Get your motor runnin’ Head out on the Pacific Highway Looking for a huge motorbike That will really make your day
Yeah, the folks of Nabiac made it happen Their National Motorcycle Museum is ace Enough room for everyone to visit at once Eight hundred classic bikes you’re not allowed to race
Normal-sized bikes are frightenin’ Almost make me chunder! But if that bike’s a Big Thing I just stare at it in wonder!
Yeah, Brian and Margaret Kelleher made it happen Their National Motorcycle Museum’s the place If you don’t go there you’re a dunce Light refreshments to stuff in your face
Like a true Aussie child We were born Born to be wild (for Big Things) You’d need to climb so high To get up on this ride
Born to be wild (for Big Things) Born to be wild (for Nabiac’s Big Motorcycle)
Get your motor runnin’ Head up the coast today Looking for a huge motorbike Photos are free, put your wallet away
Yeah, motorcycle enthusiasts across the country made it happen By donating choppers to fill the space Some tough bikies told me more than once That my bright pink Peugeot Tweet’s a disgrace
Like a true Aussie child We were born Born to be wild (for Big Things) The Big Motorcycle will make you sigh The folks of Nabiac must be full of pride
Born to be wild (for Big Things) Born to be wild (for the largest motorcycle imaginable)
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.
Knights once roamed the vast plains of Penrith, slaying dragons and making inappropriate comments towards fair maidens. But with a severe shortage of snarling serpents in Sydney’s suburbs and the rise of the #MeToo movement, this silver stud was forced to transition into a new career.
Meet Big Joe – friendly neighbourhood mechanic and undisputed King of the ‘Wood!
This great big grease monkey is the star employee at Armour Automotive (aka Twin Camalot), where customers come for an oil change and stay for a photo with the armour-clad cutie. Yes, this swashbuckling sweetheart will pink slip his way into your heart, and you’ll never tyre of him!
Whilst Joe’s a hardworking fella, he has a brother who’s a real nutter. Of course I’m talking about the magnificent Big Knight, who lives at the Macadamia Castle in Knockrow. But be warned, the two of them might be ar-more than you can handle!
Clutch Ado About Nothing
On my quest for the holy grail of Aussie Big Things, I indulged myself with a tour of Kingswood’s cultural landmarks and luxurious car yards. My guide was world-renowned Middle Ages historian/third-year auto-electric apprentice Maddie Eval.
“Joe harkens from the early 21st century, and likely arrived in the Golden West abreast his trusty steed – probably a 1985 Toyota Camry,” Maddie explained, as she cleaned a dipstick on her pastel tunic. “He appears to have been built from scrap metal by a local mechanic during his spare time, or by a close friend of the auto shop’s owner. Joe is utterly fantastic.”
“Don’t you mean auto-ly fantastic?” I quipped. “You know, because he’s out the front of a car repair shop.”
“Joe’s around four metres tall, in a good state of repair, and available to visit even outside business hours,” Maddie gossipped, whilst checking the brake fluid in a 2004 Kia carnival. “Any moment with Joe is time well spent.”
“Don’t you mean time wheel spent?” I smirked. “You know, because cars have wheels.”
“Joe lives close to the Western Motorway, not far from the Big Strawberry and the Big Axe,” Maddie demystified, “so a trip to the Blue Mountains – to gasp in wonder at the Big Teapot, for instance – presents a golden opportunity to visit this very unique Big Thing.
“Don’t you mean a Holden opportunity?” I howled. “You know, like the major automobile manufacturer that recently closed down production in Australia, despite being the inspiration for the Mini Harbour Bridge?”
Guten tag, mein little schnitzels, und willkommen to Miss Heidi’s Austrian Teahouse! Zis is your favourite fräulein Günther von Bigs, here to enlighten you about Die Große Laterne. Ja, I think zat translates to ‘The Big Lantern’ in your wunderbar language.
Zis niedlich roadside attraction can be found out ze front of zis historic restaurant near Vienna. Nein, I mean Cooma – I always get zose zwei confused!
