a pilgrimage to the sunny Central Coast, where you’ll also find Frilly, Daryl Somersby, The Big Cricket Balls, The Big Poppies, The Big Flower and The Odyssey of Life, all of which you can read about in the Good Book of Big Things – Land of the Bigs. You’ll be in raptures!

    So overcome by emotion were Gordon and I whilst exploring The Clam, that we tossed in our lives of atheism and became devout members of the church. Gordon even dressed as an alter boy – so cute!

    Our lives became full of love and meaning, we made soul-enriching friendships built on values and respect, and we were able to sit beneath the mystical glow of The Clam on a daily basis. Yet that was just the clam before the storm. We were, tragically, cast out when the other parishioners found out about my ‘alternative lifestyle’.

    Oh well, I guess the church simply isn’t ready to accept a man whose lord and saviour is a gigantic yellow dinosaur named Ploddy.

  • Norbert the Yellow Dragon, Mooroopna, VIC

    Norbert the Yellow Dragon, Mooroopna, Victoria, Australia

    ‘Bert, the magic dragon lived near Ernie
    And frolicked in the autumn sun in Shepparton, you see
    Little Bigs Bardot loved that rascal ‘Bert
    And brought him strings, and funny things, and even peach yoghurt

    Norbert the Yellow Dragon is friendly chap – and the Gaffy family, who constructed the creature as a holiday art project, couldn’t be more disappointed. If they had their way, Norbert would be a soul-devouring, fire-breathing, child-scaring thunder lizard who destroys anyone foolish enough to stand in his way.

    “There were talks of installing flame-throwers on it,” David Gaffy told a concerned journalist when the dragon was unveiled in 2017. “But perhaps that’s not the best idea.”

    What, David, no chainsaws or death rays or vats of bubbling oil that boil visitors? As the patriarch of a brutally creative family, David wasn’t alone in his fanciful plans for this very unique-looking Big.

    “I was actually thinking of it being 50 times bigger than it is,” his eight-year-old son, Hamish gloated. “It’s the dragon from Harry Potter.”

    Young Hamish came up with the idea for Norbert whilst visiting his pop’s farm just outside Shepparton, and wasted no time sketching the plans for the golden goliath on a bit of paper. Generations of Gaffys then descended upon the ranch to make the little boy’s dreams come true.

    “Hamish really enjoyed the fact it became a whole family project,” David beamed. “Uncle Tim helped with the welding, Grandpa came up with the idea for the tail. The opportunity to get our hands dirty was too good to pass up.”

    I would’ve helped, of course, but I was getting my hair permed that day. Maybe next time! And there will be a next time, because Hamish has BIG plans for a space rocket and a phoenix to join Norbert, who lives on the corner of Pyke Rd and Mooroopna-Murchinson Rd.

    Next time you’re passing, make sure to give Norbert a hearty, “Yellow, mate!”

    How to Restrain Your Dragon

    Driving the Bigsmobile between my bachelor pad in Shepp’s leafy north-west and my weekender in Waranga Shores, my heart skipped a beat as I heard the dulcet tones of a damsel in distress. With little concern for my own safety I screeched the van to a halt, popped on my most menacing pair of pineapple-shaped sunglasses, and prepared myself for the worst.

    Imagine my surprise when I came face-to-muzzle with the normally-placid Norbert – wild of eye and flaxen of skin – with my best chum Gordon Shumway betwixt his powerful jaws. This was not the gregarious dragon I’d so often shared strawberry soufflé with at the Shepparton Gentlemen’s Club.

    “Oh, Norbert,” I gasped, “all this snarling and snatching innocents isn’t really you, is it?”

    The fire in Norbert’s eyes dimmed and his shoulders slumped. He placed Gordon down on an especially pulpous thatch of grass, then hung his enormous head in shame.

    “My sincerest apologies, Biggsy,” Norbert wept. “I buckled under the irresistible weight of peer pressure and, against my better judgement, became the one thing I’ve always despised. I transformed into a brutish cliché of a dragon. Overflowing with testosterone and toxic masculinity, I lashed out at those I love most.”

    “I forgive you, Norbie,” I cooed, then gestured towards Gordon. “But someone else might take a bit more convincing.”

    Gordon dusted himself off and shrugged nonchalantly.

    “You’re forgiven, dude,” the little alien grinned. “I’m just glad Dave didn’t end up giving you that flame-thrower!”

  • The Big Strawberry, Elimbah, QLD

    The Big Strawberry, Elimbah, Queensland

    Roll up, roll up to the ravishing Rolin Farm, where you’ll find a truss-see attraction – The Big Strawberry! This plump, juicy fruit stands four metres tall from rambunctious receptacle to perky peduncle, and is sure to in-stem-tly find a place in your heart.

    The Strawberry was crafted to draw attention to the farm’s pulp-ular store, which is open from June to October each and every year. It’s certainly been a fruitful venture, with throngs of Biggies lining up to have their photo snapped with this Big, before heading inside to stock up on jams, marmalades, ice creams and other goodies.

    For those who can pluck up the courage to get their hands dirty, it’s possible to pick your own strawberries. From just $6 a bucket, it’s hardly daylight strobbery. Don’t punnets yourself by missing out!

    It was a pit-y, however, that the Strawberry wasn’t looking particularly fresh when I visited in early-2023. With cracking calyx and peeling paint, she was a pale imitation of the bright ‘n’ beautiful Strawberry in Koonoomoo. Thankfully she hasn’t deteriorated to the extent of the Luddenham Strawberry, but I remain berry concerned for her welfare.

    There has been word that the owners will repaint the Strawberry when they get a break from picking fruit, so I’ll try my harvest to remain positive.

    Keep Rolin, Rolin, Rolin, Rolin!

    Who’s in the strawberry patch with Bigsy? Bigella’s at the Strawberry with me! Gordon and Gordina are also here. ‘Neath the shade of the old apple tree!

    My apologies for bursting into song, but my inner Tony Orlando always swaggers forth whenever I’m confronted by a truly straw-inspiring Big. The four of us had the Strawberry to ourselves, as we visited out of season, and so were able to soak in the spectacle of this Queensland icon.

    Our encounter with The Big Strawberry, as she hung like a blood-red dew-drop in the autumnal twilight, was a provocative, solemn, incongruous and super juicy experience that was every bit as scrumptious as the fruit she’s based upon.

    Gordina, the on-again-off-again lady friend of Gordon, was berry impressed by this Big’s ex-seed-ingly large size, and was more than happy to fill the role as our very own strawberry shortcake for these fascinating photos.

    So enraptured by The Big Strawberry were Bigella and I that we made the snap decision to become strawberry farmers. Rolin Farms is a working plantation and always on the lookout for eager employees, so our gaggle trotted up to the front door, caps in hands. Gordon, in his most deferential voice, pitched our value to the farm.

    Unfortunately the only jobs on offer involved actually picking the strawberries, rather than taking cute photos of them for Insta. I’d just had my nails done, so we piled back into the Bus of the Bigs and set off for greener pastures.

    “Well,” Gordon said with a world-weary sigh as we drove into the night, “there goes my chance of being on the next season of Farmer Wants a Wife.”

  • The Big Beaver, Wilberforce, NSW

    The Big Beaver, Wilberforce, New South Wales

    Every chap in Western Sydney has seen this Big Beaver! She’s hairy, wet and open for inspection every day of the week. Best of all, you won’t have to waste money on flowers and a KFC meal before you’re allowed to see this Beaver.

    Sure, the Big Beaver has seen better days and been around the block a few times, but that just gives her character. And most fellows can’t resist a Big Beaver no matter how battered she looks. Any mole’s a goal, as they say.

    It’s not only the menfolk who like to gently caress The Big Beaver, either. Women are also welcome to grope this Beaver. There’s even rumours that Hollywood actress Beaverly D’Angelo popped in for a visit a few years back.

    Sadly, it’s common for cretins to make putrid jokes at the Beaver’s expense but, as you can see, I don’t find anything fanny about such behaviour. Thankfully Raelene, Beaver’s ever-beguiling owner, had some sensible, mature comments to make when I visited her.

    “Everyone’s loves my Big Beaver,” Rae chuckled when I arrived, giving me a cheeky wink.

    “Oh Rae, why did you have to lower the tone?” I lamented, whilst writing down her joke to shamelessly steal later.

    Leave it to Beaver

    The Big Beaver can be found in all her buck-toothed glory out the front of Wilberforce’s otter-ly charming Butterfly Farm (which, delightfully, also features some moths). It’s a peaceful, leafy place for a Big, with plenty of picnic tables overlooking the Hawkesbury River. There are even campsites for those who, unlike myself, don’t require five star accommodation with an all-inclusive buffet breakfast.

    The Beaver was created a few decades ago to star in a maple syrup commercial. She was made from a styrofoam mould, and was due to be disposed of once the cameras stopped rolling. That’s when Rae stepped in. She snapped up the Beaver, slapped on some weather-resistant paint, and placed her proudly on display. The result was sweeter than the syrup that bore her.

    Tragically, the Beaver’s makeshift construction has meant that she’s aged poorly and is currently falling apart. When I visited she was missing an ear and, outrageously, one of her gorgeous footsies had fallen off.

    The Big Beaver has a gaping hole, which is often occupied by one or more peckers. Honestly guys, quit it – I just mean that Rae’s Big Beaver sports a cavity in the side of her head that’s become home to a family of kookaburras. If you find anything rude about that, you might want to seek the assistance of a psychiatrist.

    Busy as a Beaver

    Disaster struck Wilberforce in early 2021, when the river to breached its banks and flooded the area. Homes were destroyed, hearts were broken. The happy little lives that the locals had cherished were washed away in a rain-soaked instant. But the worst was yet to come.

    The Big Beaver, a beacon of hope in these most tumultuous of times, was to be the storm’s greatest victim. The Butterfly Farm was swallowed by the gurgling brine. The Beaver, laden with styrofoam, was torn from her base and carried away by the raging waters.

    It was feared this Western Sydney icon would be lost forever. Sure, beavers are usually right at home in the water, but most of them aren’t three metres tall and just as cute as a button.

    And then a miracle happened.

    “We tried our hardest to save the Beaver, but the water was too rough for us,” Rae fretted. “But then the townsfolk came together to rescue her. We put her in a safe position until the water subsided. Most of our facilities were wiped out, but at least we saved the Beaver.”

    Yes, with the assistance of several sweaty gentlemen, and with silent prayers of, “Oh God! Oh God!” the moist adventures of the Big Beaver came to a gushing and mutually-satisfying climax. I’m just glad that the boys were able to pull off the impossible so this story received a happy ending – and all without a single double entendre!

    “What can I say,” Raelene smirked. “Everyone loved getting their hands on my wet Beaver!”

    Oh, Rae!

  • YININMADYEMI, Sydney, NSW

    YININMADYEMI - Thou Didst Let Fall (The Big Bullets), Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

    Drawing a blank on what to do this weekend? Are you locked and loaded for a Big that’ll make you go ballistic? Then it’s time to pull the trigger and shoot off to Sydney’s sprawling Hyde Park, where you’ll find seven big bullets of supreme size.

    And you thought you’d have to venture into Sydney’s southwest to find a bunch of spent cartridges strewn around a local park!

    Snappily titled YININMADYEMI: Thou didst let fall, this revolver-lutionary sculpture was created by Tony Albert, an indigenous artist who has many tricks in his arsenal. It celebrates the selfless contribution of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander service men and women, and can be found a few hundred metres from the famous Anzac Memorial. The whole precinct really is a barrel of fun!

    But that’s not all there is to this story – not by a long shot! Tony was inspired by the experiences of his grandfather Eddie, a war hero who escaped a brutal German concentration camp. Now, let us rifle through this incredible tale.

    The Magnificent Seven

    “Using his agility and speed, Eddie escaped the prison grounds and crossed Germany’s southern border into Italy,” Tony elucidated. “In Biella, a town in the northwest of Italy that lies at the foothills of the Alps, he and six other escaped Australian soldiers took refuge in a remote farmhouse on the outskirts of the town. Early one morning in late April, Italian soldiers found Eddie and the other escapees hiding in the farmhouse.

    “Captured again he found himself in the worst situation to date – the men were ordered to line up side by side to be shot one by one. After the execution of the three men before him there was a halt in gunfire.

    “An Italian Officer-in-Charge ordered his men not to shoot. He identified the men as Allied soldiers and that they must be returned to Germany. Miraculously, Edward Albert and three of his companions survived the ordeal.”

    A harrowing experience, to be sure, that has been vibrantly brought to life in The Big Bullets.

    The battle, however, had only just began for Eddie. The tribulations he faced when he finally returned home provided ample ammunition for his grandson when he was planning this icon. I guess I should bite the bullet and tell you that dark part of this story.

    War, huh, yeah! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing… unless you’re a fan of the Bigs!

    Even after giving the Nazis a good ol’ walloping, racism continued to ricochet throughout Australia. Alright, you may have already read about this in a magazine, but please, don’t shoot the messenger.

    “When service men and women returned to Australia, they were given land for their service,” Tony explained. “However, not only was Eddie and his fellow Aboriginal soldiers not given any land, their land was still being taken away.

    “Eddie and fellow Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander men and women defended our country, they were prepared to fall but upon returning, they were left to fall again – ‘yininmadyemi,’ thou didst let fall. I envisage this memorial in Hyde Park to be a special and powerful place for contemplation and remembrance, a space for all our stories to be heard and recognised.”

    Emotionally confronting, thought-provoking and perched upon the precipice of a great cultural awakening, The Big Bullets are also super fun to take photos with. For this shoot I chose a modish army jacket that an acquaintance left at my house after a big night at a local dance club. I was also fortunate enough to have Grant, a luminary of the local homeless population, camped nearby to provide feedback on my poses and life choices.

    So inspired by YININMADYEMI was I that, in a military lapse of reason, I marched straight over to the nearest Army boutique to enlist. Oh well, hopefully there are plenty of Big Things for me to visit in Mogadishu!

  • The Black Ant, Kin Kin, QLD

    The Black Ant, Kin Kin, Queensland, Australia

    Nobody wants ants to turn up during a meal, but you’ll love sharing your food with this irrepressible insect! The Black Ant was brought to life by legendary local artist Steve Weis and can be found, appropriately enough, outside the Black Ant Gourmet Cafe in the verdant Sunshine Coast Hinterland

    With his homespun charm and quirky, indigenous-inspired paintjob, The Black Ant is right at home in the rustic village of Kin Kin – which means ‘plenty of black ants’ in the local Aboriginal dialect. Sadly, the handsome chap’s eyes had fallen off shortly before I arrived, giving him an alien, dystopian veneer.

    Far from detracting from the experience, however, this merely establishes the metallic marvel as a constantly-evolving art piece, forever eroding and evolving like the surrounding hills.

    Ever the crowd-pleaser, the Black Ant was designed to be ridden by weary travellers. He boasts a comfortable – yet well-worn – saddle, allowing him to blend in with the motorbikes that are so often found in front of the cafe. A more interactive Big it’s hard to imagine.

    Those days, sadly, are behind him. The relentless Queensland sun and some overly-rambunctious admirers have left him in a delicate state. Please, I implore you not to climb atop The Big Ant, no matter how many likes you believe the resultant photo shall garner on Instagram. Insect him from a safe distance to ensure he’s able to inspire generations of Biggies for generations to come.

    The Ant is not the bulkiest citizen of the Land of the Bigs – especially compared to the massive Matilda, who lives just down the road in Traveston. But, like similarly-proportioned Big Red Bug, he has a friendly personality that renders him eminently approachable. Just don’t offer him an alcoholic beverage – you don’t want him to end up alitrunk and disorderly!

    Ants in Your Pants

    The Black Ant Cafe has been the lifeblood of Kin Kin for more than a century, originally serving as a general store. It was only when renowned chefs Richard and Kirsty Mundt took over a few years ago that it metamorphosed into the finest restaurant in the region.

    The menu is a veritable treasure trove of piquant pastas and bespoke burgers, with hearty portions sure to satisfy after a long day searching for Bigs. Best of all, many of the cafe’s arcadian tables offer panoramic views over the ant sculpture.

    As a reflection of my brawny, tough guy mystique, I treated myself to the ploughman’s lunch. The trio of cheeses were as aromatic as they were velvety, the pickles crunchy and oh-so-zesty, and the generous selection of meats to die for. I’d describe the handmade chutney, but fear I may drool all over my keyboard!

    My compatriot for this trip, Bigella Fernadez Hernandez, was so engrossed in her smoked salmon, paired with a delightfully sticky lemon meringue tart, that she was unable to find time to pose for a photo with the Black Ant. Well, that and the fact she accidentally smeared the rich tomato paste down her fresh tunic.

    As a side note, the cafe offers the most spacious, clean and well-appointed restrooms I’ve ever encountered during my travels through the Land of the Bigs. The sprawling subtropical plants and delicate selection of scented soaps provided a serene oasis for a moment of quiet reflection.

    If I could sum up my afternoon at the Black Ant Cafe in one word? Brilli-ant!

  • The Golden Dragon Lotus, Bendigo, VIC

    The Golden Dragon Lotus, Bendigo, Victoria, Australia

    Nǐ hǎo, dear reader! Looks like you’ve caught me Peking at the extra-orchid-nary Golden Dragon Lotus! Built in 2010 as the centrepiece of Bendigo’s Dai Gum San Chinese district, the mandarin-credible specimen stands five metres tall and weighs about wonton. But really, it’s more than the dim sum of its parts.

    The wok-manship is simple yet elegant, like the finest Mao suit. The Lotus is lovely in any season, but is especially delicious during spring roll. If you become dis-orient-ed by the flower’s immense size, feel free to take a seat within its ovaries and petal yourself down.

    Interestingly, the Lotus was originally designed to have a much paler complexion, but the couple of Asian chaps who painted it accidentally used red paint instead. I guess it goes to show that two Wongs don’t make a white!

    After admiring such a big flower, it’s only Hunan to want to experience more Chinese art and history. Head Jinping-side the nearby Golden Dragon Museum, if you have the beef chow means to afford a ticket. It’s definitely worth the rice of admission.

    The only problem is that one hour after visiting the museum, you’ll be hungry for more Chinese culture!

    I like Chinese! I like Chinese!
    They only come up to your knees
    Yet they’re wise, and they’re witty, and they’re ready to please

    The Golden Dragon Lotus is surrounded by the Yi Yuan Garden, a peaceful oasis that feels like a happy little slice of the People’s Republic – with slightly less systematic torture, forced labour camps and midnight ‘disappearances’.

    Although a five-foot-tall lunatic who was passing by did scream at me to work a 90-hour week in an iPhone factory or he’d waterboard my family, which added a welcome element of authenticity.

    Keep walking, mate! This is Victoria, where the locals won’t put up with being placed under constant surveillance, abused by the police, hunted down for speaking out against the government, and locked up for years without committing a crime – teehee!

  • The Big Bandicoot, Hamilton, VIC

    The Big Bandicoot, Hamilton, Victoria, Australia

    The Big Bandicoot? More like The Big Bandi-CUTE! This hyperactive heartbreaker is the beloved mascot of the Bandicoot Motor Inn, just minutes from the vibrant centre of Hamilton. Caught forever in mid-stride, the mega-sized marsupial is poised to bound his way into your heart.