Miss Heidi serves a köstlich selection of pancakes, soups, cakes und other traditional Austrian dishes. I spent an enchanting evening cramming bratwurst into my insatiable gullet, und even took on a strudel so large it left me walking like a constipated nilpferd.
I didn’t even mind when ze chef burnt my schnitzel, as ze smell conjured fantastisch memories of my carefree days as a camp counsellor in schönes Mauthausen. Despite offering a range of activities including kayaking und rock climbing, ze campers rarely cracked a smile. Maybe it was because zey didn’t have a giant lantern to admire?
Auf wiedersehen, pets!
Bitte beachten Sie: Entschuldigung for not appearing in my lederhosen und Tirolerhut. I vas returning from die discotheque when my life partner Klaus took this spontaneous foto. Danke, my little currywurst!
Anglers love trawling the crystal clear waters of Adaminaby, a charming poplar-lined village nestled high in the Snowy Mountains. But it’s snow laughing matter when I say the main attraction is the Big Trout which, at 10 metres and 2.5 tonnes, is o-fish-ally the largest aquatic, craniate, gill-bearing animal in the tunaverse!
Living on prime eel estate in the i-gill-ic Lions Park in the centre of town, the Big Trout is reely easy to find, although you may have to bait in line for a photo as he’s so popular with his legion of fins. The quality of the craftsmanship is astonishing, with a plethora of details, so you won’t want to throw this one back!
You might call me main-stream for making this joke, but this tremendous Trout will take you hook, line and Big Thing-ker!
The fintastic fishtory of this troutstanding landmark
Leigh Stewart, a much-loved real estate agent and self-confessed Big Thing tragic, decided to build a massive fish during 1969’s summer of love, after a particularly successful afternoon on the lake. After taking a few years to mullet over, the cashed-up Snowy Mountains Authority were dorsal-ivating at the thought of funding Leigh’s dream.
With the money in the tank, Leigh had his niece knock up a rough sketch of the Big-to-be, which was apparently quite splendid for a five-year-old. He raced the doodles over to his mate Andy Momnici, a popular and handsome artist from Budapest, who was more than happy to tackle the project.
Working closely with the crayon-and-finger-paint blueprints, the Hungarian grabbed one of his more imprefish catches and froze it in an appropriate pose. He then cleared space at the Adaminaby Bowling Club and began the arduous task of sketching out a full-sized design that he cod work off.
Andy, a slave to perfection much like myself, didn’t sleep until he was finished, working seven days a week. Except on the second and fourth barra-Mondays of the month, when the CWA held their meetings and he had to get out, lest Ethel get all up in his gill again.
After an interminable hunt for a shed of the requisite proportions, Andy started the daunting task of building the Big Trout from steel, mesh and fibreglass. Wanting the fish’s scales to look as au-fin-tic as possible, he wrapped an extra layer of mesh around his plump rump, zapped it with an extra layer of fibreglass, then ripped it off to leave a pattern almost indistinguishable from the real deal.
Honestly, I caught an elderly gentleman trying to squeeze a slice of lemon onto the Trout’s tail and get stuck in with a knife and fork. After explaining the cultural and economical significance of the Big Trout to the kindly geezer, he told me off for ruining his lunch and kicked over a garbage bin on his way back to his car. There’s no pleasing some people.
I don’t know him from Adam
As we blazed out of Adaminaby astride my custom-built e-trike, the verdant hills melting around us, my travel partner/friendly neighbourhood alien Gordon Shumway squeezed me just a little bit tighter and leant in close.
“You know, that Adam was a pretty cool dude,” he yelled, as I expertly manoeuvred through a particularly tight corner. “Adam?” I asked. “I don’t recall meeting an Adam.”
“Yeah, the tall dude with the shiny pink-and-silver suit. Had a trout pout that would make a mackerel jealous, so maybe he had collagen injections. Anyway, I don’t want to cast aspersions. Ha! I kill me! Adam Inaby I think his name was.” “You mean the Big Trout?” I asked in astonishment. “His name is Adam Inaby?”
“Do you need your herring checked? That’s what I said,” Gordon sneered. “Anyway, Bigs, let’s stop for tuna quesadillas on the way home. I know a place in Cooma that will blow your socks off.”
And that, dear readers, is how the Big Trout became known as Adam Inaby.
Gimme fish head baby Gimme fish head like you did just last night Ah, ah, ah!
Even when Khancoban‘s a hundred degrees There you are smiling at me amongst the trees You stink in the sun, but are still fun With no body, you must be dead, are you dead? But I don’t care, I love you, Big Fish Head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head
You have a swing beneath the bones of your back You let me hang there as I gobbled a snack You whisper sweet things, gimme greetings You are my bed, you are my bed But best of all, I love you, Big Fish Head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head
So… Ah say you’ll never be crabbay Be lovely like the nearby Yabbay ’Cause I’ll come back to play another day!
Even when Khancoban’s a hundred degrees Each time we meet you are so eager to please You whisper sweet things, ’cos you’re a Big Thing Let’s go to bed, let’s go to bed! Because my dear, I love you, Big Fish Head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head You’re a fish head The Big Fish Head
Howdy pardners, I’m Biggie the Kid, but you can go right ahead and call me the Kutest Kowboy in Khancoban. That’s KKK for short, although for some reason the locals get mighty worked up when I tell ’em that. Yee-haw!
Yours truly has been steppin’ out with the best-looking girl in the nearby village of Bringenbrong. Naw, not Mary-Sue Nowinski – she never has been the same since that horse kicked her in the head. I’m talkin’ about the incomparable Gabby the Yabby. Dagnabbit, she really is crabtivating!
Gabby moseyed on into downtown Bringenbrong in 2019, making her home by the banks of the river, yards from the New South Wales – Victoria border. Funnily enough she doesn’t own a TV set, despite having a couple of antennas.
Since then most of the town’s menfolk (and several of the womenfolk) have had a claws encounter with this dainty decopod. Cruel rumours have been spread that she has crabs, so I’d like to nip that in the bud.
We did the Lobster Mash
The cray-ative chaps at Agency of Sculpture (the Big Bogong Moth; the Big Wedge-Tailed Eagle) are responsible for Gabby’s seductive curves and feminine chelipeds. It’s enough to make this ol’ cowboy draw his pistol early, if you get my drift.
In a pinch, you can climb inside Gabby and use her as shell-ter but I gotta warn you, I’m the jealous type and liable to fill you with lead if that happens. Dance, boy, dance!
After careful lobstervation I’ve decided Gabby’s the most beautiful crawfish I’ve ever crusta-seen and I’m just cray-zy for her. It sounds like I’m tryin’ to butter her up, but dang me, it’s true.
Yes, Gabby’s the sort of girl who leaves you begging for mornay, but a simple warning ‘fore I ride off into the sunset – she can be a bit crabby sometimes!
Tintaldra is an indigenous word that roughly translates to ‘a young man by the water’. I’m not sure what the indigenous word for ‘a young man by the water, admiring a predatory perch of epic proportions, before retiring to the nearby historic hotel for a glass of economically-priced pinot noir and a portion of the famous fish and chips’, but it might be time to change the town’s name to that.
The Big Murray Cod swam smugly into Tintaldra – population 60 – in 2019, as part of a big budget scheme to bring more Big Things to the region. Whilst notably smaller than the nearby Big Murray Cod in Tocumwal, this perky peixe has the benefit of rotating with the wind.
He also actually lives in a body of water, unlike pretty much every other oversized sea creature in Australia. Not even the much larger, much more famous Giant Murray Cod in Swan Hill can boast that!
Picturesque Tintaldra is the oldest settlement along the Murray, dating back to 1837. As one of the only crossings between Victoria and New South Wales, it gained a reputation as a wild border town. The party came to a cataclysmic halt in 1937, when bushfires burnt much of Tintaldra to the ground.
Dark days lay ahead for the town. But eight decades later, hope returned to Tintaldra when this fairly large fish was fin-stalled. These days, it’s estimated that Big Cod-related tourism makes up around 98% of the village’s economy.