    Whimsical, cheeky and deliciously kitsch, the Bandicoot really pops against the backdrop of this quintessentially mid-60s guesthouse. The owners pride themselves on offering the cheapest rooms in Hamilton, but the sprawling complex proves to be comfortable, fun and the best value in town.

    After all, does the Ritz-Carlton down the road have a Big Thing to admire whilst you’re waiting to check in?

    For those unfamiliar with the most widespread of Australia’s endemic peramelemorphias, a bandicoot is basically an adorable rat with a pointy nose and a giant set of hind legs that are just made for jumping. The males also possess the most bizarre appendages in the animal kingdom – but, mercifully, that hasn’t been reproduced here.

    Despite their chubby little cheeks and inquisitive personalities, bandicoots are anything but the rockstars of the Australian wildlife community. Budding Bigthusiasts are far more likely to find massive kangaroos, koalas and Tassie Devils as they traipse around this wide, brown landicoot. Thankfully the good people of the Southern Grampians have bandied together to rectify that situation!

    Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Bandicoot

    It wasn’t love at first sight between my alien companion Gordon and The Big Bandicoot, however. Seeing someone just as charming and furry as himself, Gordon threw a tantrum, returned the car and refused to come back out.

    “He’s not that big anyway,” the big baby sulked. “I’d argue that he’s not even a Big Thing at all.”
    “He’s several thousand times the mass of a regular bandicoot, Gordon,” I countered.
    “That’s still not very big.”
    “Well, the parmigianas at the motel’s adjoining restaurant are very big indeed.” I handed my friend a laminated menu. In time, he accepted it. “But I suppose you’re not hungry anyway.”

    The little alien peered out the window, surveying the Big Bandicoot, who shone handsomely in the dying twilight. Gordon nodded his head and gave me a small smile. “I guess I can put my preconceptions to the side in the name of breaded chicken and an accompanying salad.”

    Taking Gordon by the hand, we took our places in the well-appointed restaurant. I opted for the vegetable lasagne whilst Gordon, ever the picky eater, went for the Chef’s Special Parma, topped with hot salami, bacon, ham and pineapple.

    “I’m sorry for my outburst earlier,” Gordon said whilst mopping up some melted cheese with an extra-thick steakhouse-style chip. “My ex-wife’s been seeing a bilby, and I allowed that to not only prejudice my feelings towards The Big Bandicoot, but to impact on your enjoyment of the occasion.”

    In the early hours of the morning, as the crescent moon dipped below the eucalypts, I peeked out the window of our air conditioned twin suite to see Gordon warmly embracing The Big Bandicoot, and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

    The locals say that a decadent smear of parmigiana sauce remains on him to this day.

  • The Big Emus, Strathfieldsaye, VIC

    The Big Emus, Strathfieldsaye, Victoria, Australia

    Let me tell you of an interview with The Real Big Emu
    He’s one of the most gorgeous Big Things, but the poor old fella ain’t got no wings
    Aren’t you jealous of The Big Wedge-Tailed Eagle? – dom ba da little da da da

    “While the eagle’s design is very sound, I keep my two feet firmly on the ground
    I can’t fly, but I’m telling you, I can run the pants off Kat the Kangaroo”.

    Doo dee ba doo doo doo, boo da Ugg Boot doo doo doo
    He can’t fly, but I’m telling you, he can run the pants off The Tassie Devil, too

    Well he was the model for the fifty cents – oom ba da little da da da
    Even though Stanley might’ve made more sense – oom ba da little da da da
    “If you take a look, it’ll prove to you, I ran the pants off Matilda the Kangaroo“

    Doo dee ba doo doo doo, boo da Bigfoot doo doo
    Take a look it’ll prove to you, he can run the pants off The Big Koala, too

    You’re a bigger nerd than The Big Bowerbird – Oom ba da little da da da
    And you’re not as pleasant as Bruno the Pheasant – Oom ba da little da da da
    “You silly galah, I’m better by far, than The Big Honeyeater or that chook that sells cars;
    They squeak and squawk and try to talk, I have more in common with those really big forks”
    Ba da da doo dee ba doo doo doo…Boo da da doot doo doo doo
    He can’t fly but I’m telling you, he’s almost as large as The Big Shoe

    Well the last time I saw The Real Big Emu – Oom ba da little da da da
    He was in Imagine Estate with a female he knew – Oom ba da little da da da
    As he swaggered past I heard him say, “She can’t fly, but I’m telling you
    She could run the pants off The Big Poo”

    Ba da da doo dee ba doo doo doo doo dee ba doo doo doo… The Big Strawberry’s in Koonoomoo!
    She’s can’t fly but I’m telling you, she can run the pants off Katey Seagull, too

    Well there is a moral to this ditty – Oom ba da little da da da
    Chickaletta can’t sing even though she’s pretty – Oom ba da little da da da
    Pelican Pete can swim, but he can’t sing, nor can The Pigeon on the wing
    Emu can’t fly, but I’m telling you, he can run the pants off The Big Moo-Moo

    Well the kookaburra laughed and said “It’s true, oom ba da little da da da,
    Ha Ha Ha Humpty Doo, He can dance the pants off Chinute Chinute, too!”

    Thanks to Aussie rock icon – and self-confessed Big Thing tragic – John Williamson, and his legendary ditty Old Man Emu for the inspiration. Can’t wait to catch up again soon, John!

  • The Big Cherries, Pages Flat, SA

    The Big Cherries, pages Flat, South Australia

    For a cherryfic experience that’ll really cherry you up, head out to Pages Flat to see the cherrybly handsome Big Cherries. Plump, sweet and oh-so-juicy, these are two of the most cherrysmatic Bigs you’ll ever meet – and I’m not just being cherrytable when I say that.

    The Big Cherries sit atop a rustic wagon in front of Fleurieu Cherries, which is just 45 minutes from the centre of Adelaide (although it might take a bit longer if you travel by horse and cherryot). You should cherrysh the opportunity to fully explore this very incherryesting facility.

    There’s a shop, reception area, and the encherryanting opportunity to pluck your own farm-fresh fruit. Concherry to popular belief, it’s not a cherrybly expensive activity; at $17 a kilo it’s perfect for those with budgetcherry concerns

    Don’t cherry your head in the sand, because you might not get a second bite of the cherry!

    Although, if this has piqued your cherryosity, you might want to visit other Big Cherries. There’s a lovely bunch in Young, and the legendcherry sunglasses-wearing Cherry in Wyuna. With so many options, you might have to cherry-pick which ones you want to see – although I’m a cherryleader for all of them!

    You got the way to move me, Cherries
    You got the way to groove me

    Sadly, whilst The Big Cherries remained on their wagon during our visit, Gordon well and truly fell off his. After an extraordicherry afternoon spent exploring the sprawling meadows of the Fleurieu Peninsula, the little alien stumbled upon a wedding between two lovely chaps, Brett and Nyoman, where he overindulged on a bottle of the seasonally-available cherry Moscato.

    Gordon’s drunken shenanigans did little to endear him to the congregation, which included pop singer Eagle-Eye Cherry, screenwriter Cherry Chevapravatdumrong and rugby league heartthrob Daly Cherry-Evans.

    The surviving members of Warrant were so appalled that they were barely able to make it through a rousing rendition of their seminal 1989 hit Cherry Pie.

    After a momencherry lapse of reason in which he passed inappropriate commencherry about the grooms’ wardrobe choices and started a fight with a flower girl, Gordon was, mercifully, escorted from the premises by a couple of burly farmhands.

    He was cherry embarrassed by his behaviour the next day!

  • Signalling Change, Mount Gambier, SA

    Signalling Change, Mount Gambier, South Australia

    Howdy pardner, spare a dollar for a po’ ol’ down-on-his-luck cowboy? This is all what’s left of your ruggedly masculine buckaroo, Biggie the Kid. Strap yo’sef in, this tale’s just as sad as the day is long. Some time back I lassoed myself a steam engine and rode the rails on into Mount Gambier, lookin’ for cheap moonshine an’ cheaper womenfolk.

    Oh, an’ Big Things – ain’t nothin’ that warms the cockles of this ol’ gunslinger’s heart quite like an anatomically-correct representation of two praying mantids. Yee-haw!

    By the time I’d kissed all the moonshine and drunk all the womenfolk, the dadgum train line had been tore up. I was stranded in Mount Gambier with no way of getting home! Sure, there’s Uber, but with my 3.4-star rating and penchant for spitting tobacco all over the back seat, there was little chance of getting a ride.

    Setting up camp in the town’s fancy-pants new Railway Lands park, broke an’ tired an’ down to my last pint of root beer, I prayed to the skies for a miracle. The Lord must’ve took pity on me, ‘cos paint me pink an’ call me a buffalo if I didn’t spot the largest set of railway signals in the whole wide world!

    Of course I’m more comfortable punchin’ cows and swaggerin’ around in crotchless chaps than I am driving trains, so I have no idea how much bigger they was than a regular set of train signals. But shoot, they looked mighty fine to me!

    Known as Signalling Change to the townsfolk, this remarkable piece was created by local artists Trevor Wren and Danica Gacesa McLean, who installed it on the grounds of the old train station. That day certainly signalled change for good ol’ Biggie the Kid…. in the worst darn-tootin’ way possible!

    The Signals They Are A-Changin’

    Exploring the substantial signals, with their playfully-painted portions and delightful-yet-functional seating options, the words of the artists’ flowed through this cowpoke’s brain like magic. Alright, maybe I was just ‘membering somethin’ I read online, but all that matters is that I’m going to share those quotes with y’all.

    “This piece celebrates Mount Gambier’s rich railway history by referencing railway signals, crossing barriers and indicator lights,” the dynamic duo explained shortly before the unveiling in 2016. “Its larger-than-life scale invites visitors, the local community and especially children to explore and investigate railway visual communication through shape, colour and light.”

    That’s exactly what I was going to say, pardners!

    “Signalling Change will make a prominent statement both night and day, and be highly visible from a distance through its physical height and bold colour,” the artists continued. “The piece is child-friendly and offers tunnel-like apertures through which children can safely crawl and play.”

    The only person who wasn’t provided with a safe space, however, was this handsome cowboy.

    Biggie the Kid vs Literal Kids

    I was posing for some super-cute – yet still really macho – photos, when a long, scary shadow fell upon me. Looking up, I spotted a posse of the meanest-lookin’ cattle rustlers I ever did see. There musta been half-a-dozen of ’em, each seven-foot-tall with rippling muscles and full beards.

    Alright, alright, so maybe they was pre-teens on scooters, but they still looked really tough. The children started by hurling abuse about my effeminate sunglasses and ostentatious short-shorts, and progressed to hurling tin cans and dog poo-poo at me.

    One particularly cruel street urchin, egged on by his chums, took my ornate wild western-inspired headdress and, in an act of insanity, trampled it.

    It’s a sad world when a grown man can’t swagger flamboyantly through a children’s park in a pair of Daisy Dukes, thrusting rhythmically for the camera whilst twirling around a set of giant railway signals, without being the subject of hatespeech from a bunch of ruffians. Bigs not bigotry, as I like to say.

    The bullies, who were joined by a smattering of parents and pensioners who really should’ve known better, only allowed me to leave after I hopped on one foot whilst singing I’m a Little Teapot through a waterfall of tears.

    It was not my finest hour.

    If only those no-goodniks put their energy into researching and admiring Big Things rather than petty street crime, the world would be a better place. Yee-haw!

  • The Big Olive, Tailem Bend, SA

    The Big Olive, Tailem Bend, South Australia

    Death threats, fraud and deplorable hygiene standards – The Big Olive is at the centre of the most bizarre and shocking scandal in Australian history, and has become the most controversial roadside attraction on the planet.

    Built on love and good intentions, the decadently-crafted Big Olive has been dragged through the tabloid media, casting a dark shadow across the rugged South Australian landscape.

    The delicious duo stand silent, locked behind a barbed-wire fence, as beautiful as they are shameful. What should serve as a beautiful, bulbous celebration of Tailem Bend’s blossoming olive industry, instead divides and humiliates the locals.

    Pour some wine, bring out the cheese board, and strap yourself in as we explore the dramatic rise and tragic fall of The Big Olive.

    Lie-renzo’s Oil

    It all started so innocently. The Big Olive (which technically should be called The Big Olives, but that’s a debate for another day) was crafted by the oliving legends at The Newell Group, and erected on April 15, 2005. The two olives – one a welcoming green, the other a mysterious, suave graphite – sent shockwaves through the Big Thing community with their eight-metre height and weight of more than a tonne.

    They were conceived to draw attention to a world-class olive oil processing plant that promised to transform the region. There was a sense of hope in the crisp, country air as hundreds of well-wishers descended upon Tailem Bend for the Olives’ unveiling.

    With a bouncy castle and plates of stuffed olives with little skewers poked through them, it was a day nobody would ever forget. Rumours abounded that Jamie Olive-er would be present to whip up a selection of mouthwatering antipasti.

    Life was good. Little did the locals know, however, that a nightmare were just around the corner.

    For not everything was as delicious as it seemed at the Big Olive factory. Shady business deals, grotesque working conditions and substandard products were the oil on which the company ran. And then, in early-2012, the little town of Tailem Bend found its way onto every television in the nation.

    Oils ain’t oils

    Hard-boiled Today Tonight reporter Frank Pangallo broke the outrageous story about what was really going on at The Big Olive, and the country gasped as one. The oil being produced there was, upon testing, not olive oil all. It was of such poor quality as to be unfit for human consumption and should only have been used as lamp fuel.

    Expired bottles of oil were illegally relabelled, meaning they’d hit the shelves three or four years after their use-by-date. Employees who questioned these practices were berated, belittled, and bullied.

    The depths of the depravity were alarming. It was common for production workers, possibly crazed from hunger due to long work hours, to slurp oil straight from a bottle, pop the cap back on and then send it off to the customer. As a result, thousands of Australians may have unwittingly drizzled saliva upon their bruschetta.

    Pangallo, a fearless scribe who has built a career on standing up for the little guy, was the target of brutal death threats. But he wouldn’t back down. He couldn’t back down. The story caused widespread outrage and ushered in a new era of stringent regulation in the notoriously crime-riddled olive oil industry.

    For a company that marketed their products as ‘Australia’s health gift to the world’, the fallout was terminal. The Big Olive Company was fined an incredible $13,000 and the factory, which had promised so much, was shuttered forever. This corruption, this misery, happened under the happy visage of The Big Olive.

    It all seemed like such a waste.

    Olive and let die

    A visit to The Big Olive is a conflicting and, at times, harrowing experience. The monument is well maintained, easy to find, and every bit as mesmerising as the day it was first shown to an awestruck population.

    The olives are massive, delightfully shiny, and incredibly lifelike. I particularly enjoyed the addition of a rustic, undulated stem, which perfectly frames the olives against the dusty backdrop whilst emphasising their immense size.

    Their Rococo-inspired lines and simple, almost austere carapace make them perfect for a fun photo. Like any plump, fresh olive, they compliment, rather than overwhelm, the experience.

    But the fact that they’re locked behind a fence, amidst an incomplete and windswept industrial complex, tosses these olives into a mediterranean salad of misery. Knowing what went on in that factory, the betrayal and the abuse, makes it difficult to truly enjoy The Big Olive in all its majesty.

    The factory tours are long gone, as are the oil tastings and cooking classes that once made it a highlight of any trip through South Australia. Sure, it’s possible to lean against the fence, guzzling olive oil from a bottle, but it’s just not the same.

    Hopefully one day the facility can be taken over, revamped, and re-opened. It’s time for The Big Olive to once again stand proud alongside The Big Pelican and Map the Miner as an Aussie icon. The Big Olive is a wonderful attraction and deserves to be seen and enjoyed in all its sumptuous glory.

    I guess you could say olive them so much it hurts!

  • Scotty the Big Scotsman, Adelaide, SA

    Scotty the Big Scotsman, Medindie, Adelaide, South Australia

    What’s beneath a Scotsman’s kilt? Head to Scotty’s Motel, in the northern Adelaide suburb of Medindie, to find out. There’ll you’ll encounter the five-metre-tall Big Scotsman, who makes up for his lack of trousers by having a truly remarkable story to tell.

    Scotty, as he’s known to his clan of admirers, is a beloved citizen of the city and a must-see tourist attraction. Brimming with old-world charm and quirky effervescence, he’s sure to melt your heart. Sure, he can be tricky to take a snap with due to the hordes of cars that crawl past day and night, but he’s worth it. Oh, is Scotty worth it!

    Despite scarcely looking a day over 21, this handsome highlander holds a tenuous claim to being the very oldest of the Bigs. Scotty first blew his bagpipes in 1963, the same year as Ploddy the Dinosaur was revealed to a curious public and 12 months before the owners of The Big Banana jumped on the Big Thing bandwagon.

    Who came first, the Scotsman or the Diplodocus? It’s a question that’s caused heated debate between South Australians and New South Welshpeople for generations. Plod-Plod is a few months older, but don’t tell fans of this haggis-fuelled heartthrob – they’ll tartan feather me!

    Now, join me in a journey back in time, to discover the legacy of this trailblazing Big. Oh, and I might be kilty of peeking betwixt Scotty’s muscular legs, but I swear it was only for research purposes – teehee!

    The Scotland Down Under

    Adelaide was a very different place back in the early-60s. Long before emerging as a cosmopolitan oasis with a thriving arts scene, there wasn’t a single overside roadside attraction to be found. It was a dark time, an uncouth time, but the winds of change were beginning to blow.

    When budding entrepreneur Tommy Meiken was designing his minimalist motel on the fringe of the CBD, he wanted something BIG to make it stand out from the pack. The answer, after a Scotch-fuelled brainstorming session, was obvious – a Scotsman of epic proportions who would lurk atop the front door, beckoning weary travellers inside.

    Come for the giant European gentleman with the wispy moustache, stay for the moderately comfortable beds and à la carte breakfast, you know how it works.

    After an exhaustive interview process, Paul Kelly – no, not the popstar! – was chosen for the job. Despite being a successful artist, a manufacturing a monstrous Scotsman was a sporran concept to Paul. Modelling the sculpture on a particularly robust chum, he built Scotty in three pieces over the course of several very special months.

    “People thought I was mad and I thought, ‘Oh, no, bugger it all. I’ll do it’,” chuckled Paul, who is obviously a Glasgow-half-full kinda guy. “I took up the challenge and it worked.”

    The results were astonishing. Simple one-bedroom rooms, priced at hundreds of dollars per night, were booked out months in advance. South Australia’s glitterati mingled with international celebrities – including that other famous Scotsman, Sean Connery – by the swimming pool. The motel had been transformed into a veritable Garden of Edinburgh.

    Soon Adelaide would welcome The Big Pigeon and The Big Hills Hoist, cementing her place at the apex of world culture.

    And then darkness descended upon this part of the world.

    Nightmare in Adelaide

    Thursday, January 20, 2022, is a day that that no South Australian will ever forget. Daybreak painted the summer sky an intoxicating tapestry of pinks and purples, but also illuminated a scene so ghastly, so vile, that it caused grown men to fall to their knees in a cascade of tears.