Thank Cod You’re Here
The well-appointed Clearwater Caravan Park rests peacefully by the banks of the mighty Murray, and is the perfect place to base yourself ahead of a few days of hardcore Big Thing watching. To help plan your dream holiday to Tintaldra, I’ve drawn up a rough itinerary.
DAY 1 6am: Arrive in Tintaldra, head straight to the southern bank of the Murray to admire the Big Cod. 1pm: Drag yourself away from the Big Cod for a hearty feast of salmon and asparagus with a side of locally-sauced sauvignon blanc at the newly-renovated Tintaldra Hotel and an in-depth discussion with the barman about the Big Cod. 2pm: Climb atop the Tintaldra Bridge in order to worship the Big Cod from a slightly greater altitude. 5pm: Return to the Tintaldra Hotel for grilled barramundi, a bottle of rosé, and further debate with the barman regarding the Big Cod. 6pm: Assuming COVID restrictions aren’t in place and you can actually cross the river without a policeman cracking your skull for trying to enter New South Wales, sequester yourself away to the northern bank of the Murra to admire the Big Cod in the waning twilight.
DAY 2 Pretty much the same as Day 1.
DAY 3 5am: Wake up early for a dawn swim with the Big Cod. 5:30am: Be washed away by the fast-flowing Murray Riveriver, leaving your loved ones with no closure as to what ever happened to you. As your head plunges beneath the sanguine waves one final time, look back at the glorious Big Murray Cod, now no more than a speck in the distance, and think, "It was all worth it."
Hey hey hey, good old Big Eagle Rock’s here to stay I’m just crazy ’bout his wings – so smooth Doin’ the Big Eagle Rock Oh oh oh, don’t drive past, he’s nicer than a crow I’m just crazy ’bout his wings – so smooth Doin’ the Big Eagle Rock
Watch out, there’s a hat thief about! This enormous Wedge-Tailed Eagle soars through the skies of northern Victoria, on a tireless mission to pluck the bonnets off unsuspecting visitors.
But even if you get away with your fedora or Akubra, he’s sure to steal something else – your heart.
Hats off to the abs-birdly talon-ted Benjamin Gilbert and his team at Agency of Sculpture (the Big Acorns, Bogong Moth and Yabbie), this pleasant passerine was able to take up residence at the delightful Mount Alfred Gap Lookout in 2019.
The site offers eagle-eye views of beautiful buttes and bubbling brooks, and the chance to watch real-life eagles plucking rabbits from the meadows, carrying them to great heights, and then dropping them to their doom.
It’s not all been beer and skittles, though. In a disturbing reversal of fortune, the Eagle’s steel hat was stolen by a heartless thug in 2019. Hopefully when the police find this career criminal, he’s strung up and left for birds to peck out his eyes.
This is certainly not the first Big Wedgie I’ve encountered, as I was often on the receiving end of a severe pants-pulling from my peers (and several of the more boisterous teachers) during my younger years.
Yeah, but where are those bullies now? Alright, a few of them have gone on to raise families and have successful careers, and one served as the Federal Transport Minister for several years, but they’re not Australia’s leading historian on Big Things, are they?
The tranquil hamlet of Corryong has been besieged by a plague of colossal creatures – and the locals couldn’t be happier! Since 2018 the verdant fields beside the mighty Murray River have welcomed friendly fish, a happy yabbie and an enormous eagle as focal points of the monumental Great River Road project.
Fearing Corryong would lose its status as a world class travel destination, the local tourism board approached me – the inimitable Bigs Bardot – for assistance.
“Well, you could drop a few billion on a new airport, an aquatic-themed fun park, a couple of resorts the size of European countries,” I told them as we peered out upon the prairies bathed in autumnal sunlight. “Or you could…”
“… Build a Big?” one pencil pusher cautiously replied.
“It’s going to take more than one Big if you want to lure international visitors away from Shepparton and Wodonga. Better make it five.”
“But what shall we build?”
“That’s up to you – maybe look into your chrysalis ball. Now, please place my sizable consultation fee in the rear pocket of my knickerbockers – I have a date with the Big Pheasant and he doesn’t like me to be tardy.”
That time of the moth
The first to invade the hearts and minds of Corryongians was the Big Bogong – and tourists have been drawn to her like moths to a flame! She’s taken up residence at Jim Newman’s Lookout, is made from rusted cast-iron and is large enough to provide shelter from the sun as one gaze in wonder over the lush valleys of northern Victoria.
It’s the little things that make this Big Thing so beaut, such as the tiny, moth-shaped cut-outs in her wings, beckoning the solar radiation within, as dust motes pirouette pleasantly in the ambiance. One can only imagine the majesty of this visage on a clear, star-filled night, as moonbeams illuminate this ancient lepidopteran.
This area was long used as a meeting place for indigenous tribes, who would gather to dance, eat and hunt down moths. Fortunately they were slightly smaller than this shed-sized specimen, or our aboriginal chums might not have survived for 50,000 years!
The Big Bogong Moth is dedicated to these proud people, and it’s culturally appropriate for visitors to perform a respectful, understated war dance in honour of their history.
This moth will make you froth
Following their work on the Big Acorns, and at my insistence, Yackandandah-based artisans Agency of Sculpture were responsible for the Big Bogong Moth and the other structures in the area. Maybe they took inspiration for another of Canberra’s most beloved Big Things, the Big Bogong Moths.
In a few short years the Big Moth has become a cater-pillars of the community. She’s certainly worth an insection, and truly presents a cocoon with a view!
Yibbida yibbida, this is fishing expert and notorious philanderer Rex Bardot, on the hunt for the Big Rainbow Trout! And look, there she is, out front of Mountain Fresh Trout & Salmon Farm. Trust me, folks, it doesn’t get any better than this!
If she looks familiar, that’s because the Big Rainbow Trout was the star attraction of the 2006 Commonwealth Games Opening Ceremony in Melbourne (an event I was forcibly removed from after making inappropriate comments towards several female athletes and getting my lights punched out by the Belize women’s weightlifting squad).
Representing Cyprus, the Big Rainbow Trout was one of 72 humongous fish that swam around the MCG, symbolising the countries of the Commonwealth. They swiftly splashed their way into the hearts of a generation, much as Matilda the Kangaroo had in 1982.
I was kicked out of that ceremony for an act of depravity, too, but the less said about it the better. Yibbida yibbida!
My good mate Ian Thorpe, who went on to win a dizzying seven gold medals at the event, later thanked the Big Rainbow Trout and her ilk for inspiring him to success. The various aquatic vertebrates have been scattered across the length and breadth of Victoria, so grab some lemon juice, a tub of tartar sauce and track ’em down. Yibbida yibbida!
Rex Bardot’s Fishing Misadventures
The Big Rainbow Trout was looking pretty bloody good when we caught up so, after offering a hearty ‘Yibbida yibbida’ and a tip of my cap, I leant in for a non-consensual smooch. What started as a peck soon became a wanton display of affection that even the French would be disgusted by.
As things rapidly proceeded towards M-rated territory and I began to remove my fishing tunic, a farmhand with a broom trotted over and chased me from the property. My boundless enthusiasm for perversion could not, however, be abated, and I sequestered myself to Bright to explore the local Thai massage parlours.
The good people of Harrietville banded together to run me out of town, and the hate-filled mob warned me in no uncertain terms that I was not to visit any of Australia’s many fshy Big Things ever again. Not the Big Clownfish, the Big Murray Cod or the ever-amorous Big Octopus.
“Yibbida yibbida!” I cried. “What about the other Big Trout, in Adaminaby?” “Definitely not the other Big Trout, in Adaminaby!” they shouted, before poking me with their pitchforks.
They’ll soon learn what countless innocent young ladies already have – that Rex Bardot doesn’t take no for an answer.
Yibbida yibbida!
Please note: This entry was written ‘in character’ as a spoof of troubled celebrity fisherman Rex Hunt. I did not – and never would – kiss one of our wondrous Big Things against his, her or their wishes. I have also never ventured inside a massage parlour, Thai or otherwise, as I’m not overly fond of human contact.