    Bloodthirsty thugs, intent on destroying all that’s good and pure in the world, had attached a set of googly eyes to Scotty’s face. The city, and its most beloved resident, had lost their innocence.

    Scotty’s Motel manager Greg Hobson witnessed a gang of four men and one woman using a cherry picker under cover of darkness to commit the hate crime. Understandably, he was too terrified to approach the goons.

    “What started as a light-hearted prank has turned slightly more serious as poor old Scotty has sustained some damage,” Greg wept. “His sporran appears to be quite loose and there appears to be some damage to the side panels.”

    The proud Scotsman, who had endured so much, had suffered a near-fatal 1.5-metre tear down his left leg. There was even talk, in hushed tones, of an amputation.

    “He’s sustained a lot of pranks over the years, but this is probably the most damaging one we’ve had so far,” Greg continued. “He’s such an icon. It’s going to be quite upsetting to a lot of people that he’s been hurt in the process.”

    The lunatics responsible were later revealed to be a couple of useless shock jocks named Liam and Ben, who immediately went into hiding.

    In times of yore, it was common for the adversaries of highlanders to be hung, drawn and quartered for their misdeeds. That’s a fate too good for the punks responsible, but don’t worry. The locals have a way of dealing with such matters 😉

    Scotty doesn’t know, but Scotty has to go

    Scotty’s endured more than any Big ever should, but he may succumb to the inevitable march of progress and our unquenchable thirst for overpriced inner-city tenements. The hotel is likely to be bulldozed, so Scotty’s looking for a new home.

    The motel’s owner, Yanka Shopov, is determined to do all she can to keep this little slice of Australiana alive.

    “People love it,” Yanka told a perplexed reporter from the BBC. “Years ago I remember little kids used to cry if we were booked out and they wanted to sleep under the Scotsman. But the thing is he is very expensive. He is exposed to the weather day and night and it costs $7,000 to $9,000 to have him painted. It’s not cheap but he draws attention to the business here.”

    Ms Shapov, a kind-hearted woman and one of the most gregarious hosts one could ever wish to meet, has intimated that she’s willing to donate Scotty to the History Trust of South Australia should he be forced from his longtime home.

    They can take our lives, but they will never take our BIG SCOTSMAAAAAAAAAAAAN!

  • The Loch-Eel Monster, Lochiel, SA

    Lochie the Loch-Eel Monster, Lochiel, South Australia

    For time immemorial, word has been passed down from father to son about an eel-like creature of immense proportions lurking in the depths of Lake Bumbunga. Once in a generation, when the silvery moon shines just right upon the lagoon, a terrified local may catch a glimpse of the Loch-Eel Monster and run frantically into the hinterland. Then, once more, nothing.

    Deciding that the good people of Lochiel had suffered enough, Gordon and I donned our detective caps and travelled into the wilderness to investigate this ages-old mystery. Well, I popped on an audacious cultural headdress whilst Gordon championed an understated, windswept motif, but you don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to discover that we looked fabulous!

    Approaching the rolling hills 90 minutes north of Adelaide, we hoped our bravery would allow this proud community to eel their damaged hearts. With scuba tanks and searchlights, we set about the arduous task of locating this elongated fish.

    Well, it turns out the Loch-Eel Monster was actually pretty easy to find. He is, after all, four metres high and 10m long metres long, and sits in the middle of a bone-dry, iridescent pink, salt lake. Despite all reports, he’s a friendly chap, and it’s not unusual to find dozens of bewitched visitors posing for cute selfies with the beast.

    ‘Lochie’, as he’s known by his legion of admirers, has become a much-loved feature of this bizarre and beautiful region. But his backstory is every bit as bonkers as he is.

    Can you eel the love tonight?

    Lochie can trace his fam-eel-y tree back to a similar, if cruder, Big that was built back in the mid-80s. Known, amusingly, as the Lochiel Ness Monster, this critter was constructed from car tyres and simply appeared one night.

    Despite her grotesque appearance, ‘Nessie’ wriggled her way into the hearts of the community. Her popularity caught the attention of local mechanic Wayne Dennis, who saw an opportunity to app-eel to an even larger audience.

    “Just about everyone who goes past Lochiel knows the one that’s out there with the tyres,” Wayne told an bew-eel-dered reporter. “My mum used to live at Lochiel and, after I’d heard the monster’s head had gone missing, I thought, well, this could be a good time to make something better and put it closer to the town. I thought if we can make something bigger, it’ll put Lochiel on the map.”

    Wait a second, Wayne, don’t plonk the entire town of Lochiel on Map – he’s strong, but not that strong!

    “So, I started thinking about what I could make it out of. Originally, I was going to use a TV tower, and thread all these tyres on there. I knew it had to be a cross between a Loch Ness Monster and a prehistoric eel because the town’s called Loch-Eel.”

    Very droll, Wayne, but I’m the one who tells the jokes around here!

    Fortunately, Wayne didn’t have to beg, borrow and eel to finance the project. He negotiated a good eel with the local council, who slithered in with a sizeable grant. He built his snazzy serpent from fibreglass and paper mâché, wrapped around a stainless-eel rod and wire mesh.

    This brave man rarely slept, so consumed was he by his passion project. He barely even stopped for his evening eel – teehee!

    Even better than the eel thing

    A true savant of the Bigs, Wayne did things his own way as he forged ahead with the Loch-Eel Monster.

    “I had a red reflector, the same as what’s on the signposts on the road,” he revealed. “I thought that would make a good eye. So, I made the whole thing in proportion to that. The mouth opens and shuts. I’ve made a funnel, so that when the wind blows, it opens the mouth, and when the wind stops, it shuts.

    “I also wanted to make it high enough so that if you’re standing in front of it, you can’t reach up and pull on its mouth.”

    So remember, guys, loch but don’t touch!

    You need a thick skin to be an aesthetically-pleasing ray-finned fish in a rural community on the edge of the outback, and Lochie has that in spades.

    “I’d never fibre-glassed anything in my life before”, Wayne pontificated. “The skin actually turned out right because it wasn’t all smooth; it was sort of rough. With the help of grey and black paint, it made it look like skin.”

    Yes, when it comes to creating eerily-lifelike Bigs, Wayne was determined to reinvent the eel.

    The eels on the bus go round and round

    The completed sculpture was plonked onto twin trailers and carted out to the salt flats. Locals could barely conc-eel their excitement about having their very own Big! But how to ensure Lochie wouldn’t eel over in a strong breeze?

    “I spent lots of nights thinking about how we were going to put it in the ground,” Wayne explained. “In the end, I came up with the idea of digging holes, putting tractor tyres in there, and backfilling them with dirt.

    “Tractor tyres won’t rot away – they’ll last forever – and there are stainless-steel rods going through it. So, hopefully, it’ll last a long time because it’s in real salty water.”

    Wayne, your eerily-eel-istic masterpiece shall terrify and tantalise generations to come. The majestic Loch-Eel Monster makes for a truly surr-eel sight in the midst of a flaming fuchsia fields. Yes, Lochie certainly gets my eel of approval!

    Eel the world, make it a better place

    Lake Bumbunga, with its salmon-hued salt flats, provides a breathtaking and, at times, confronting backdrop for an encounter with Lochie. It’s a quiet place, an ancient place, where the crackle of one’s own feet crunching across the sodium crystals can create a cacophony.

    The setting of the sun is a time of spiritual awakening at the lake. With the mystery of the Loch-Eel Monster solved, Gordon and I relaxed on banana lounges upon the roseate landscape and, drinks in hand, watched a rich tapestry of stars roll out across the sky. For the two of us, it provided a moment of quiet contemplation

    Lochie’s mouth opened and closed gently in the breeze, and I plucked several granules of salt from the lakebed to add to my decadent goblet of caramel and pomegranate liqueur.

    “You know, Bigs,” Gordon said sleepily, before taking a contemplative sip from a margarita glass rimmed with coral-coloured salt. “I think we have a good life.”

    “Me too,” I smiled.

    “Me three,” came a surprisingly soft voice from the immense eel who towered above us. The three of us laughed as the Milky Way blazed above us, and all was well in the universe.

  • The Big Hills Hoist, O’Sullivan Beach, SA

    The Big Hills Hoist, O'Sullivan Beach, South Australia

    A woman’s work is never done, but a clothesline this size certainly makes things easier! Hills Hoists – a type of spinning, adjustable contraption for drying tunics and underpants – are ubiquitous throughout Australia and an integral part of the country’s cultural psyche. That makes them a perfect candidate for getting the Bigs treatment!

    For decades Hills Hoists were manufactured in the beachside suburb of O’Sullivan Beach, half-an-hour south of Adelaide. As the legend goes, one bright afternoon an apprentice mixed up his metrics and imperial measurements and knocked together a clothesline of epic proportions. Hopefully his superiors didn’t hang him out to dry!

    The wonderful washing line was popped on permanent display in the workshop’s car park, as a tribute to the ingenuity of South Australians. Apparently it proved particularly popular for Goon of Fortune at work Christmas parties – although nobody seems to remember much about them.

    The factory was shuttered in 2019 and production of these Aussie icons relocated to China. Oh well, I guess they need somewhere to hang their Mao suits and his-and-hers matching panda T-shirts.

    The boys from Orrcon Steel moved in shortly afterwards, and currently spend their smoke breaks gazing in open-mouthed wonder at the Big Hills Hoist. Whilst somewhat dilapidated these days, it can be admired through a chainlink fence, leading to a similarly disengaged experience to visiting The Big Orange.

    Just don’t get too close – as I was posing for these photos a burly foreman stormed over and offered me a job. Imagine that, the inimitable Bigs Bardot working in a steel factory!

    When it comes to manual labour, I’m every bit a 50s housewife.

    The Hoistus with the moistus

    As the crisp South Australian afternoon drew to a close, a furry little hand slapped me on my bottom. I turned, shocked, to see a hairy alien leering at me beneath the towering Hills Hoist.

    “Hey toots,” Gordon slurred, taking another gulp from his canister of Emu Bitter. “When you’re finished hanging out my work shirts, get inside and make me a birria and roast duck quesadilla. And snap to it, babydoll, the fellas are comin’ round soon to watch the footy.”

    Shocked by his repulsive display of toxic masculinity, I dropped my washing basket and slapped Gordon across his ruggedly handsome face.

    “How very dare you,” I snapped. “Whilst there is something wholesome and nostalgic about regressing to stereotypically gendered domestic mantles, the manner in which you’ve conducted yourself only serves to derail the non-binary movement and blockade the discourse required to move forward as a more welcoming society. Put your manners back in.”

    The tears in Gordon’s chocolatey eyes said it all. His muscular shoulders slumped. He cradled his head in his hands. He wept openly. A small group of steel workers, sweat dripping down their robust torsos, surrounded us, ensuring I was alright and threatening Gordon with a severe beating should he continue on his rocky trail of domestic abuse.

    “Bigs,” he sniffed. “I was so overcome by the sentimental, whimsical nature of The Big Hills Hoist that I regressed to a cliched and, frankly, rather insulting stereotype of a 1950s alpha male. My own ego impacted your happiness, your sense of worth, and for that I am deeply apologetic. I love, respect and support you.”

    The petite alien and I embraced, as silvery tears drew pale white streaks down grimy steel workers’ cheeks.

    Clothes encounters of the third line

    “You’re forgiven, Gordon, and I understand what you’re dealing with,” I purred, ruffling his hair. “I did, after all, sport a kilt and bagpipes for several weeks after interacting with Scotty the Big Scotsman. And I was inspired to swim through the ocean as a crustacean after a date with The Big Lobster. We’ve all been there.”

    The steel workers, each reduced to a blubbering mess, carried themselves back to the foundry. Each would remark later that they’d finally discovered the true meaning of love and dignity. And it all happened in the shadows of The Big Hills Hoist.

    Gordon, tired yet happy, held the door of the Bigsmobile open for me, then we rolled off into the Adelaide Hills.

    “But, seriously,” he yawned, stroking my hand, “I would like that birria and roast duck quesadilla, please. As long as I can help you cook it.”

    “With extra cilantro?”

    “With extra cilantro.”

  • The Big Pigeon, Adelaide, SA

    The Big Pigeon, Adelaide, South Australia

    Trundle down Rundle Mall any day of the beak, and you’ll flappen upon the peck-tacular Big Pigeon. The elegant, mirrored bird was lovingly crafted by local artist Paul Sloan and strutted into town in late-2020. Adelaidians, not surprising, have been cooing and ahhing at him ever since.

    Despite his flashy looks, he’s a bashful chap and the epitome of the boy nest door. The Big Pigeon cost a very reasonable $174,000, which begs the question of why the local council haven’t created an entire flock of delightfully large birds.

    Sublimely melding the cheeky nature of pigeons with the confrontingly angular architecture Adelaide’s famous for, he demands passersby pause for a moment of quiet reflection amongst the hustle and bustle of this burgeoning world city.

    A little bird told me that Paul Sloan’s lifelong fascination for pigeons inspired his genre-defying steel masterpiece – which is a feather in his cap as far as I’m concerned.

    “I see pigeons as proud flaneurs, promenading through our leisure and retail precincts,” the virtuoso pontificated. “They are the quiet witnesses of our day-to-day activities in the city, our observers from day through to night.”

    Thank you, Paul Sloan, for allowing me to have a birds-eye view of your passion project.

    Birds of a feather go BIG together

    Widely regarded as the most handsome chap in Adelaide (quite a feat considering that Scotty the Big Scotsman is just up the road), The Big Pigeon isn’t completely u-beak. He’s a dead winger for an equally-dovely feathered friend in Blackpool, England – Big Bird.

    You might say that I’m obsessed with oversized representations of this particular breed of bird, but that’s not true! I’ve also had dalliances with The Big Kookaburra, The Big Chook, The Big Parrot and Chinute Chinute.

    Then there’s Katey Seagull, Stanley the Emu, the Big Eagle and Charlie.

    And Bruno. And The Big Galahs. Oh, and the deceptively nimble Chickaletta.

    Feeling sweet? Then fall in loooove with the The Big Honeyeater! Wanna cash some cans at the same time? The Big Bowerbird is for you!

    Let’s not forget The Big Pelican in Loxton! And Pelican Pete in Noosaville!

    Aaaand the incomparable, transcendent, utterly sublime Big Penguin!

    So don’t pigeonhole me, buddy!

    What’s dong with people these days?

    Trigger warning: The following passage contains graphic depictions of pigeon abuse and general naughtiness. As Land of the Bigs is a family website, I implore you to cover your little one’s eyes before delving any further. You’re welcome.

    The brave, regal Big Pigeon is a shining symbol of everything magical and innocent and proud and wonderful that Adelaide has to offer. That didn’t stop him, however, from running afowl of a depraved pervert with a massive pecker.

    The lunatic – probably high on cheap lollies and red cordial and without a pigeon of concern for the public’s wellbeing – attached what is commonly known as a ‘dildo’ to the front of the gentle fellow. This contraption, which apparently takes the form of a frighteningly-accurate representation of male genitalia, seems to have been placed there as a lark. You could’ve knocked me down with a feather when I found out!

    So enraged were the people of Adelaide that they rioted through the streets for several weeks hence, looking to capture the cretin responsible and toss him, squealing like the pig he was, into the River Torrens. Pigeon Lives Matter, you know!

    I’m going to remain tight-beaked about whether I was involved in the sicko’s disappearance, but let’s just say there are plenty of barrels to pop a pigeon molester into – teehee!

    Oh, and if you’re looking for the dildo, it’s long since been removed. It’s not in any of the bins around Rundle Mall, it hasn’t been tossed into any bushes, and none of the shopkeepers know where it ended up. Trust me, I asked.

  • Map the Miner, Kapunda, SA

    Map the Miney, Kapunda, South Australia

    There’s nothing minor about this miner! Seven metres tall, carved from bronze and with his oversized tool in his hand, Map the Miner will dig his way into your heart.

    Guarding the entrance to the ambrosial village of Kapunda, Map casts a brutally masculine figure amongst the lapidarian landscape. He’s intimidatingly large and, whilst his monochrome complexion may pale in comparison to flashier Bigs such as the nearby Rocking Horse and Protest Statues, it perfectly reflects the dusty, harsh monotony of a miner’s life.

    Perfectly-proportioned and ravishingly robust, Map’s the sort of guy any girl would love to take home to meet her parents – if only he’d fit through the front door! Let’s call a spade a spade, you’ve got rocks in your head if you don’t fall maply in love with Map.

    Map – a mysterious fellow who also goes by the pseudonyms Map Kernow and The Son of Cornwall – was built as a tribute to Kapunda’s proud Cornish mining history. The quarry operated from 1844 to 1878, luring in a myriad of dirty-fingered Englishmen and altering the history of this remote outpost forever. Yes, there’s certainly nothing boring about this bad boy.

    Alright, alright, sorry for all the Cornish jokes – teehee!

    Just copper look at him!

    Local chap John Davidson, entranced by legends of the Cornish miners, suggested in 1986 that the town build a monumental monument to his heroes. Dutch artist Ben van Zetten, whose heart was also set aflutter by the area’s rich history, agreed to design and construct the humongous hunk out of fibreglass. Kapundians of all shapes and sizes and ages and ethnicities came together as one to raise money for the project.

    Astonishingly, it took just three months to build Map – one-third the time it takes to gestate an actual Cornish miner. Map was originally meant to have a working torch attached to his humongous helmet, but it was removed because it caused him to feel light-headed.

    The statue was officially opened during Australia’s Bicentennial celebrations in 1988. Locals and visitors, dressed in historically-accurate mining tunics, gorged themselves on saffron cake, clotted cream, jellied eels and other vaguely repulsive Cornish snacks.

    Whilst the life of a your average miner may be marinated in backbreaking work and soul-crushing loneliness, Map had a happy existence on the edge of the outback.

    But then, tragically, Map hit rock bottom.

    Oh, oh, oh, I’m on fire!

    June 1, 2006, is a date seared into the memories of the good people of Kapunda. The earth was cool but the air was torrid when they woke to the sounds of screaming and the unmistakable cacophony of a Big Thing burning. When they stumbled, clad in rumpled pyjamas and wiping sweet dreams from their eyes, into the streets, they found the charred remains of Map the Miner.

    Kapunda has never truly recovered.

    The culprit scarcely deserves the dignity of having his actions immortalised on this website, but he will forever be indelibly linked to the story of this brave Big. Like most of the world’s problems, this calamity was born of a mixture of teenage testosterone and interpretive dancing. A pimple-faced troublemaker, barely out of nappies and wishing to take a photo of himself boogying ‘fore Map whilst ensconced in a ring of fire, poured lighter fluid onto the giant.

    And then, in a moment of madness, he lit a match.

    The adolescent had hoped to capture something that would set his MySpace page alight. Instead, he tore the heart out of a battling town and selfishly stomped on it like the worthless creep he is. Map was utterly destroyed but, thankfully, there was light at the end of the tunnel. The sculpture was insured and Ben van Zetten was able to rebuild Map in less than a year, this time in bronze.

    Map was back, bigger and badder and shinier than ever. I guess every cloud has a silver mining.

    Not surprisingly, that teenage thug wasn’t seen around town following his act of terror. There’s lots of places to bury a body around Kapunda, and that’s all I’ll say about that.

    And they all lived Mappily ever after

    “See, Bigs, that’s a real man,” Gordon swooned as we rolled into Kapunda in the Bigsmobile. I was jealous of the attention he lavished on another man, of course. But, as Gordon nuzzled into Map’s brawny arms and planted a tender kiss upon his square jaw, I knew he was right. By most standards I’m a tough guy brimming with unbridled machismo, but I’m nothing compared to a guy like Map.

    I’m not happy to admit it, but I put my normally demure personality to one side in order to perform a raunchy dance for Map. No matter how rhythmically I swayed my hips or elegantly I batted my eyelids, the copper colossus remained unmoved. This was one excavator who would not be lured in by the wiles of one Bigs Bardot.

    “Bigs, please, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Gordon said quietly, placing his furry hands upon my excitable hips in order to calm them down. “Map might be a miner, but he’s not interested in seeing your shaft.”

    Honestly, Gordon, mine your own your own business. I love Map and I’d be lost without him!

  • The Big Ram, Karoonda, SA

    The Big Ram, Karoonda, South Australia

    Ay Caramba, lovers of Big Things! Is me, El Grande Gonzales, greatest luchador in all México and Latin America’s leading expert on oversized roadside attractions. Hola!

    You may look at mi beautiful smile, mi carefree disposition, and conclude that Gonzales is a happy hombre. But there is sadness deep within mi corazón. Bashing in the brains of mi enemies has been a lot of fun – and certainly profitable! – but it was a desperate attempt to transfer a poofteenth of my internal agony onto someone else.

    Lo siento, Santiego Ortiz, it seems I give you spinal damage for nothing – oopsie daisy! But I become distracted from my tale of woe.

    Muchos años ago, a sheep wander into mi village and eat mi mamá. Then he eat mi papi. Then he eat mi quesadillas, and this is when I get mucho furioso. And you no want to see Gonzales when he is furioso… well, I’ve been told I’m super cute when I’m angry, but I also get a bit stabby. This is why I am banned from Taco Bell.

    Well, that and the incident with the cheese sauce.

    Since this atrocity, Gonzales has wandered the Earth looking for the sheep that eat mi familia. First, I encounter The Big Merino in Goulburn, but he is too large. Then I find The Big Cow in Highfields, which is a bit like a sheep but also kinda different. How should I know, Gonzales am professional fighter, not veterinarian.

    OK, I sometimes work as a veterinarian, but México’s accreditations are notoriously lax. Last week I accidentally neuter Cat Stevens and give an actual cat a guitar and force him to play Moonshadow. Is easy mistake to make, and the cat really nailed it – ¡Ay Caramba!

    On the Ram-page

    But I go off the track like mi tío Miguel when he drink too much tequila and drive his lowrider into cactus. Is very sad – this cactus have one day till retirement!

    I hear word that the sheep who eat mi familia has been seen in South Australia. I take mi tag team parter, El Gordón, and we travel by donkey to Karoonda, deep in the outback. Is a long journey, but there is restaurant serving jalapeño poppers on the way, so all is well.

    Karoonda is nice town with wide streets and pretty women. It reminds me of mi village back in México, with less tuberculosis. But El Gordón and Gonzales are not here to sightsee, we are here to take vengeance on a horrible sheep. This cobarde try to hide from us, but we shall find him even if we have to overturn every table and threaten every granny in – oh, there he is, right in the centre of town! He was actually pretty easy to find, as he is two metres tall.

    He also have huge set of el testículos and – holy guacamole! – what hombre wouldn’t be attracted to them? Wowzers!

    Skip to this section if you just want to read about The Big Ram, and not the adventures of a deranged, yet loveable, luchador

    The sheep who eat mi familia has developed for himself a clever cover story. He claims to be The Big Ram, a South Australian icon and the centrepiece of Karoonda’s b-ewe-ming tourism industry. According to his lies – which he has even had inscribed into a plaque beside his rump – the idea for The Big Ram came from a señor Don Anderson, who wanted to cash in on the success of nearby Big Things such as The Big Orange and The Big Pelican.

    The sculpture was built by a señor Andrew Stock, with help from some of the more artistic members of the community. The Big Ram was unveiled in ungu-late 1997 at a cost of 12,000 pesos, with local kiddies adding a tiled mosaic to the statue’s base in 2001. He is of good quality, and certainly not sheep and nasty.

    Apparently, more than 650 hours of work went into the baa-sterpiece, along with 18 tonnes of stone sourced from shear-by quarries. But that’s just the sort of mierda story a familia-guzzling renegade ram would hide behind, isn’t it? You cannot put your wool onto my eyes, you big baby!

    They really should’ve named him Jean-Claude Van Ram

    Tears streaming down mi face, I storm up to the rascally ruminant and spit out the palabras I’ve dreamed of for eons.

    “Hola,” I rasped, whilst gesturing flamboyantly for dramatic effect. “Mi nombre is El Grande Gonzales. You eat mi father. Prepare to die.”

    The good gringos of Karoonda, who had encircled us, gasped as one. Gonzales clench his fists. The match of the century was about to begin

    Somewhere, in the distance, a lone cassowary cawed.

    I may be the most feared fighter in all of México, but it was El Gordón who threw the first punch. Teehee, you should’ve seen the hombrecito go! He kicked and he bit and he spat and he slapped until finally, slick with sweat and covered in blood, he fell to the ground.

    The sheep, he show no signs of being in a fight at all, and just stand there smiling. I take off mi shirt, adjust mi jockstrap, and prepare to rush in. But then I am struck by sudden realisation. Just like when mi tío Paco was struck by a sudden VW Beetle whilst dancing in the street. This event cost him his dream of winning México’s Got Talent.

    “Mi familia was not eaten by a sheep at all!” I exclaimed, as the townsfolk went ‘Ooooh!’ in unison. “They move to a beachside villa in Cancún, where they make a comfortable living selling NFTs to chubby American tourists. I even visit them last summer, is a nice place. Mi life has been spent travelling the globe, putting livestock into headlocks for nothing!”

    I cradled El Gordón, who was really quite seriously injured, in my muscular arms. We posed for some super cute selfies with The Big Ram, signed autographs for the understandably starstruck townsfolk, and said our farewells to Karoonda.

    “That place that sells the jalapeño poppers is still open, right?” asked a weary El Gordón.

    “Sí, señor.” And with that, we rode our donkey off into the sunset.

  • The Big Apple, Balhannah, SA

    The Big Apple, Balhannah, South Australia

    She’s plump, juicy and oh so delicious – but enough about me, the inimitable Bigs Bardot! We’re here to celebrate the scrumptious Big Apple, who sits regally above The Olde Apple Shed, high in the Adelaide Hills.

    This ruby-red rascal is the pride of Balhannah, and boasts a rustic charm just as dainty delicacies she promotes. Stop by for a memorable photo that’s sure to set your socials aflame, then treat yourself to the legendary rhubarb and apple crumble, paired with a decadent dollop of cream.

    If you’re feeling extra naughty, try the freshly-baked shortbread, smeared with some zesty Adelaide marmalade – go on, I won’t tell anyone!

    The Big Apple has become a real peeler of the community over the years, and I must admit to being cored off-guard by her immense girth. What can I say, it’s not every day I meet some as fruity as moi!

    Don’t you think I look wonderful be-cider? I’d like to say I’m the prettiest Pink Lady in Balhannah, although that might upset the apple cart!

    OK, she might not be as famous as some of South Australia’s other Bigs but, really, that’s like comparing apples and oranges! I really should stop with all the apple puns… orchard I?

    How ’bout them apples!

    Grand Granny Smiths, really large Royal Galas and supersized Sundowners can be found the length and breadth of this wide, brown land (of the Bigs). There’s an apple in Yerrinbool, another apple in Tallong, and a really cute apple in Darkes Forest that’s almost as gorgeous as me… almost!

    There’s an awe-inspiring Red Delicious inside the Bilpin Fruit Bowl and, if you prefer your maças wrapped tenderly in flaky pastry, the Big Apple Pie just down the road. The highest concentration of Big Apples is, undoubtedly, in Batlow, where there are Big Things apple-enty!

    For those willing to take a salacious bite from a forbidden fruit, The Big Apple in Acacia Ridge is home to a fairly seedy adult shop. If that sort of smut a-peels to you, I don’t know what you’re doing on a wholesome website such as this.

    All are equally tasty, so I guess the Big Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!

  • The Big Orange, Berri, SA

    The Big Orange, Berri, South Australia

    Rising fifteen metres above the outback, The Big Orange is undoubtedly South Australia’s finest feat of engineering. Generations of Aussies have gazed in wonder at her enormity and stepped, hearts aflutter, into her juicy endocarp. This Orange is more than just Big; her grandeur is all-consuming.

    Songs have been sung about this spherical marvel. Legends of her size have been passed down from father to son to grandson. This colossal citrus is the very fabric upon which this country has been built. But now the Orange stands empty, wilting in the relentless sun, serving as a totem to everything rotten with modern society.

    What should be a monument to all Australia has achieved, has instead become a national disgrace. This is the story of a people who have strayed from their path, and the enormous roadside attraction, once the pride of this sunburnt land, that has become collateral damage.

    This is the tragedy of The Big Orange.

    The zest laid plans…

    The 1970s was an exhilarating decade for a spirited young country discovering its own unique identity. The Sydney Opera House was shocking the architectural community. The Bee Gees were turning the heavy metal world on its head. Rolf Harris was showing off a more refined, sophisticated edge to our society. Nothing epitomised this cultural awakening quite like the influx of Big Things – led, of course, by Ploddy the Dinosaur – and South Australia was at the forefront of this movement.

    Following the resounding success of Adelaide’s Scotty the Big Scotsman, local entrepreneurs Bronte Coombe, Vern ‘Chubby’ Chubb and David Marshall wanted to get in on the action. Each tipped in $145,000, before handing over design and construction duties to John Twopenny from Hoffmann Engineering. John, you were worth every penny!

    Constructed from fibreglass panels over a steel frame and weighing an impressive 85 tonnes, The Big Orange boasted four interior levels and a viewing platform offering stunning vistas over the area’s orchards. There was space inside for a conference centre, souvenir shop and 360 degree mural that, from all reports, put the Sistine Chapel to shame.

    When The Big Orange was officially opened on January 14, 1980, crowds of crow-eaters squeezed in to be a part of history. The landscape of Berri had changed forever but, more importantly, the very essence of what it means to be Australian had transformed. With the opening of The Big Orange, Australia thrust herself onto the world stage. A progressive and daring land, the equal of any that had come beforehand.

    The future looked as sweet as the Valencias the Big Orange was modelled upon. The reality, however, would prove to be as sour and withered as a Seville (which is, for reference, the most bitter and inedible variety of orange that is commonly grown).

    More than a peeling

    Millions of visitors and the sort of rockstar celebrity that most Bigs can only dream of couldn’t protect this landmark from the twin henchmen of time and eroding moral values. By the turn of the century The Big Orange was in poor condition and running at a loss. Sadly, she was sold to an employment agency for a paltry $100,000.

    This was a poor financial move as, not surprisingly, most jobseekers preferred to admire The Big Orange than find gainful employment. She was sold once more to Kevin Dickerson, a man with a big heart and even bigger dreams. He envisioned her as South Australia‘s answer to Disneyland, with the Big Orange as the bulbous counterpoint to the Magic Kingdom.

    Of course, the Americans had their own Big Orange, which entered the national zeitgeist and altered the course of North American politics, but it was nothing compared to our down under wonder. Kev’s ambitions, tragically, ran deeper than his pockets, and the Orange was put into liquidation.

    Honestly, with disappointment like that, it’s no surprise the locals took to popping each other in barrels.

    Local golf enthusiasts suggested painting her up like an oversized Titleist but, thankfully, this mockery never came to fruition. I guess they just didn’t have the drive to see it through. The site was instead bought by a local businessman, who still hopes reopen it as a tourist attraction someday.

    But someday, as the pop rock poets from Creedence Clearwater Revival once told us, may never come.

    Stripped of her dignity

    Disturbingly, a repulsive suggestion to transform the Big Orange into a low-rent strip club has gained momentum amongst the dregs of society.

    Rest assured that myself and some other ‘Karens’ are doing everything in our power to ensure this appalling citrus-ation is not allowed to germinate – and that those responsible spend sufficient time in one of the Riverlands’ most inhumane penal colonies.

    See how much you enjoy the lapdances in there, boys!

    We’ll see you a’rind

    Today The Big Orange sits, alone and afraid, behind a gnarled barbed-wire fence by the Sturt Highway. She’s in surprisingly good condition considering what she’s been through and, whilst it’s not possible to venture inside or touch her rippled exocarp, it’s easy to see her from the side of the road.

    She serve as a testament to what South Australians can achieve, and represents all that’s good and wholesome and adventurous about this harsh corner of the planet. But she’s also the bittersweet emblem of a state tossed upon a sea of bigotry against gigantic roadside representations of fruit.

    I’d go as far as to say that the government’s reaction to this tragedy has been pith-etic, but now is not the time for amusing wordplay.

    The Big Orange holds a mirror up to modern-day Australia. The question is, how many of us are willing to take a good, hard look at ourselves?

  • Almost Once, Sydney, NSW

    Almost Once (The Big Matchsticks), Sydney, New South Wales

    ¡Ay Caramba! Hola, is me, El Grande Gonzales, greatest luchador in all México. As a red-blooded Latino it is in mi carazón to fight, so when I was invited to a big match in Sydney, I fly there straight away. Boy, are my arms tired! Sí, Gonzales also greatest comedian in all México!

    But when I arrive do I find my greatest rival, Juan Carlos Sanchez, the man who once kidnap mi familia and make fun of mi perro? No, señor, it seems I have been forced to chase the wild goose!

    I feel like the buttocks of donkey to discover that the ‘big match’ is just that – a mucho grande matchstick that stands as tall as 47 fried iguanas, or eight metres to you gabachos. To add incest to inquiry, there is another match next to it, and this one is all burnt like mi tío Pedro after he fall asleep cooking tacos. Pedro has never been the same!

    This really boils my beans! Demanding answers, I choke passing gringo until he tell me that this monumento is called Almost Once, and was created by Brett Whitely and his tag team partner Matthew Dillon, and put into place in 1991. If I am to meet this señor Whitely, I will break him open like the piñata!

    Perfect Match(sticks)

    Once mi Latino blood has cooled, amigo, I develop mucho amor for what you Aussies call ‘Big Things’. Mi burning desire to cripple opponents was replaced by a burning desire to learn more about The Big Matchsticks. I discover that Almost Once is made from Blackbutt timber found in the exotic paradise of Grafton, and burnt to a depth of uno inch to achieve its unique look.

    Maybe Pedro should have asked these dudes to burn him. Then maybe el niños wouldn’t burst into tears when they see him in street!

    In fact, The matchsticks look so realistic that hopefully it will stop Sydney’s degenerates from forever asking me for a light. Just use the massive matchsticks, you bobos!

    It (matchs)ticks all the boxes!

    Almost Once was restored in 2017 – wood, paint, the whole enchilada – much as mi knee was restored after falling from cantina roof in 1987 after too much tequila. My retirement has been long overdue, as I can hardly do a top-top Huracánrana these days, so now El Grande Gonzales starts his new career as top reporter for México’s most favourite website – Land of the Bigs!

    Sí, it will cause some light rioting when I next enter the Arena México and lecture the crowd for hours about Ploddy the Dinosaur and Lefty the Pink Buffalo rather than bashing in the brains of the baddies, but tough tortillas!

    No longer seeking to travel the globe delivering beatings, I now swagger around spreading the gospel of Big Things to anyone I meet. Except if I find Juan Carlos Fernandez, ese. You just don’t make fun of a hombre’s perro and get away with it!

  • Kangaroo Kat, Carrara, QLD

    Hop along to Carrara Markets to meet Kat, the world’s largest wooden kangaroo. This five-metre-tall marsupial mixes brutalist design philosophies with a fun, quirky and approachable sense of honesty. You can even climb into her prodigious pouch to live out your fantasies of being a joey!

    Kat bounded into the Gold Coast in 2016 (which was, appropriately, a leap year), and is the passion project of Danish sculptor Thomas Dambo. Originally joined by an equally-impressive wooden snake and shark, Kat’s the only one of the trio who hasn’t become extinct.

    Planks for the memories, guys!

    “I try to do art that inspires other people to have the same joy and adventure with using the world’s trash for something positive,” Thomas told a sunburnt reporter from the ABC. “To help people open their eyes to see that it’s a shame to throw stuff out that still has more value.”

    Well, you know what they say; one man’s trash is another man’s achingly beautiful Big Kangaroo!

    Kat’s not all, folks!

    If you spot someone grinning unflinchingly up at Kangaroo Kat, tears of pride streaming down her face, then that’s the lovely lady this Big Thing was named after. Kat, a popular market worker, selflessly helped Thomas piece her together.

    When morale was low, when storms battered in and it seemed as if the project would never be finished, there was Kat with a coffee and a chocolate bickie and a few words of encouragement.

    It was her determination and grace that saw the kangaroo kompleted, and for that she was awarded the greatest honour known to mankind. Yeah, move over Kofi Annan, how many giant rats are named after you?

    As I’m sure Kat will tell you, Carrara Markets are the place to walla-be. You’re bound to find some mar-super-ial bargains. As well as a pouch-standing selection of chutneys and relishes, there are also piles of pottery-roos and lollihops for the kids.

    You might even find a snazzy jumpsuit for that special joey in your life. I tried my best to spend up a storm but, unfortunately, my cheque bounced.

    Gangaroo activity

    Australians roo-lly love their massive marsupials. Matilda the Kangaroo lives a few hours away in Traveston, while Rooey II can be found in Border Village, South Australia. You can have a devil of a time with the Big Tassie Devil down in Mole Creek. And there’s a plethora of koalas, with furbabies in Salt Ash, Doonside and Port Macquarie.

    The towering critters have certainly scurried their way into my heart and so, overcome by lust, I bunkered down inside Kat’s pouch to start a new life. I allowed myself to fantasise about living inside her, safe and warm, the world’s frigid tendrils unable to reach me betwixt her sun-kissed wooden panels.

    It was not to be, and I was plucked from her womb by a couple of burly security guards shortly thereafter. Too bad, I thought I’d finally found a kanga-room with a view!

  • The Big Avocado, Duranbah, NSW

    The Big Avocado, Duranbah, New South Wales, Australia

    She’s green, she’s a queen, and she needs to be seen – get your sourdough toast ready for the scrumptious Big Avocado. This four-metre marvel can be found at Tropical Fruit World, and is exocarp-ly guac you’ve been looking for.

    The Big Avocado was revealed to a curious public in 1983, promoting what was then known as Avocadoland. Still a working farm, the renamed Fruit World is now home to cafes, markets, restaurants, a small train, and 500 different fruits. Well, 501 when I visited – teehee!

    You’d have avoca-no problem spending an entire avo-noon there, especially as you don’t have to cough up any avoca-dough to enter the plantation. And your friends will be green with envy when the find out where you’ve been, because there’s a second – yes, a second! – Big Avocado only minutes away.

    This roadside rascal seduces motorists by the side of the Pacific Highway, and has been split in half to reveal her delightfully creamy insides and plump, sensual stone. It’s a wonder there aren’t constant pile-ups as rubber-necked drivers try to catch on last heavenly glimpse.