I’d like to dance Through Lakes Entrance To the Big Octopus’s garden Without my pants
His cuddles have charms Because he has eight arms After admiring him for hours There’ll be romance
Kissing his bulbous head Dreaming of being wed In the Big Octopus’s garden He really enchants
We would sing And wave our limbs around Because we know That our love abounds
I’d like to be A few hundred metres from the sea In the Big Octopus’s garden My love won’t fade
We would shout And wiggle our suckers about Our relationship has no lies Beneath the waves
Oh what joy For this mollusc and boy Knowing we’re happy And we’re safe
We would be so happy ‘pus and Biggie No one there to tell us That an oversized recreation of a cephalopod and a 38-year-old man can’t have a meaningful relationship
I’d like to be Just over the Cunninghame Arm Foot Bridge from the sea In the Big Octopus’s garden With my boo
In the Big Octopus’s garden With my boo Unfortunately the Big Octopus Just did a poo
Ladies and jellyfish, barras and gilas, pilchards of all ages. Please welcome the mystical, magical, great Big Clownfish! Bright and beautiful, this silly sausage is trapezy to find outside Lakes Caravilla Caravan Park, and you’ll feel like a bozo if you pass him by.
He’s certainly hard to fish – I mean miss – because the tropical delight is right beside the main road into town. You might find this hard to swallow, but it’s even possible to clamber inside his stunning smile
Yes, he’s handsome, but don’t tell the Clownfish that, because he’ll think you’re just fishing for compliments!
This happy chappy was the clowning achievement of one George Holding, and served as the fish de résistance of the 1976 Moomba parade in Melbourne. The Clownfish then spent the next decade or so swimming up and down the picturesque boulevards of Lakes Entrance – also home to the Big Octopus – as the star attraction of various festivals and celebr-oceans.
The Big Clownfish found his forever home in 1987, when then-owner of Lakes Caravilla, Darlene Freeman, aqua-red him from the local Chamber of Commerce. She then fin-stalled the cute clown out the front of her business to bring joy to the community, which was a nice jester.
This clown ain’t big enough for the both of us. Oh wait, yes he is!
I’ve struggled with acute coulrophobia since an unsavoury encounter with a Ronald McDonald impersonator during my formative years, so was gill-ty of feeling apprehensive as I climbed betwixt his insatiable lips.
It was no laughing matter, however, when I discovered this Clown not only looks funny, he smells funny too. Sadly it seemed some joker had urinated within the cavernous bowels of this scaly scamp.
After taking another dozen or so photos – most of which were super cute – I burst from the Clownfish’s maw like Jonah from the Whale, and proceeded straight to the local constabulary to report this fish-graceful offence.
Honestly, a lengthy prison sentence is too good for any cretin who would befoul a Big Thing’s luscious mouth. Let the scallywag sleep with the fishes, I say – and not in the good way!
Ultimately, I had a big top day out. Now, orange ya glad I told you about the Big Clownfish?
Do you feel clucky, punk? Well, do you? Then pullet all the stops to flock down to Myrtlebank Roaming Farms, where you can chick out Chickaletta, a feathered friend of egg-straordinary proportions!
Chickaletta was ass-hen-bled from rusted bike parts and old farming equipment – similar to Murray the Cod and the Big Kookaburra – but she’s far more than a poultry pile of old junk. This bewitching bird is a brilliant beak-on of hope and inspiration that led to an era of unprecedented economic prosperity for the region.
Let me take you back to 2017, when Achy Breaky Heart and Hypercolor t-shirts were all the rage. Myrtlebank Farm’s shop, The Chook House, was little more than a side hustle for owner Belinda Hoekstra. A few eggs here, a jar of gooseberry chutney there. But Belinda wasn’t about to throw in the fowl.
To drumstick up some attention, Belinda had a BIG plan, which would soon come home to roost. One balmy day in late February, the team of artistes from Rusted Perfect strutted in to install Chickaletta, and she was immediately mobbed by an adoring public.
Laughing all the way to the (Myrtle) bank
Children and pensioners joined together in worship of their new avian overlord, who is well placed for a fun photo. She’s not cooped up and easy to find! Rumour has it that cock ’n’ roll group AC/DC even turned up to sing their hit song You Chook Me All Night Long.
Chickaletta’s admirers also bought eggs – oh, did they buy eggs! Belinda was run off her feet and soon Myrtleford Roaming Farms was a full-time business, with Chickaletta the perpetual employee of the month. Omelette me tell you, the future’s never looked brighter.
There are even rumours that Chickaletta has been seeing one of Australia’s biggest cocks, with Charlie the Chicken and the Big Chook the prime cluck-spects.
The Chook House now boasts a scrumptious selection of pies, steaks, desserts and wholesome dinners for the whole family. The owners are a bunch of comedi-hens, and include plenty of peck-tacularly bad chicken puns in their weekly newsletters.
I’ll leave you with a selection of their very nest puns, so that I can get back to courting Chickaletta. She told me battery will get me nowhere, but I’m not going to chicken out of my romantic pursuit!
Q: Why couldn’t the chicken find her egg? A: Because she mislaid it!
Q: What do you call a chicken that crosses the road, rolls in the dirt, crosses the road again, and then rolls in the dirt again? A: A dirty double-crossing chicken!
Q: Did you know chickens can jump higher than a house? A: True. Houses can’t jump!
Q: Why don’t chickens wear pants? A: Because their peckers are on their faces!
Q: What do you get if you cross a chicken with a cement mixer? A: A brick layer!
Come to Churchill, dear boy, see the Cigar You’re gonna ooh and ah, you’re gonna sigh You’re never gonna cry You can even touch it if you try The Cigar’s gonna love you
Holy smokes, this stupendous stogie will light up your life! The 32-metre-tall Big Cigar was unveiled by the Victorian Housing Commission on December 21, 1967, as a symbol of hope for the fledgling community of Churchill. Five decades later, it’s still a won-durrie-ful tribute to the region’s favourite pastime
Despite having a nice butt, the Big Cigar wasn’t designed to look like a cancer stick and was given the uninspired title of ‘The Spire’. The locals, most of whom toiled away at the Hazelwood Power Station, were divided on what it looked like. Some said a lava lamp, others said a fondue stick. It was the ’60s, after all.
One sweltering day a personable drunk climbed out of the gutter and decided it looked more like one of Winston Churchill’s famous cigars. Passersby ignored his lunatic ramblings, but the inebriant persisted with his declaration of love for the peculiar pillar.
“I shall fight on the beaches,” the miscreant wailed, resting upon his walking stick. “I shall fight on the landing grounds, I shall fight in the fields and in the streets, I shall fight in the hills; I shall never surrender my belief that this monument should be known as the Big Cigar.”
The rest of the townsfolk shrugged and told him to go for it, and so here we are – the Big Cigar. I guess you Winston, you lose some
Did I tell you I once came second in a Winston Churchill lookalike contest? Close, but no cigar!
The Big Cigar is well-maintained and centrally located at the local shops, so a visit will probably come with a domestic dispute and some petty theft. Lights were added to the Cigar in 1999 and the dapper wall at the base was built in 1990, in honour of the area’s farmers.
A giant ear of corn would’ve been more appropriate, but the nearby Big Spuds and Big Chicken should appease all agricultural ambitions.
During my photo shoot, a stern-faced policeman stormed over. Waggling his finger, he snarled, “Oi mate, no smoking allowed!”
“Sorry, officer,” I replied with a wink. “I’ll try to be quieter next time.”
WARNING: Smoking causes lung cancer, blindness, and can harm your unborn baby. But I look super cute whilst puffing on a cigar, so I guess it all evens out!
Howdy pardner, this is your old friend Biggie the Kid! Your regular host Bigs Bardot is struggling through a low-carb diet, so it’s up to me to tell you all about the Big Spuds and Forks. Just look at my tough-guy hat and genuine 18th-century baby blue short-shorts – yee-haw!
Every man comes to a fork in the road at some point in his life, so gather round as I tell you a tale of love, loss, and Big Things.
I was moseying on through the badlands of Trafalgar, on the trail of ol’ One-Eyed Willie, when I spotted something that dang near made my heart leap out of my chest. No, not a discounted Louis Vuitton clutch bag with a pearl clasp and space for a whole box of bullets – five gigantic taters, each just as round and beautiful as a junebug on a hot summer’s night.