    Needless to say, these two are the perfect condiment to any trip north.

    And they all love happily avo after…

    Avocados come from Central America and, like all Latinas, the Big Avocado has a feisty, yet morally virtuous attitude, with a chubby bottom that begs to be groped. Yes, she’s passionate, romantic and… and… I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. It’s just too much.

    Every time I pass this emerald colossus, my heart hurts. The memories of the original Big Avocado – who lived in nearby Alstonville until being murdered by hateful thugs – wash over me like a pantothenic acid-rich tsunami of hot, gooey sorrow.

    This Avo looks so similar to my former bosom friend, but just can’t fill that avocado-shaped hole in my soul. Yes, she’s a verdant emerald. Yes, she’s fun to take photos with. And yes, her texture is botanically accurate. But will she ever hold me when the hot knives of panic slice their way through my reality?

    This astonishing aguacate will be the highlight of your trip through the north coast of New South Wales. The photos you take with her will remain treasured trinkets, passed down through the generations of your family for centuries to come. But, for me, being near her is like hot death.

    I avocadon’t think I can deal with the pain anymore.

  • The Big Avocado, Alstonville, NSW

    The Big Avocado, Alstonville, New South Wales, Australia (RIP)

    Long before the humble ‘avo’ became the brunch of choice for perpetual children the world over, the Big Avocado was providing comfort and companionship to the damaged kiddies of Australia – including a very young Biggles Leticia Bardot.

    Aw, just look at how gosh darn cute we both were!

    The riboflavin-rich ragamuffin stood sentinel outside the House with No Steps in leafy Alstonville for time immemorial, but was demolished in mysterious circumstances many moons ago. For most, he’s but a fading fantasy. I, however, remember my adventures with the Big Avocado as if they were yesterday.

    When I close my eyes I’m overcome by his sweet, nutty scent, and can feel the warm embrace of his wrinkled skin. The Big Avocado was everything to me, and now he’s gone.

    Do not, however, allow my impish grin and stylishly minimalist board shorts deceive you. For this was a tumultuous period of my life, one that took me to the very brink of desperation and cast me on a treacherous journey through a pitch-black cave of depression and self-loathing.

    Were it not for the unconditional love of the Big Avocado, I may not have survived to become Australia’s leading historian of Big Things and oversized roadside attractions. You would not be reading this website. The world would be a colder, less personable place.

    The Big Avocado saved a generation from the crushing pressure of depression and self-harm. In the end, the only one he was unable to support was himself. 

    Does someone need an avocuddle?

    It would be easy, and somewhat lazy, to say that it was love at first sight. I doubt The Big Avocado even noticed the awkward, shy boy who was dumped at his bulbous bottom by a hard-faced madame from the Department of Community Services. If I, on the other hand, even saw him through my waterfall of tears, the trauma of that day stripped his presence from my mind.

    That awful moment had been a long time coming. A series of increasingly bizarre outbursts had seen me shuffled between almost a dozen foster homes. I was a boy in search of love and safety after years of neglect, and struck out at anyone who tried to help me.

    The only people who understood me were Australia’s Big Things but, sadly, my attempts to be adopted by Charlie the Chicken proved unsuccessful.

    Eventually, after a particularly unpleasant tantrum that was widely covered by the tabloid press of the time, my few worldly possessions were gathered up and I was dispatched to a controversial high security detention centre on the far north coast, where I’d receive the care and supervision I so desperately needed. The silver lining was that, to prevent further flare ups, I was to be imprisoned at the only juvenile delinquent centre with a resident Big Thing.

    The Big Avocado had rescued many a hoodlum from a life of hatred and crime. It was hoped that the same would happen to me.

    You guac my world!

    Those first few months at the House With No Steps rolled by in a chlorpromazine-induced haze of paranoid delusions and electro-shock therapy. My counsellors did their best, but I was falling further into a bottomless abyss of foolishness. Known as a ‘biter’, I was cut off from human contact, locked away in a dingy basement.

    And then, on a crisp winter’s morn, I was strapped to a gurney, my mouth ensconced in a muzzle, and gingerly wheeled out the front gate. Breaking many human rights regulations I was left, drool pouring from my gaping maw and eyes spinning with madness, at the foot of the Avocado.

    I may have been there minutes or I may have been there days, but I clearly remember the point where I looked up and saw that bright green orb hovering in front of me. A calm swept over me that I had never known, and I allowed myself to become one with the Big Avocado.

    “Bigs,” he told me, “you are following the wrong path. Your life has been lost to lunacy and ultraviolence, but is destined to be one of peace and love and really tired puns.”

    I waited for him to order me to kill my tormentors, as my bed had told me earlier that day, but the words never came.

    “My life has no meaning,” I slurred, the heady mixture of muscle relaxants and methylphenidate finally wearing off.

    “Yes it does. You are destined to build the greatest website dedicated to Big Things that the world has ever known. It will bring a new era of harmony to a very troubled world. You will unite people of all races, genders, sexual orientations and body shapes with your unabashed enthusiasm for oversized roadside attractions.”

    Of course, this was many years before the internet was invented, so I might be misremembering the conversation, but that’s pretty much the gist of it.

    And they all lived happily avo after

    No longer a twisted creature brimming with vulgarity and loathing, I took to wearing pink short-shorts and mincing around in a flamboyant fashion. My days were spent chatting with the Big Avocado, who became my spiritual guide, muse and – all too briefly – romantic partner.

    Unmuzzled and uncaged, I was even allowed to visit other Big Things in the region, such as the Big Prawn and the Big Pineapple. My life became one of joy and wonder, and it was all thanks to that spherical sweetheart by the front gate.

    When I was finally released from detention, the Big Avocado was there to bid me adieu. He glowed with pride, and we embraced through a flurry of tears.

    “Go out into the world, Bigs,” he told me. “Go out into the world and spread a little magic. Bring a little happiness to those who need it the most.”

    “I love you, Avocado,” I wept.

    “I love you too, Bigs,” he replied. They were the words I’d waited a lifetime to hear. We would never see each other again.

    By the time I returned to the House With No Steps 30 years later, it had been transformed into the flourishing Summerland Farm, and there was no sign of my friend. I like to think that, after decades spent saving young lives, he’d finally taken some time out for himself, enjoying retirement on a farm somewhere in the sunshine.

    Most likely, he was pulled down and tossed into the garbage. I prefer not to think about it. There is an imposter nearby, but he doesn’t have the presence, the heart, of the original. Just knowing he’s there hurts.

    Wherever he is, the Big Original Avocado will live on forever in my heart, and within the hearts of so many juvenile delinquents. He rescued me from myself. I’ll always love you, my friend.

  • Klaws Kinski, Tweed Heads, NSW

    Klaws Kinski, Tweed Heads, New South Wales, Australia

    A single, trembling chela drew me closer. A set of bulbous eyes crawled across my lithe body. Shivers ran down my spine and, for the briefest of moments, I contemplated following my deepest carnal urges. Then reason returned and I struggled against the advances of the massive crustacean.

    Klaws Kinski, with his movie star good looks and bad boy swagger, was the sort of enormous crab who drives all the boys wild. So why did I find myself pulling away from his powerful grip?

    “Bigs, relax babe, is 2022,” Klaws gurgled in his syrupy Eastern European accent. “Nobody shocked by same-sex relationship anymore. Especially not here in Tweed Head.”
    “Firstly, Klaws, I’ll thank you not to assume my gender,” I replied, pushing away his powerful propodus. “But it’s not that.”

    “So is because I am crab? Bigs, I thought you were more open-minded than this. I mean, I am not the first oversized sea creature you’ve been with.”
    “You leave the Big Prawn out of this,” I snapped. “What we had was very special and he remains an important decapod in my life. If I’m going to be honest, it won’t work out between us because…”

    “Because of what, Bigs?” Klaws snapped, flexing his unguis. He had a reputation for being an intense, erratic and intimidating crab, but even I was shocked by his behaviour. “Because of what, you big baby?”

    “It’s because you’re only half a crab, Klaws. Your head, thorax and hind legs are painted onto the side of a barn.”
    “What are you trying to say, Bigs?”
    “You’re a billboard with pincers, Klaws. You’re not a Big Thing at all. Now get your filthy – yet juicy and delicious – fingers off me.”

    Klaws, but no cigar

    Despite being several thousand times the size of a regular mud crab, Klaws suddenly seemed very small indeed. I’d like to say I’d never seen him looking so flat, but come on, he’s mostly a two-dimensional drawing, so that’s just how he is.

    I turned my back to his deranged muttering, figuring that I would console myself with an informative and fun crab catching tour or or a plate of shuckin’ delicious oysters drenched in French shallot vinaigrette from the nearby Oyster Shed.

    But something made me turn back. Klaws is capable of anything – what if my harsh words had caused him to self-harm? He may have even found solace in the alcoholism that had made him the most reviled roadside attraction to come out of the legendary Natureworks studios.

    I should’ve known better. Within minutes of telling me I was the only one he had eight eyes for, Klaws had already moved on. There he was with a group of young Korean tourists clasped within his burly grip, posing for a selfie.

    He sautéed them with the same saccharine words used to lure me in – all “I’m crayfish for you” and “Do you want to see my love mussel?” At that moment I realised that a crustacean like Klaws Kinski, even when slathered in a rich garlic sauce, can never truly feel love.

    It is true, after all, that crabs have no heart.

  • The Big Motorcycle, Mooball, NSW

    The Big Motorcycle, Mooball, New South Wales, Australia

    Moo Moove over, because there’s a really cool motorbike coming through! Permanently parked across the road from the Moo Moo Roadhouse, this super-sized superbike is three times the height of the one Wayne Rainey rode to the MotoGP world championship in 1992.

    Yessir, this replica Yamaha YZR500 is nigh-on identical to the one made famous by the legendary American, with everything from the spring forks to the rear-wheel shock absorber on display – just a little larger than you may remember.

    Thanks, Wikipedia. I know nothing about pushbikes, so you helped me sound like a real boy!

    Bikies and less intimidating members of society alike can often be found lined up in the main street of Mooball to take a selfie with The Big Motorcycle, which is every bit as scrumptious as the range of freshly-cooked schnitzels and burgers found within the roadhouse. And the milkshakes? To die for, which is no surprise in a place called Mooball!

    There’s plenty of motorcycling memorabilia, which fans will find wheelie interesting. Personally, I couldn’t tell Mick Doohan from Mick Not-Doohan-Nothin’, so it didn’t appeal to me, but I appreciated the gesture.

    The Bike’s owner, the charismatic Mark Murnane, can hardly handlebar his excitement at owning his own Big Thing.

    “This bike is very unique,” Mr Murnane (yes, that’s his surname!) told a bewildered crayon-pusher from The Daily Telegraph. “It’s done the rounds in 1993 for the Grand Prix, then the Sydney Ducati store bought it and had it as a display before it went to the Queensland Motorcycle Museum.”

    Geez, he must be pretty tyred by now!

    The Ride of Your Life

    Despite its enviable size, this motorbike couldn’t outrun the law. Until 2014 The Big Motorcycle featured sponsorship for icky cigarette company Marlboro, just like the delightfully powerful two-wheeler he was modelled after. Then the boys in blue rolled into town and ordered it to be taken down.

    “It’s just crazy,” Mr Murnane wept. “I tried to explain to them that we don’t sell cigarettes in the Moo Moo Roadhouse; we sell coffee and food, and have a museum and antique store. I also tried explaining the bike is a replica, purchased from a museum, but they said it breaks the law, so we’re going to do what they’ve asked.”

    So now, instead of a sticker advertising cancer sticks, there’s a sign for the Roadhouse, which is cute enough to get your motor runnin’!

    Even without his naughty tattoo, the Big Motorcycle oozes testosterone. He does have a gentler side, though – just look at his wee little training wheels!

    Sadly, it’s not possible to jump on top of the Big Motorcycle but, trust me, that’s probably for the best. I’ve had my heart broken by enough bad biker boys to know that they’re nothing but trouble.

    Only one question remains; the bike’s in Mooball, so why is it a Yamaha and not a Cow-asaki?

    After more two-wheeled fun?

    If you prefer classic bikes, why not saddle up for Nabiac’s Big Motorcycle. If, like me, you’re startled by the sound of motors, you might prefer The Big Bicycle at Chullora or The Man on the Bike up in Tallebudgera. Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with being bike-curious 😉

  • Katey Seagull, Tugun, QLD

    Katey Seagull, Tugun, Queensland, Australia

    Put the hot chips away, because the Gold Coast has been taken over by a behemoth beach chicken with an amazing appetite. Fortunately, Katey Seagull is as hungry for hugs as she is for deep-fried potatoes.

    Named after glamorous Married… With Children actress Katey Sagal, this super-sized seabird has made her nest out front of the Tugun Domestic and Commercial Waste Facility. Leggy Katey was crafted from recycled metal that’s been allowed to rust, giving her a weathered, world-weary demeanour. Seagull, that is, not Sagal – who simply doesn’t seem to age!

    The towering tern is extremely welcom-wing to strangers and has a flappy-go-lucky attitude. Sea-ing really is beak-lieving, so why not pop in for a flight-hearted conversation? I’m talon you, though, Katey can be a bit gull-ible at times – teehee!

    Feather you want to squawk about it or not, I suspect fowl play!

    The Big Seagull’s sensitive, reflective nature has, unfortunately, made her an easy target for local bullies. Gee golly, I know what that feels like. Upon first encountering Katey, I made the un-pheasant discovery that hoodlums had placed a bright orange witch’s hat over the bird’s majestic rostrum.

    Small things amuse small minds, but this act of bigotry could have ended in tragedy. Not only did the cone leave the well-proportioned creature looking peck-uliar, but it prevented her from eating and drinking. I reached her just in time. Who knows what would have happened had that awful hat remained upon her for even one more minute?

    “Yeah, that was some of the local punks,” a gruff garbageman informed me, before casting aside his carefully-curated tough guy image to allow himself to fall, weeping, into my arms. “They just won’t stop putting those cones on her beak!”

    When I find the perverts responsible – and I can assure you I will – I’ll waste no time inserting a witch’s hat somewhere very unpleasant indeed. Trust me, it shan’t be on their noses!

  • The Man on the Bike, Tallebudgera, QLD

    The Man on the Bike, Tallebudgera, Queensland, Australia

    The Man on the Bike has been the heart and soul of the Tallebudgera Valley for more than four decades, and anyone who says otherwise is pedalling misinformation.

    The dapper gentleman, complete with boater and bowtie, coasted into the Gold Coast in 1970 when the tandem of Cliff Douglas and shock jock Bob Rogers bought him from a ski school. I guess he could snow longer handle the cold winters.

    And what a monument to the strength and temerity of the local population he’s proven to be! Perched proudly atop his vintage penny-farthing, the Man can be seen by all who approach the roundabout he watches over, many of whom circle several times to admire their hero, causing serious traffic congestion.

    The locals had another larger-than-life legend to lolligag over the day that I, the inimitable Bigs Bardot, turned up to for this exclusive photo shoot. Wanting me to feel like part of the community, I was greeted to hearty calls of, “Get off the f***ing road!” and, “Die you lycra-wearing scum!” by passing drivers.

    I’ve never felt so welcome in my life.

    Feel the burn!

    It’s been quite a ride for The Man on the Bike, with more ups and downs than a stage of the Tour de Mudgeeraba. Most notably, his admirers were left sui-cycle when, in 2014, a gang of unchained lunatics decided to be wheely mean by setting the Man alight.

    The statue was burnt to the ground and Tallebudgerans – many of whom are re-tyre-ees – were forced to consult cycle-ologists to deal with the trauma. The wheels, however, were soon in motion to rebuild this bicycling bad boy.

    Like Cadel Evans rising from the ashes during the penultimate stage of the 2011 Tour de France to gazump Andy Schleck on his way to becoming the oldest post-World War II winner of the iconic race (and the only one from Katherine), The Man on the Bike exhibited the determination and return from oblivion – with a little help from his support crew.

    “It has been an icon to Tallebudgera for years and we want it looking good,” spokes-man Warwick Lawson told a gathering of enthralled well-wishers during a fundraiser. “It is a point of reference. You say to any local the ‘man on the bike’ and they know where it is right away.”

    If not, you might be up the creek without a saddle!

    A crust-see attraction!

    There’s quite a peloton of giant pushies these days, with the Big Bicycle in Chullora and A Life’s Ride over in Sacramento. It appears that the world will never tyre of these types of monuments!

    And so, it seems, that all roads in the valley lead towards the Man on the Bike and the pizza shop named in his honour. It’s not unusual to find lycra-clad bike-sexuals, legs shaved, helmets strapped firmly to heads despite the low probability of collisions, chowing down on the restaurant’s famous pepperoni pizzas.

    I’m not sure what they cost, but it couldn’t be much more than a penny farthing.

  • Maddie and Mike, Southport, QLD

    Maddie and Mike, Southport, Queensland, Australia

    The mournful cry of a kookaburra swept across the frozen valley, and then the world was blanketed by deep, velvety silence.

    Within our lonely cabin, a carefully-prepared platter of calamari linguine lay restlessly upon the kitchen table, unloved and cooling as the interminable minutes ticked by. Gordon Shumway, my lifelong partner and bosom friend, was late home from work again. Welcome to the worst days of my life.

    And so I sat, wine glass in hand, and waited. Finally, as the moon climbed through the clouds towards its apex, the front door creaked open and a tiny alien stumbled into the cabin’s milky light.

    The sweet stench of buttermilk schnapps heavy on his breath, Gordon lurched towards his dinner. I stood in silence and scraped the cold, yet probably still quite delicious, pasta into the bin for dramatic effect. The distance between Gordon and I seemed to open up like a vast chasm.

    “You probably drowned it in garlic aioli anyway,” Gordon spat, his cruel taunt slicing through me like the precision-made Wüsthof knives we’d received as a gift during happier times. “Subtlety never was your forte, Bigs.”

    “What happened to us, Gordon?” I asked, struggling to mask the wobble in my voice. “There was a time when we could lay beneath the stars, your furry body in my powerful arms, and just talk. Now we can barely be in the same room together.”

    “I think…” Gordon’s words trailed off as he turned away in a futile attempt to hide the tears swelling in his chocolatey eyes.

    “You think what, Gordon? You think what?”

    “I think we should see other people.”

    The little alien’s big words hung in the air like dewdrops on a spring morning. Now it was I who turned away, not wanting to show weakness, hoping only to cloak the destruction that had swept across my face. Deep down I’d been expecting these words for a long time, but they still shattered my very soul. Hours seemed to pass, and I found myself holding him in a rare sign of affection.

    “Alright, Gordon,” I sighed, pressing my forehead against his. “Let’s see how it works out.”

    When Gordon Met Mike

    It was, perhaps, inevitable that Mike would steal Gordon’s heart. The metre-tall teddy bear is super cute, extremely sassy, and designed by Academy Award winner John Cox. In other words, everything a diminutive alien could ever dream of – and everything I’m not.

    Gordon was in an excitable mood as he groomed himself for his first playdate with Mike, and I even helped him pick out the perfect tunic. It might sound strange, but preparing him for another man brought us closer than we’d been in months. I was just happy for his happiness.

    The sun seemed to shine a little brighter as we wandered through Southport’s flourishing Broadwater Parklands, which is also home to Geckomania! and Blue Perspective. Gordon was nervous, enlivened and boisterous all at once, and I loved him for it.

    “I hope Mike likes my shirt,” he kept saying.

    As we swaggered past a clutch of clusterberries, Gordon took my hands in his and leant in close. “Thanks for supporting me through this, Bigs, it means the world to me,” he whispered. “But there’s one thing I didn’t tell you. This is a double date.”

    It was at that moment I saw her, as we crested a knoll, and my life was forever changed. A giant girl, sunhat on head, wistful grin on face, eternally staring out at the ocean. I loved her before we’d even met.

    “Her name’s Maddie. I thought you might like her. Run along and say hi.”

    When Bigs Met Maddie

    Maddie, with her big, blue eyes and feminine wiles, is not the type I’m usually attracted to. You’re more likely to find me on the arm of a muclebound tradie like Ernie the Shepparton Giant, or with a bearded bad boy like Ned Kelly. Women, even those who are 2.5-metres tall whilst sitting, just aren’t my cup of tea.

    I’m not too proud to admit to envying Maddie’s lithe frame and luxurious locks. Her eternal youth – forever seven years old, despite being created in 2010 – tormented me. Maddie’s one of the most beautiful Bigs on the planet, and I felt inadequate in comparison. I also yearned for the instant attraction and easy repartee that was so evident between Gordon and Mike.

    But, as Maddie and I watched our significant others cosying up to each other, an unbreakable bond formed between us. Maddie proved to be wise beyond her years, with a cheeky sense of humour and a devilish wit. She loves Mike just as I love Gordon, and by the end of the playdate it felt like we were just one big family.

    As the sun set behind the Gold Coast’s rolling hills, I took a very tired, very satisfied Gordon into my arms. The four of us embraced, and I whispered into Maddie’s ear that I loved her. And then we were gone. Gordon and I, on our long journey back to that cabin in the valley.

    “Hey Bigs,” Gordon said sleepily as our moped bumbled along, “can you make that seafood linguini for dinner tonight? You know it’s my favourite.”

    “Of course, Gordon. You know I love you.”

    “I love you too, Bigs.”

  • The Big Guitar, Surfers Paradise, QLD

    The Big Guitar, Surfers Paradise, Queensland, Australia

    “While My Big Guitar Gently Weeps”

    I look at the Hard Rock Cafe, see the people there eating
    While my Big Guitar gently weeps
    My love for him will not be fleeting
    Still my Big Guitar gently weeps

    I don’t know why nobody told you
    The Guitar was installed in ’96
    It cost half-a-million to mould you
    I long to hold you

    In 2004 I noticed the Big Guitar was burning
    Yes, my Big Guitar gently weeps
    Within a few months, he was returning
    Still my Big Guitar gently weeps

    I don’t know how you were alerted
    That my efforts to play with you were concerted, too
    Please don’t say that I’m perverted
    I just really want to pluck you

    I look with joy at how well you’re ageing
    While my Big Guitar gently weeps
    My lust for your tight little tuning pegs is raging
    Alright, maybe I am a creep

    Love all, serve… well, no one

    The Hard Rock Cafe shut down in 2022, but I’m going to pull a few strings to ensure the 10-metre-tall Big Guitar remains a Surfers Paradise icon for generations to come. Some call me a hero, but I prefer to be known simply as the inimitable Bigs Bardot, the Greatest Friend the Big Things of Australia have ever known. You’re welcome.

    Vale The Big Guitar

    It’s with a heavy heart that I report The Big Guitar was torn down in March 2023, almost immediately after my enquiries. Perhaps my standing within the Gold Coast business community isn’t as robust as I thought it was. Oh well, there’s always The Big Banjos in Kin Kin!

    Vale The Big Banjos in Kin Kin

    Oops!

  • The Big Octopus, Surfers Paradise, QLD

    Ring-O, The Big Octopus, Surfers Paradise, Queensland, Australia

    Believe it or not! The Gold Coast is home to the largest octopus in the whole dang world! Ladies and jellyfish, please welcome Ring-O, starr of the glitter strip!

    The nine-metre-wide Big Octopus wiggled into Cavill Avenue, Surfers Paradise, in Octo-ber 2020, making a home for himself above the popular Ripley’s Believe It Or Not! odditorium. He was cephala-produced by local company Pico-Play, and I ink their work deserves a ten-tacle out of ten!

    It took 40 dedicated staff members more than four months to build the two-tonne tyrant. Ring-O was made from fabricated steel to help him ward off the harsh Queensland sun. Maybe they should’ve added a Big Bottle of Sunscreen to help him out!

    Unlike the deadly blue-ringed octopuses he’s modelled after, this handsome chap will only kill you with cuteness. Yes, Ring-O is a tenta-cool dude and doesn’t have a bad bone in his body…. or any bones at all, actually!

    Just look at him with his surfboard, ready to hit the waves and hang ten… or eight, in his case!

    Watch out! He’s armed and fabulous!

    Whilst his namesake, pop desperado Ringo Starr, may play the drums, this rock-topus prefers the guitar – the Big Guitar up the street, that is. Not surprisingly, this eight-legged legend is also mates with Bigfoot, who lives a short walk up the road (and an even shorter walk for Bigfoot, as his feet are so big!).

    And like many new Gold Coasters, the Big Octopus has family in Victoria. In Ring-O’s case, it’s the quirky Big Octopus in Lakes Entrance. I bet these octopods just eight being apart!

    Adults and squids alike enjoy taking a cheeky cephy with this marvellous mollusc. I’m a sucker for a photo op, so asked one of the famous Meter Maids to snap a photo of me with the slimy sweetheart. I tried to Act Naturally with Ring-O but was, of course, completely overcome by lust.

    “You octopi my every thought, will you cala-marry me?” I squirted, but Ring-O remained silent, forever waving his arms in the air. He may have three hearts but, sadly, none of them will ever beat for me.

    We’re o-fishi-ially over, Ring-O :'(

  • Bigfoot, Surfers Paradise, QLD

    Bigfoot, Surfers Paradise, Queensland, Australia

    Bigfoot is sick of hiding, and has retired to an exclusive beachside chateau on the Gold Coast.

    The legendary monster now spends his days perusing the local tattoo dens, dodging drunks in Cavill Avenue and tanning himself to a crisp on Surfers Paradise beach.

    Bigfoot’s Cave can be found in the midst of the verdant McIntosh Island Park, and can be reached via a baroque bridge that spans a bubbling brook. Just sasq-watch your step so you don’t fall in the water.

    The cave makes a cute location for a photo but, like many apartments in the area, doesn’t have a lot of space. He won’t be inviting his friends the GeckoMania, The King of Atlantis, Ring-O and Maddie & Mike over for a housewarming anytime soon, then!

    Never one to conform to social norms and always at the cutting edge of fashion, Bigfoot sports glamorous black nail polish on his famous footsies. If you’re wondering whether his penchant for personal grooming has also led to a Brazilian wax, I can assure you it has not.

    There’s nothing abominable about this hirsute heartthrob, and he’s now the toes-t of the town. And you know what they say about a man with big feet – he must be a Big Thing!

  • The Big Apple, Acacia Ridge, QLD

    The Big Apple, Acacia Ridge, Queensland, Australia

    Bright red and perfectly spherical, the Acacia Ridge Big Apple lures in unsuspecting visitors with the promise of a wholesome photo opportunity. But be warned, because this scarlet woman is rotten to the core.

    Disarmingly located in a suburban car park, the innocent-looking treat is surrounded by a dog-grooming salon and a well-stocked ethnic supermarket. It’s an idyllic slice of Australiana – or so I thought.

    Preening for my photos, I spied a sign beneath the Big Apple advertising a nearby Adult Store. I’m an adult, so I gleefully trotted inside to hunt for magnets, stickers and puffy pens dedicated to the Big Apple.

    Not only was my search for cute souvenirs a fruitless one, but I found myself thrust into a world of decadence and depravity from which I feared I would never escape.

    A real bad apple

    The stench of sweat and desperation marinated through me well before my eyes were able to adjust to the dank boutique. A true den of iniquity, the Naked Passion Adult Store boasted grotesque silicone totems that were confronting for their bulbous, vaguely human shapes, and startling size.

    Honestly, some people need to get a life! Who needs an enormous rubber fist when Ally the Alpaca and the Big Pie are nearby and begging to be explored?

    I was tempted by the questionable pleasures of edible underpants, a concept which is at once unsanitary and vaguely silly. The texture of the garments proved oddly off-putting and the flavour – cranberry – slightly metallic. I also found their durability to be left wanting, with a pair unlikely to make it through a big day of hunting Big Things.

    To my dismay the leather swings hanging from the ceiling were impractical, uncomfortable and lacking any sort of recognised safety accreditation. What a shame!

    There was even something called erotic body chocolate. Let me tell you, there was nothing erotic about the stains it left on my fashionable tunic when it finally came time for me to redress.

    Fed up with this crass display of debauchery, I asked the chubby little man behind the counter whether he had anything for someone obsessed with big fruits. He nodded knowingly and led me through a secret door and along a narrow, dark hallway lined with dated carpet that clung to my feet as I walked.

    The temperature seemed to rise as we walked, so my skin was slick with sweat by the time the rotund fellow unlocked a heavy deadbolt and pushed me, whimpering, into the unknown space beyond.

    An apple a day keeps their clothes away

    What I witnessed that Tuesday afternoon will haunt me until my final breath. The dungeon was packed to overflowing with heavy-set gentlemen wearing bizarre fancy dress costumes, if anything at all. None of them seemed appropriately attired for a visit to a Big Thing and, if they were carrying any souvenirs or nik-naks, they had them very well hidden.

    My attempts to engage the perverts in conversation about the history of the Big Apple were met with scorn, and their knowledge of the social and cultural significance of roadside attractions seemed limited at best.

    Fortunately the generous array of snacks on offer were delicious – the guacamole dip in particular was superb – and I quite enjoyed whipping a heavily-tattooed gentleman who bore a striking resemblance to my stepfather Craig.

    Why couldn’t you accept me, Craig? I was just a boy!

    Even the deranged cackles of “Hey Bigs, show us your Big Banana!” and “Hey Bigs, is that the World’s Tallest Tin Soldier in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” became less threatening with time.

    When I eventually stumbled out into the fading twilight several hours later, I was seeing the world through different eyes. Those creepy men aren’t not so different from me, wandering this cold blue planet, lonely and afraid, seeking comfort and love in the most unusual places.

    Sure, their journeys involve casual sex in public toilets whilst mine climax with a super cute photo of a massive Brussels spout or chook, but you get the point.

    I may have changed, but the Big Apple, that crimson beacon of hope lighting up the outskirts of southern Brisbane, remained the same. I smiled, climbed atop my scooter, and rode off into the sunset.

  • The Camira Critters, Camira, QLD

    The Camira Critters, Camira, Queensland, Australia

    Howdy pardner, this is your hat-wearing hawtie Biggie the Kid! I don’t mind a cockatoo, so when word rang round the holler that a gang of giant birds was causin’ trouble out near Ipswich, I jumped on my trusty stead Liberace and moseyed on out to the badlands of Camira.

    The settlement’s welcome sign has long been a thing of cotton-pickin’ beauty, and a source of pride for the natives. By the time I arrived, it had been well and truly overrun by ne’er-do-wells. There was a colossal kookaburra, a prodigious possum and yes – a real hard-lookin’ cocky.

    Ladies and gentlemen, I had run afoul of the notorious Camira Critters.

    It’s not often a fella finds three Big Things nestled so roody-poo close together. When it comes to big, strong, handsome native gentlemen, being outnumbered three-to-one are just the odds this cowboy likes – yeehaw!

    Cocky, Awesome Possum and Kooks – as their legion of admirers know them – aren’t the largest Bigs around, but are handsome enough to make up for it. Several empty poles pointed to the possibility of more gang members, but they didn’t appear. I was half expectin’ a Big Single Mother or a Big Toothless Bogan. It was Ipswich, after all!

    The Good, the Bad and the Cuddly

    I swaggered upon the critters, all tough and rough and overflowin’ with machismo. Unholstered my Kodak Instamatic. Spat a thick wad of Hubba Bubba on the dusty ground, then thought better of it and wrapped it in a small sheeth of paper before carefully disposing of it in the nearest bin.

    “Boys, boys, boys,” I snarled, peering at them with eyes so blue they would make the devil himself run and hide. “I’m going to have to capture you – for a photo! Three of you is guilty of bein’ just too darn cute!”

    Posing majestically with the gang in the wilting light of a Queensland afternoon, a ruckus tore through Camira’s tranquil bushland. Suddenly a coupé utility vehicle – or a ‘ute’, as the natives call it – came to a screeching halt in front of myself and my new friends. We watched in silence as four large, heavily-tattooed scoundrels climbed out, their mullets flapping in the light breeze.

    They were trouble personified. Hate warmed up. A cyclone of bigotry in flanelette shirts.

    The dawn of a new Camira

    “You with this galah?” the leader asked, pointing at the oversized animals. There was a sneer on his face that could darken the brightest day, and his flunkies howled like a pack of deranged baboons.

    “Actually, he’s a cockatoo,” I replied gallantly. “But yeah, we’re bosom buddies – what are you gonna do ’bout it, amigo?”

    “We was just wonderin’ whether there was any other massive creatures like ’em,” one of the toughs said shyly, kicking at the dirt. I realised that their hyper-aggressive display of toxic masculinity was a mask for their love of Big Things.

    “Of course, my passive-aggressive pal. There’s a gaggle of giant native birds in Queensland, such as Pete, the Big Parrot, and the nearby Big Honeyeater. And y’see that possum there?”

    “How could I miss, him, padre? He’s several times the size of a regular ring-tailed possum.”

    “There are many other mega marsupials scampering around Australia, such as Matilda the Kangaroo, the Big Koala and the Big Tassie Devil.

    “Aw shucks, Biggie,” piped up another gang banger, scribbling into a small notebook. “The only thing bigger than these animals is our love and respect for you.”

    The brutes snapped a series of playful photos with their hero – the one and only Biggie the Kid – before piling back into their coupé utility vehicle and cruising peacefully into the inky twilight.

    Silence descended upon the roadside, and I prepared to say my goodbye to the gang. Kissing the possum on his ring-tail, I climbed atop Liberace once again and reflected upon the lessons I’d learnt. Not all gang-related activity is detrimental to the community. One should never judge a book by its cover, nor a Queenslander by the cut of his mullet.

    And a handsome cowboy, raised on a steady diet of ultraviolence and and fear, can learn the meaning of love.

  • The Big Honeyeater, Logan Reserve, QLD

    The Big Blue-Faced Honeyeater, Logan reserve, Queensland, Australia

    I believe I can fly
    I believe I can kiss this big guy
    I think about Big Blue every night and day
    His handsome wings take my breath away
    I believe he wants more
    Cuddlin’ each other till we’re both sore
    I believe I can fly
    I believe Big Blue’s all mine
    I believe he’s my guy (wooooooo)

    The words of urban visionary R-Kelly resonate with visitors to The Big Blue-Faced Honeyeater, who really will make you believe you can fly.

    This superbly-detailed Big is perched outside the Sequana housing development in trendy Logan Reserve, giving the residents a birds-eye view of his feathery loveliness.

    As twilight settles over this little slice of heaven, the air rings out with calls of, “Honeyeater, I’m home!” It’s no coincidence, therefore, that housing prices in the village are 13.7 percent higher than surrounding, Big Thing-free suburbs.

    Sure, nearby Marsden has a vibrant culinary scene, some of the state’s most respected educational institutions and a range of sprawling, yet immaculately-maintained parks and reserves. But without a Big Thing to call their own, the locals might as well be living in the slums of Mumbai.

    I don’t want your money, Honey, I want your love!

    Blue-faced honeyeaters are native to Logan, although they rarely grow to such epic proportions. It’s not uncommon to witness a clutch of ‘bananabirds’ nestled atop their oversized amigo. What can I say, who doesn’t enjoy a night out with a bigger bird?

    Though generally amicable, honeyeaters are known to violently attack intruders such as goannas and dogs – the perfect security system. Not surprisingly, there have been remarkably few lizard-related ransackings of homes since the winged wonder was installed a few years ago.

    Australians have fallen in plover – oops, I mean in love! – with giant birds. There’s the leggy Stanley the Emu in Lightning Ridge. The wise, yet delightfully chubby Chinute Chinute in Darwin. The Big Chook in Western Sydney and his cousin, Charlie, in Newcastle. And waddled we do without Tasmania’s Big Penguin?

    Oh yeah, and Pelican Pete is just up the road from Big Blue in Noosa – I can’t beak-lieve I forgot about him! The Honeyeater, however, might just be the sweetest of them all.

    Honestly, I could chirp this friendly fowl’s praises until, like him, I’m blue in the face!

  • The Big Pie, Yatala, QLD

    The Big Pie, Yatala, Queensland, Australia

    Feeling famished on the long trip between Brisbane and the Gold Coast? Then bake a stop in Yatala for the best snacks money can pie. The pastries from world famous Yatala Pies receive g-rave-y reviews and are truly to pie for!

    This crust-see attraction is easy to spot – just keep a pie out for the super-sized snack out the front, which sits atop a towering 10 metre s-pie-ke. The iconic Big Pie was served up in the late ’70s, and has been luring in pie-curious passers-pie ever since. This is one pie you just have to meat, and I have a filling you’ll love it!

    Sadly, this cultural landmark is in a state of disrepair and is in danger of being lost amongst a thicket of trees. I’d give it between Four’n Twenty months until he’s totally covered up. And we all know that the only thing that should cover Australia’s national food is a delicious dollop of tomato sauce!

    The 4.5-metre-wide Big Pie is also difficult to take a photo with due to his orientation, facing up and out towards the freeway, rather than his legion of fans beneath his flaky rump. If the owners don’t do something to fix the situation, I’ll be quite pie-rate!

    Despite these failures, Yatala Pies has been operating for over 140 years, and now serve up an un-pie-lievable 3500 treats every day. That’s past-really impressive!

    There’s plenty to keep you occu-pied!

    Casting my keto diet aside in my pursuit of investigative journalism, I swaggered into Yatala Pies and gasped in awe at the size of the menu. Curried chicken, BBQ pork and mushroom mornay pies overwhelmed me, along with a delicious range of sausage rolls, hot chips, pavlovas and apple pies.

    The restaurant, of course, has vegetarian snacks available for pie-chase – the nearby Big Cow will be pleased!

    I like a man who can work a tool, so I opted for a big, tough tradie pie. Sadly, a tradie doesn’t come with it, but the sumptuous blend of steak, bacon, cheese, tomato and egg was just what I needed to power my endless quest for Big Things.

    Good-pie for now!

  • The Big Red Belly, Maudsland, QLD

    The Big Red Belly, Maudsland, Queensland, Australia

    Do you have a viper-active child with heaps of ser-pent-up energy? Want to put a great big reptile on their face? Maybe you’re just after a quiet spot to sit and enjoy a meat pie-thon? Then give the Big Red Belly a try-pan!

    Located in sprawling Gibirrngaan Park within Maudsland’s exclusive Huntington Estates (which, sadly, doesn’t offer anaconda-miniums), the Big Red Bellied Black Snake is surrounded by stunning gardens and play equipment. There are even slides and swings for the asp-iring gymnasts.

    Unlike his cold-blooded cousins, who are amongst the most dangerous snakes on the planet, this concrete colossus is cute and congenial. He welcomes kiddies to climb atop his handsome head, and it’s even possible to perform a-cobra-batics off his tube-like body.

    The adder-ly adorable Big Red Belly was boa-constructed in 2018 by the team at Urban Play, and really is a venom-ust see next time you’re on the Gold Coast. Yeah, forget the world class beaches, fruity nightlife and thrilling theme parks, because this ophidian-credible park in Maudsland is the new centre of the universe.

    Though not as gob-smackingly huge as Gubulla Munda in Ayr, this verte-great big snake is no limb-less impressive. Yes, he’s one in a reptilian, but if you have a foot fetish, you might prefer The Big Thorny Devil in Canberra or Dirrawuhn the Goanna in Lismore.

    The Big Red Belly sure is un-hisssss-able!

    A WORD OF WARNING: It’s not a great idea to ask the children of Maudsland if they’d like to ‘come to the park to see a great big snake’. Thank you to the local constabulary for rescuing me from what would have been a fairly unpleasant public lynching at the hands of the enraged locals.

  • The Big Wheelie Bin, Helensvale, QLD

    The Big Wheelie Bin, Helensvale, Queensland, Australia

    I’ve bin everywhere, man, I’ve bin everywhere! But few places can rival the majesty and mystique of Helensvale Waste & Recycling Centre – home of the Otto-ly delightful Big Wheelie Bin.

    At a dump-foundingly impressive three metres tall, the Bin is wheelie easy to find in the heart of the Gold Coast. He’s fun for Big Thing enthusiasts of all garb-ages, so bring the whole family – yes, even your aunts and junk-les!

    Here’s a hot tip – you can dump your dead car batteries there, it’s free of charge. That’s an offer you can’t refuse. You might even consider composting a song about the Big Bin, just don’t include any dirty lyrics!

    Scrap any plans you have of tossing Big Things like the Big Bowerbird, Big Kookaburra, Murray the Cod and the fowl-smelling Chickaletta into the Wheelie Bin, though. Sure, they’re made up of discarded odds and ends, but aren’t ready to become landfill just yet!

    Entry to the facility is litter-ally free, which is great if you’re trash-strapped at the moment. You might even be able to jump on your bike and re-cycle out there. Don’t waste this opportunity to lift the lid on the Big Wheelie Bin!

    A word of warning

    As I was posing for these cheeky photos I was approached by a burly gentleman in a high-visibility jacket, who sequestered me away to the facility’s security office.

    Apparently the Helensvale Waste & Recycling Centre is a major spoke in Southeast Queensland’s world-renowned rubbish removal system, and the photos I’d taken of myself dancing with The Big Wheelie Bin posed a risk to national security.

    The site supervisor was, thankfully, very understanding of the situation and allowed me to leave without deleting my photos or popping me on a clandestine security watch list. Sometimes I rub-wish people would just leave me alone!

  • The Big Marlin, Iluka, NSW

    The Big Marlin, Iluka, New South Wales, Australia

    The old man’s hands belied their age as he nimbly manoeuvred the thawing prawn onto the hook; in through the head and out through the belly, as always. I feigned disgust, of course, but the process fascinated me.

    “Next time, Bigs, you’ll be baiting your own hook,” he said in his usual brusk tone, then handed over the rod and reel. Our eyes and smiles caught for a fleeting moment, then I sent the bait sailing into the tepid ocean. A plonk, a ripple, then nothing but the sound of water lapping against the dock.

    A geriatric and a pre-pubescent, two beings at opposite ends of troubled lives, sitting peacefully at the edge of the world, waiting for a fish.

    The vagrant was the only one who understood me. Counsellors pretended to care, the other boys in my high security mental health facility sometimes offered a warped corruption of companionship. But this pitiful creature with unruly hair and a beard like a banksia bush was the only one who really got me.

    A loner like me, the hobo rarely talked about his wretched past, but he didn’t need to. The pain was projected across his rugged face; the nights spent under bridges echoed in his words; the loss of humanity and respect reflected in the lamentable way he walked.

    Who knows, maybe I was the only one who actually got him.

    All life folds back into the sea

    “You know,” I said, shattering the silence, “they say there’s a fish the size of a car out at Manilla. He has a top hat and everything! Maybe we could run away and see him together.”

    “Hey muscles, you’re scaring the fish away,” snapped the vagabond, feigning annoyance once again. I smiled to myself, content in my knowledge that it was simply his way of showing affection. Exhibiting love and admiration can feel like chewing razor blades for people like us.

    “We can’t catch fish every day,” I whispered glumly, wanting to lay a reassuring hand upon his shoulder but knowing that would likely trigger one of his infamous ‘freak outs’. “Maybe you’ll catch the eye of a pretty lady on the way home.”

    “Squirt, I don’t have a home. I live in a bed made of milk crates behind Clint’s Crazy Bargains. Now make yourself useful and go get me a box of wine. And none of that fancy stuff. Last time you got me a rosé and – whilst, yes, it was delightfully fruity with an earthy, somewhat nutty aftertaste – the other tramps beat me quite severely because of it.”

    My heart raced as I waited for the moment when he handed over a few disheveled notes and I would have a rare instant of human contact as our hands met.

    That moment never came so, with a hollow heart, I set off to find a pocket to pick on my way to the bottle shop. I would’ve done anything for that street urchin.

    The August sun hung low by the time I returned with a five-litre box of Sunnyvale. Mist was clawing at the dock. In the distance, a lone seagull cried. The drifter was nowhere to be seen.

    The past seems realer than the present to me now

    Sitting cross-legged on the weathered dock with only the treasured box of wine for company, I waited for my friend to return. The languid sun sunk solemnly beneath the waves, and a pale crescent moon took its place.

    The night scraped its icy fingers across my bare legs, but I didn’t leave my post. My friend, I knew, would return. If not for the wine, then for our zesty conversation and abundance of mutual respect.

    But he never did. Over the following months I would regularly wait for him by the water, dreaming of the moment when we would be reunited. My visions were so vivid that I could smell the prawns on his calloused fingers, and feel his whiskers upon my chin.

    In time I was sent to another part of the state to run out my days in another care facility. As they drove me away I stared out the window through a sheet of tears, seeing only the abandoned dock.

    Someday soon, my sins will all be forgiven

    To this day, I can’t walk past a bait shop without breaking down as memories of my friend wash over me. Well, except for when I went to Iluka Bait & Tackle, because there’s a massive marlin out the front and it’s absolutely fantastic!

    The festive fish is, apparently, based on an actual marlin caught by one of the locals two or three decades ago. He’s since become a beloved icon of the beachside village of Iluka. When I arrived the bait shop was empty, with nary a tackle box or garish lime-and-orange fishing shirt to be found.

    Feelings of abandonment wrapped their frozen tendrils around my throat but, thankfully, the owner Ross Deakin wandered over to assure me that the shop had simply relocated down the street.

    “But what will happen to the Big Marlin?” I asked, my top lip trembling 

    “Bigs, I’ll take it home and put it up in the living room before it goes in the bin. I might get in trouble with the missus, but it’d be worth it!”

    “Keep your family close, Ross,” I implored the owner, as he backed away cautiously. “You never know when you’ll lose them. One minute you’ll be violently robbing a pensioner to pay for a few litres of barely-drinkable plonk, the next…”

    “Bigs, I really need to get going.”

    “Ross, wait,” squealed, allowing a single tear to roll down my cheek. “You haven’t, by chance, seen a world-weary traveller, have you? An unshaven mess of a man, wrapped head to toe in rags of the poorest quality, bathed in the odour of prawns, vulgar white wine and desperation.”

    “Bigs, take another look at the Big Marlin. You might find what you’re looking for.”

    We contemplate eternity beneath the vast indifference of heaven

    As my new friend Ross sauntered off to deal with other business, I cast my gaze one more upon the gilled wonder. His elongated beak and resplendent fins demanded attention, but there was something more.

    Within the sheen of his bulbous belly I saw the haunted eyes and unkempt appearance of the man I had been seeking for so many years. I had, without realising it, become the hobo. My seemingly endless search was over.

    After bidding adieu to the marvellous Big Marlin, I dragged my bones away to sit once more by Australia’s rugged east coast, look out upon the brine, and ponder the meaning of it all beneath a weary canopy of eternal stars.

  • Cunningham’s Bananas, Coffs Harbour, NSW

    Cunningham's Bananas, Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia

    Coffs Harbour is the town built on bananas – quite literally. The bendy yellow wonders are so abundant that the locals have been making their houses out of banana peels and leaves for years.

    Ripe that smile off your face! It’s a berry serious safety issue and has led to a bunch of serious accidents over the years.

    The upshot is that the good folk of Coffs have erected a number of temples to their favourite fruit. Worshippers flock to the world famous Big Banana in their millions, but it’s just potassi-one of many prodigious plantains on the menu.

    Cunningham’s Bananas rest happily by the Pacific Highway south of town. They enjoy the ample sunshine and steady stream of customers who drop into the shop of the same name to say, ‘yellow’. They’ve really curved out a niche in the market!

    The fruit shop beneath the Big Bunch is currantly the best in the area, but that mangoes without saying. The range is sub-lime, the prices mandarin-credible. Get sprout of the house and visit today. And yes, I practice what I peach!

    The big bunch of bananas originally lived in nearby Sawtell. When the town was bypassed a few decades ago, they split for their current location. A trip to the region is always a fruitful endeavour, with the Big Golden Dog and Big Beehive just a Coff, skip and a jump away.

    Seedless to say, I’m sure you’ll find them all a-peel-ing! There’s just so much to keep you a-Musa-d on the Banana Coast! Have fun!

    My best friend and muse, Gordon Shumway was so worn out after a big morning with these yella fellas, that he had to have a ’nana nap afterwards!

  • The Big Bowerbird, Raleigh, NSW

    The Big Bower Bird, Raleigh, New South Wales

    The benevolent bowerbird is nature’s great recycler, borrowing anything bright and blue to beautify his abode.

    Bonza bloke Nick Warfield is the mid-north coast’s great recycler, borrowing anything bright and blue to build the beautiful Big Bowerbird. The metal marvel has been lovingly pieced together from door handles, garden equipment, bike parts and even a few fans. I assume Nick used a crow bar and a set of needle-nosed flyers to get the job done!

    Fittingly, you can find him lurking outside the Bowerhouse Recycling Centre in rural Raleigh (the Bower Bird, that is, not Nick Warfield). Rust me, you could spend bowers and bowers there!

    The Big Bowerbird brings a bit of culture back to a tip to the trip, which has gained a reputation for being a rubbish way to spend an afternoon. In fact, it’s the perfect place to visit on a junket!

    “Thrown away objects offer me constant invitation,” a passionate Nick told Arts Mid North Coast. “Their inherent energy is stored within rust and decay, kinks and worn surfaces, warped shapes and frayed edges. A history of utility.

    “Wastefulness is an ugly luxury we cannot afford. The act of creation far outweighs the act of consumption. My art projects an attitude where waste is an opportunity to embrace innovation, imagination and humanity. I have learnt to scrounge, sift, recycle, scrap, pilfer, dumpster dive, trawl, dredge and reincarnate. I am a sculptor, surfer and groover living in Bellingen.”

    Couldn’t have said it better myself, Nick!

    Bower before your master!

    The Big Bowerbird fluttered into the centre in 2014, and has inspired a generation of youngsters to save the planet by recycling their used cans. With any luck they’ll stop dancing on Tik Tok long enough to craft their own Big Things out of junk. But really, that’s something that can be enjoyed by people of any garb-age.

    Whilst the Bowerhouse Centre is only open a few days a week, the Big Bird is available for a photo op ever day, so you can visit when-feather the mood strikes you.

    Far from being Australia’s only scrappy chappy, the Big Bowerbird is joined by other second-hand stunners Chickaletta, the Big Kookaburra and Murray the Cod. They just go to show that one man’s trash is another man’s Big Thing!

    I’d love to go on, but I’m worried I’ll trash my reputation by recycling my jokes!

  • The Rock, North Arm Cove, NSW

    The Rock, North Arm Cove, New South Wales, Australia
    A very young Bigs Bardot with The Rock. Circa 1997

    This 1/40th scale Ayers Rock was, by most measures, a full-scale failure. Poorly constructed and awkwardly located, the undersized Uluru was designed to offer an authentic outback experience, but instead presented an insight into the dark underbelly of Big Thing culture.

    The Rock fell into disrepair shortly after construction in the early ’90s, becoming the butt of jokes for generations of travellers along the Pacific Highway. Mercifully, perhaps, he was engulfed in flames in 2018, bringing to an end one of the weirdest Bigs ever.

    It was only after the final embers had died out, and the charred skeleton of this roadside oddity was left to fester in the hot Australian sun, that many people realised what they’d lost. Whether they loved him or loathed him, The Rock at North Arm Cove was a part of so many people’s lives.

    This, dear readers, is the tragic story of The Rock.

    Between a Rock and a hard place

    We have the Leyland Brothers to thank for this quirky attraction. For non-Aussies, Mike and Mal were a couple of lunatics who raced around the country bothering animals, recording their reactions, then putting it on television.

    (For the younger folks, television is how us boomers killed the empty hours of our lives before Tik Tok came along.)

    The boys pooled their TV money to open Leyland Brothers World in 1990, with The Rock as its centrepiece. Whilst I’ve always been fond of it, this lovable lump was never a close reproduction of the real deal. It was little more a mesh shell shaped a bit like Uluru and blasted with concrete, but its dodginess was always part of the appeal.

    Disappointingly it wasn’t possible to climb to the top of The Rock, but that might’ve been a land rights issue.

    There was also a 1/40th scale Sydney Harbour Bridge on site, which I believe is still standing and shouldn’t be confused with the Mini Harbour Bridge down in Sydney. That’s about all there was to a park labelled ‘the Crappiest Place on Earth’ by detractors. Things were about to get very rocky indeed.

    Love is not in the Ayers

    Kiddies were hardly bouldered over by the park’s olde-timey moviehouse that played Leyland Brothers documentaries on repeat. The museum, whilst boasting an impressive collection of Mal’s safari suits, was never going to drag them away from their Game Boys.

    It was, perhaps, a tactical error to build a fun park without any fun. Leyland Brothers World was also in a poor location; North Arm Cove is a remote spot three hours north of Sydney, meaning it was too far for day trips, with little tourist infrastructure nearby.

    Dwindling patronage and the Brothers’ bankruptcy was inevitable. It seemed nobody wanted to travel all over the countryside to Leyland Brothers World.

    The Park was sold in 1992 for just $800,000 – a fraction of what the boys had put into it. A few years later, the site was bought by the Great Aussie Bush Camp, with thousands of lucky schoolkids struggling through their nutritionally-bereft meals within The Rock’s rotting carcass.

    I was one of those children, and The Rock offered brief respite from the constant bullying I was subjected to after wetting the bed on my first night of camp. But still, look how happy I was in that photo up top – couldn’t you just pinch my chubby cheeks!

    Mike and Mal never spoke again. Mike passed away in 2009, having never resolved his differences with his brother or returned to The Rock. When I contacted Mal for his opinion on his bonkers Big Thing, he made it clear this was something I shouldn’t ask a Leyland Brother.

    If you smell what The Rock is cooking

    When The Rock burnt down on July 31 of 2018 due to an electrical fault, the story led news bulletins across Australia. The inferno dominated social media, and many who hadn’t stopped by in years turned up to leave flowers by his side. We truly don’t know what we have until it’s gone.

    Today there’s little sign of The Rock, with no memorial to signify what was and will never be again.

    For years I loved to tell people I’d spent the afternoon with my good mate The Rock. They’d inevitably assume I’d been on a man date with one of my brawny Hollywood buddies, and would be shocked but impressed when I told them I’d actually been with a scale replica of the world’s largest and most culturally-significant inselberg.

    That joke doesn’t work as well these days, and not just because of my very public falling out with Dwayne Johnson. It’s a little thing, I guess, but like so many Australians I find myself looking back fondly on The Rock.

    I miss my big, bumpy friend. He was audacious, ludicrous, ugly, beautiful and divisive. The subject of ridicule and admiration in equal measure, he was the best and the worst of Aussie culture all wrapped into one goofy ball. There’ll never be another like The Rock.

    And now he’s gone.

  • The Big Boomerang, Williamtown, NSW

    The Big Boomerang, Williamtown, New South Wales

    The Hanging Gardens of Babylon. The World Trade Center. Nambour’s Big Pineapple. Time has claimed many of mankind’s greatest achievements, and it’s with a heavy heart that I add one more wonder to this sombre list; the Big Boomerang.

    This curved cutie welcomed visitors to the Murrook Cultural Centre for many years, and was taken down in late-2018 due to renovations. The owners promised his retirement was temporary, but apparently this was little more than a throwaway line. 

    I had a spring in my step when I popped in to see ‘Boomer’ in late-2021. We’d spent many memorable days together during our formative years, and I was excited to see my old mate again. Imagine my disgust when I found him dumped in a dusty corner of the centre’s car park, up against an old shipping container.

    The ravages of Port Stephens’ balmy sub-tropical climate had left ‘Boomer’ a shadow of his former self. In his prime, this idol deliciously large and exceptionally bright, but now he was limp, listless, devoid of colour and life. The Boomerang was in pieces and so, tragically, was Bigs Bardot. I wept openly for my fallen comrade.

    To make things worse, there was an inflatable Santa Claus in the Boomerang’s place when I arrived – and you know how I feel about tacky blow-up dolls. Santa, you can ho-ho-go away!

    Six white boomers? No white boomers 🙁

    For a place that claims to be a Cultural Centre, Murrook doesn’t have a lot of respect for one of Australia’s most loveable larrikins. When I stormed inside, knocking over racks of postcards and demanding answers, the girl behind the counter seemed more interested in raising the attention of a security guard than returning the Big Boomerang to his former glory.

    As I was pinned to the floor by a powerfully-built guard named Dion, I realised the terror the Boomerang must have experienced during his final moments.

    “Just toss me into the car park,” I wailed. “That’s what you do with much-loved icons, isn’t it?”

    Unfortunately I can’t say much more due to the upcoming court case. Although Dion, which moisturiser do you use? That was the smoothest roughing-up I’ve ever endured!

    Boom, boom, boom, boom!

    During his few short years on this planet, the Boomerang symbolised everything good about Australia’s beautiful Big Things. A fusion of ancient culture and modern sensibilities designed to entertain and educate, he became an icon of his community and beloved by millions. The Big Boomerang was fiercely proud of his indigenous heritage and took great joy in telling the stories of his people. And now he’s falling apart in a car park.

    Sadly, my friends, not all boomerangs come back.

  • The Big Thorny Devil, Acton, ACT

    The Big Thorny Devil, Acton, Australian Capital Territory

    Canberra’s home to many hideous, cold-blooded monsters, but I’m not here to talk politics. No, my dear readers, I want to let you know I’ve sold my soul to the devil – the Big Thorny Devil!

    This three-metre-long lizard of Oz is a fine recreation of the real-life beasties, who call the outback home. They’re a mere 21cm from rugged head to spiny tail, and look like something out of a fever dream.

    Along with a collection of razor-sharp spikes, each devil also has a fake head growing out of his or her neck. Not only does it serve as a decoy to predators, but allows them to blend in with Tasmanians.

    The super-sized centralian is the centre of attention at the Red Centre exhibit, which is centrally located in the National Botanic Gardens. A spike-able chap, he pranced into town in 2013 and has been setting hearts aflame with his striking looks and cheeky disposition ever since.

    I had a devil of a time finding this thorny lothario, because he lives all the way up the back of the Gardens. Perhaps someone in his family was a chameleon? The thrilling mixture of rainforests, rocky outcrops and cafes, however, proved to be a welcome distraction. There are even a few other statues of large creatures – I especially enjoyed the frog! – but none that qualify as Big Things.

    Don’t break down in tears, though, because the Big Acorns and Big Bogong Moths are within scurrying distance.

    Thorn To Be Wild

    Although he’s no taller than a toddler, the Big Thorny Devil stands head and shoulders above most Bigs in regards to craftmanship. He’s absolutely exquisite, and wouldn’t look out of place at the National Gallery. I can think of seven pear-ly large chaps who might have a problem with that, however!

    The devil is in the details, of which there are many thanks to the Big Thing legends at Natureworks, who are also responsible for another renowned reptile – Somersby’s Frilly. If you’d like your own Thorny Devil to snuggle up to, the good news is they actually sell replicas. I’ll try to act surprised if one turns up in my Santa stocking!

    Don’t bother skink-ing about it, take a squiz at this giant liz!

  • The Big Barramundi, Katherine, NT

    Want to tackle another Big? Then allow me to lure you towards the dusty outpost of Katherine, where there’s a fish so large you’ll be swimming in tears of pure joy when you encounter her!

    The Big Barra can be found perched pleasantly atop the Rod & Rifle Tackle World shop (open Mundi to Saturdi). At three metres long, she’s certainly some-fin special and still the talk of the town after several decades. Being so high up means she’s harder to take a photo with than fellow scaley scamps Murray the Cod or Manilla’s dapper Big Fish, but her exuberance more than makes up for this.

    The Big Barramundi is certainly worth baiting for. It’s almost as if she’s fishing for compliments. Oh, aren’t I trout-landish!

    Sadly, spending an afternoon with the old girl isn’t the magical experience you might expect. Katherine is a troubled town and this Big has been left floundering in a particularly rough neighbourhood. It’s not unusual to witness gill-egal activity whilst admiring the fish.

    As I was swanning around in my flamingo tunic, a procession of ne’er-do-wells swaggered past to abuse me. Few, if any, had an appreciation for the cultural significance of the watery wonder, and said so in no uncertain terms when I floated the topic.

    Honestly, some people don’t know how lucky they are to have an oversized fish to marvel at each and every day.

  • The Big Fish, Manilla, NSW

    The Big Fish, Manilla, New South Wales

    After herring rumours of a big fish in Manilla – the lovely country town half-an-hour from Tamworth’s Big Golden Guitar, not the capital of The Philippines – I was hooked on the idea of tracking it down. After taking some time to mullet over, I headed out there, and am happy to say that it reely was worth it. In fact, standing next to this fishface, with his delightful top hat and cane, we both felt a little underdressed!

    Details of when the Big Fish was constructed are a bit fin on the ground. Locals de-bait when he first swam into Manilla. All I know is that he’s an impressive seven metres tall, and goofy-looking enough to splash his way into anyone’s heart. Despite being the same species, he’s about as different from St George’s modern and artistic Murray the Cod, Tocumwal’s historic Cod, or Darwin’s whimsical Big Barramundi, as you can imagine.

    The giant groper stands proudly outside the Big Fish Roadhouse in the middle of town, which is sadly closed these days. We didn’t go hungry, though, because Manilla boasts a generous selection of restaurants, pubs and clubs, and we were feeling a little green around the gills after stuffing ourselves with delicious food at the Royal Hotel!

    Manilla’s also home to an historic Chinese cemetery, a delightful campground by the Namoi River, and one of the world’s most famous paragliding launches. All in all, it was a good excuse to get trout and about, and the day went swimmingly. I fish I had more time to spend with my new mate, but was very pleased with the happy snapper I took!

  • The Big Pineapple, Ballina, NSW

    The Big Pineapple, Ballina, New South Wales

    If imitation is indeed the sincerest form of flattery, the original Big Pineapple must have an ego even bigger than he is! This North Coast icon has spawned spiky spin-offs around the world, from Woombye and Gympie in Queensland to Bathurst in South Africa, but to many he’s still the most scrumptious tropical treat.

    At a modest four metres from supple bottom to prickly top, the Ballina Pineapple is outsized by his imitators. He’s a quirky throwback to a gentler time – like Gumlu’s Big Watermelon, which is dwarfed by Chinchilla’s Big Melon. He’s certainly not lonely, with his disciples often stopping by for a photo. His best mate, the Big Prawn, also lives right down the road. Maybe they should change the name of the town to Ba-large-na!

    Little is known about the age of the Pineapple, or who built him. Most locals believe he’s been sitting outside the BP service station since the beginning of time. It would be easy to fritter away an afternoon speculating on when he was built. Ultimately, however, it would ultimately be a fruit-ile endeavour. I definitely don’t remember a time when my spherical chum wasn’t a focal point of any trip up north!

    There’s just enough space to squeeze inside the juicy giant. It’s even possible to pop your cheery little face out the window for a memorable photo. Just look how happy my Brazilian companion Bebezinha Grande was to meet him! Abaca-she had the time of her life!

    All in all, the Big Pineapple makes for a pine day out!

  • The Big Merino, Goulburn, NSW

    The Big Merino, Goulburn, New South Wales

    Have you herd about the world’s largest farm animal? Don’t be sheepish, visit the ewe-mungous Big Merino today! At 15.2m high, 18m long and weighing more than 100 tonnes, you’ll be amazed by the shear size of this gentle giant, who features p-ruminant-ly on the Goulburn landscape.

    The Big Merino is the brainchild of Big Thing luminaries Louis and Attila Mokany, who were also behind Taree’s outrageous Oyster and Ballina’s prodigious Prawn. Designed by Gary Dutallis and built by Glenn Senner, the project took around six months to com-bleat.

    The woolly wonder came ram-paging into town in 1985, with hundreds of thousands of tourists c-lamb-ering to see him. Along with a gift shop and a museum dedicated to the region’s wool industry tucked away inside his belly, our mammoth mate’s eyes provided a wonderful view out over Goulburn’s verdant fields.

    I still remember the first time I met this friendly farm animal – it was love at first sight because I’d never seen a roadside attraction on such a scale, or with so many incredible details. He looks like he’s about to wander off into the wilderness at any moment!

    Q: Where does the Big Merino get his wool cut?
    A: At the baa-baa!

    His legion of fanciers came to know him as Rambo but don’t worry. Unlike his action film namesake, he has a calm disposition and is highly unlikely to attack you with a machine gun.

    When Goulburn was bypassed by the Hume Highway in 1992, many of Rambo’s admirers feared for his future. However, we needn’t have worried. In 2007 he was plonked on the back of a truck and moved 800m up the road to his current home near the southern exit ramp.

    I was lucky enough to witness the move, along with thousands of others, and to this day it remains one of the most inspiring feats of human achievement. I was so inspired, in fact, that I trotted straight over to Karoonda, South Australia to see their take on The Big Ram.

    Today, Rambo is more striking than ever. Cosmetic work was carried out after his migration to complete his legs and add some other minor details, and his eyes now peer out over a nearby Bunnings Warehouse. I guess he has something in common with his brothers the Prawn and Big Kev in that regard! The sprawling gift shop in his tum-tum has plenty of Big Merino souvenirs at great prices, so they won’t try to fleece you!

    Q: What do you get if you mix the Big Merino with Matilda the Kangaroo?
    A: A woolly jumper!

    Baaaaaaa-t wait, there’s more! It seems that a small number of scoundrels purporting to be friends of the Bigs have taken to molesting Rambo’s rude parts, which are displayed prominently at the rear of the beast. Many, tragically, delight in taking photos of this act of treason. Whilst I’m sure they believe this to be funny or clever, it is neither.

    In fact, it’s a gross exploitation of our friend’s privacy. He has feelings, too, so please leave his Big Balls alone. Admire them, sure, but leave his balls alone. If you dare send me a photograph of this manner, you’ll end up on Rambo’s Hall of Shame. You’ve been warned. You might think you can get away with it, but you can’t pull the wool over my eyes!

  • The Big Sardine Can, Home Hill, QLD

    The Big Sardine Can, Home Hill, Queensland, Australia

    There’s something fishy going on in North Queensland, and it has to do with this titanic tin of sardines! The packet of pilchards rests peacefully in Lloyd Mann Park, and surely has the key to your heart!

    The box of smelly fish was created by Vass Engi­neering and sign writer Sam Scuderi, and peeled open to the public at a gala event in 2018. John Woods, president of Home Hill’s wildly successful Harvest Festival and the mastermind behind the sardines, told those in attendance that this Big symbolises the fact his festival is open for ideas.

    That certainly seems to be the case, because if you turn up at the right time of year you’ll see all sorts of oddball ornaments strewn around the park. I encountered a terrifying dragon in addition to a tyre dressed up as a frog. Hey guys, what are you putting in the sardines up there!

    Woods went on to explain that Home Hill once housed a sardine cannery. However, judging by the raucous laughter from the audience, he was just fishing for a laugh.

    The Big Sardine Can is an odd, yet well-realised and endearing roadside attraction that straddles the boundaries between Big Thing and work of art. It’s a brine alternative to the outlandish Big Fish and the more serious, thoughtful Big Barramundi, providing a different perspective on just what it means to be an enormous sea creature. Just make sure these salty fish don’t end up on a Big Pizza!

    Bigs in this region of Queensland are packed in like, well, sardines, with the Big Pumpkin, Big Watermelon and Big Snake all within a short drive – so you can see them all in a single scrumptious afternoon!

  • The Big Oyster, Taree, NSW

    The Big Oyster, Taree, New South Wales

    Even though he was never completed, abandoned within years of opening, and now houses a car dealership, the outrageously oversized Big Oyster is a real pearler! He’s enormous, goofy, overblown, tragic, beautiful and repulsive – and that’s what we all love about our Bigs!

    The incredible invertebrate opened in 1990, as the last of three Bigs built by brothers Louis and Attila Mokany. He followed Goulburn’s Merino and Ballina’s Prawn, and has suffered even more misfortune than those troubled ventures. Pleased with their work on the Prawn, the Mokanys once again tapped Adelaide-based Glenn Industries and scallop-tor James Martin to work on this project.

    As Australia’s leading historian on Big Things, it came as a surprise to all when I, the inimitable Bigs Bardot, wasn’t consulted regarding the design and budgetary considerations. Maybe it was because I was only seven years old at the time, maybe it was because of the patriarchy, I’ve never received an answer.

    The people of Taree, who invested their hopes and dreams into this behemoth bivalve mollusc, have rued this decision ever since. For my pearls of wisdom may have saved years of heartbreak.

    Photo of Taree's Big Oyster
    The Big Oyster, one of Australia's Big Things
    Black and white photo of the Big Oyster

    Dis-oyster strikes

    Yes, dear reader, setting up this 20-metre-high, 27-metre-wide, 70-tonne sea monster wasn’t all smooth sailing. Construction ran wildly over budget, costing more than $700,000, and took so long that the boys had to make some serious cutbacks just so they could open it to the public.

    I know, that shucks, but it’s just what happened.

    Whilst the top of the Oyster – you know, the bit visitors can’t see – is exquisitely crafted, the bottom features almost no detail at all, and was simply sprayed with concrete as the cash ran out.

    A giant, luminescent pearl that was planned as the centrepiece of the attraction was never installed, and apparently sits in the offices of Glenn Industries, after a dispute regarding payments.

    Whilst I’m appalled that someone would be shellfish enough to keep a part of a Big Thing all to themselves, it sounds like bliss to be able to walk into the office every day and experience the heart and soul of the Big Oyster!

    Best of shuck to you!

    Regardless of these fish-ues, Big Thing fiends were clam-ouring to sea the Oyster when he was prised open by New South Wales Premier Nick Greiner in 1990. I was lucky enough to mussel into the crowds, and remember feeling particularly oysterous that afternoon!

    Unfortunately I struggled to build an emotional connection with him (the Oyster, that is, not Nick Greiner), due to his impersonal styling, awkward angles for photos and, yes, lack of a handsome face.

    His size inspires awe, and he originally boasted a shop full of Oyster nik-naks and plenty of information on Taree’s burgeoning oyster farming industry. Sadly, The Big Oyster’s popularity soon festered like a seafood platter left out in the sun on a hot afternoon, and he was taken off the menu in 1995.

    The Big Oyster’s fate was sealed when the Pacific Highway bypassed the town two years later, and he now serves as the headquarters of the Mid Coast Automotive Group where, ironically, the prices aren’t big at all! Car yards are popular resting place for Bigs, with Lefty the Big Pink Buffalo also living amongst a bunch of used vehicles. This sort of thing just drives me wild!

    The Big Oyster, once the soul of Taree has been supplanted in the hearts and minds of locals by Joanna the Goanna. Well, she is a little bit more huggable!

    Yes, this Taree icon is a bit of a seafood basketcase, and maybe that’s why I love him so much – because I am too. Really, we’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. Running over the streets of Taree, my oyster and me. Delicious with garlic and beer, wish you were here.

  • The Big Prawn, Ballina, NSW

    I sure felt like a shrimp compared to this supersized sea creature! The princely prawn is one of the most famous and celebrated roadside attractions on the planet, and for good reason – he’s massive, looks fantastic, and has an unbelievable tale… or is that tail?

    Actually, it’s both! When the Prawn first swam ashore back in 1989, he looked like a Big Fish had been nibbling on him, because his bottom bits were missing.

    Financed by the legendary duo of Attila and Louis Mokany (the Big Thing gurus behind Goulburn’s Merino and Taree’s Oyster) and designed by South Australian sculptor James Martin, his top half rested on top of a service station. He was on a scale nobody antici-bait-ed, but as a child I was always a bit sad because he appeared unfinished.

    Curiously, Martin wasn’t originally supposed to design the Prawn, with that honour bestowed upon Tony Colangelo, the legendary designer of the Big Oyster.

    However when that project faced a series of delays, the Mokanys grabbed someone from the local art school. It’s an incredible series of events, because the Prawn turned out to be intricately detailed and possibly the most impressive Big of them all.

    Q: What happened when this Big Thing went to the Olympics?
    A: He won a prawns medal!

    At 27 metres tall and weighing 40 tonnes, the krill-iant construction was designed to be 30,000 times the size of a normal shrimp. He was a hit with holidaymakers, who lined up to explore his splendid insides, which held a museum dedicated to Ballina’s seafood industry, and allowed his friends to peer out his perspex eyeballs. The good times looked like they’d last forever but, tragically, disaster was on the horizon.

    The Prawn’s service station was shuttered in 2010, leaving him trapped and alone, with his fans no longer to explore his sprawling innards. His paint faded badly and he started to rot away, leading some closed-minded people to call him an eyesore. It was a bad time for giant shrimp, with the other Big Prawn falling into disrepair at the same time.

    As I drove by one afternoon during those bleak days, I was moved to tears when I discovered that a disgusting invertebrate had spraypainted a part of the male anatomy on the poor Prawn’s head.

    I was absolutely appalled when I saw it, because I’d rather die than allow a Big Thing to experience a single moment of sadness.

    Q: Where’s the best place to buy second-hand Big Thing souvenirs?
    A: A prawn shop!

    For years it appeared this Big Thing would be prawn but not forgotten. Ballina Council voted to tear him down, and his legion of supporters held vigils as they counted down the days till his demise. And then, during the Prawn’s darkest hour, a miracle happened.

    Hardware company Bunnings bought him with the intention of moving him to their new warehouse near the original Big Pineapple, at a cost of $400,000. They planned to repaint him and – most remarkable of all – finally give him a tail. You’ve never crusta-seen a celebration like the one in Ballina when it was announced.

    The new design is simply magnificent, and I very much prefer it to his original look. It’s sad, of course, that visitors can no longer walk inside him, but it’s a small price to pay to have this mega mollusc back and better than ever. I just hope nobody tries to pop him on the Bunnings barbie!

    And that, ladies and jellyfish, is the story of the king-sized crustacean who lost his way but found his tail, his home, and his smile.

  • The Big Golden Guitar, Tamworth, NSW

    If the sound of the world’s largest guitar is music to your ears, you need to pluck up the courage to visit the prosperous city of Tamworth, in the north-west of New South Wales. There you’ll find the enormous Big Golden Guitar, which at 12 metres tall and weighing 500kg, was music to the ears of locals when he rocked into town back in 1988. Slim Dusty was on hand to unveil the large lad, in recognition of Tamworth’s reputation as Australia’s home of country music.

    Made from fibreglass and steel, the unreal ukelele sadly has no strings. He has, howebver, struck a chord with the more than four million admirers who’ve had their photo taken with him over the years. The wonder of the Big Golden Guitar is amplified by the fact he’s a scale replica of the trophies handed out at the annual Australian Country Music Awards.

    This big axe – not be confused with the actual Big Axe at Kew, four hours away – boasts exceptional build quality and is impressively large. My guest, Brazil’s foremost expert in Big Thingophelia, Professora Bebezinha Grande, went as far as to call it an in-strum-ental part of Australian culture. Don’t pick on her, she tries her best!

    Q: How can you tell the Big Golden Guitar is worried?
    A: He frets a lot.

    The incredible instrument is certainly not in the fiddle of nowhere. He’s conveniently located on the main road into Tamworth from the south, outside the Visitor Information Centre. When you drop by, make a day of it by visiting the Country Music Wax Museum or the National Guitar Museum. There’s even a sprawling souvenir shop, which offers a huge variety of nik-naks dedicated to this colossal creation.

    You might even run into Lee Kernaghan or one of Australia’s other country music icons at the on-site cafe! Honestly, these guys are lurking around all the time.

    “Bigs,” Lee Kernaghan gasped after taking my photo with the Guitar. “You’re the unsung hero of Australian pop culture. Please, take one of my Country Music Awards.”
    “Lee,” I replied, handing back the trophy he’d thrust into my hand. “I appreciate the gesture, but can’t accept this testament to your hard work and talent.”
    “Aw, go on. I’ve got 37 of the bloody things and the missus said I have to offload a few.”

    And that’s how I, Bigs Bardot, ended up with a Country Music Award and a lifetime friendship with Lee Kernaghan. I believe his latest album was inspired by the Big Chook.

    Tamworth makes a great bass from which to explore other Big Things, such as Manilla’s Big Fish, so if you can pull a few strings and spend a bit of time out there, you won’t be disappointed! In fact, after spending an afternoon with the legendary Big Golden Guitar, you’ll want to Epiphone your mates to tell them how good it is!