But what was that over yonder, ya’ll? Pokin’ out of them there taters? Dadgum! If it wasn’t five enormous forks, then my name ain’t Biggie Charlene Kid!
My trusty steed and confidant Liberace didn’t need much convincin’ to gallop on over for a gander, and soon I was fraternising with the spuds in a robust yet respectful way. Sure I might be the fastest undresser in the west, but I’m also a gentleman, y’hear.
What a Spudmuffin!
These here taters live right outside the famous Spud Shed, where you’ll find more starchy tubers than you can shake a rattlesnake at. Oh, and the quince relish is truly a thing of beauty – just like my ol’ mama used to make.
A passing injun told me the sculpture was erected in 2008 to celebrate the Year of the Tater, and was originally on display for them there city slickers in the Big Smoke – y’know, pardner, Melbourne. But maybe that injun had been indulging in some Big Smoke of his own.
As he rode off into the sunset, the injun told me a fanciful tale about another prodigious potato. Basking in the sunshine of the far-flung settlement of Robertson, this one’s supposedly the size of a house and worshipped by the natives. Dang injun, I thought he’d start tellin’ me about massive Sprouts, Pheasants, Chickens and Dogs.
As Liberace and I swaggered out of the badlands of Trafalgar, on the trail of ol’ One-Eyed Willie, I lit myself a cigar and stared out at the bleeding sunset. “There are two kinds of people in the world,” I sighed. “Those with guns and those that dig giant statues of taters with forks stuck in them. And I ain’t got me a gun.”
Please note; in the interests of transparency, I should reveal that it was actually me – the inimitable Bigs Bardot – who wrote this entry, in character as a bit of fun. Teehee – fooled ya!
Ladies and tramps, please put your claws together for a pup-standing citizen with a paws-itive attitude – Pat the Dog and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat!
Perky Pat patrols the perimeter of picturesque Yarragon Railway Station, and is a welcome sight for those returning home after bark on a poochoo train. The two-metre-tall, 500-kilogram mutt was the passion project of the Baw Baw Arts Alliance, and hound his forever home in 2021.
The fetching fellow is covered in the most magnificent mosaic motifs, so get ready to do as his name suggests and pat this dog – he doesn’t bite!
Mosaic-y Breaky Heart
The process of bringing Pat to life was led by Yarragon locals Jessie Mclennan and Janet ‘Wet’ Wyllie, who doggedly fought for funding. They originally wanted to build a water fountain dedicated to mosaic maestro Maery Gabriel, but decided to go for an enormous poodle instead.
Fur what it’s worth, I reckon they made the right choice!
Jessie lab-ricated a scale model of Pat, which was scanned into a high-tech computer. This was used to create styrofoam pieces that were glued together to form Pat’s perky paw-sture, then shaved into shape. He was then slathered in kerabond and isolastic, which are either fancy waterproofing elixirs or popular rappers.
Eight or ca-nine artistes attached Pat’s thousands of coloured glass tiles, although I’ll never understand howl they did it! The end result was a very dog-nified Big Thing that was revealed to rapturous applause on August 6, 2021.
I’d be remiss if I failed to mention the gorgeous plinth that Pat sits atop. It weighs half a tonne and features another salubrious mosaic pattern.
If you’d like to show your appreciation, drop into the adjoining art gallery to make a small dalmatian to their cause.
It’s a Dog’s Life
Pat isn’t a square pug in a round hole, because there are several mosaic marvels around. Darwin’s Colin the Turtle and Big Barramundi are similarly decorated and sure to make you tile. He’s also not the only fur-baby to be hound, with the Big Golden Dog lighting up hearts in Glenreagh.
Pat’s quickly become Yarragon’s most famous resident, meaning he attracts plenty of pup-arazzi. Or maybe they were just there for Bigs Bardot and his chum Gordon! Sure, my responsibly-sourced tunic was nothing compared to Pat’s outfit, but I had no reason to be melan-collie, because he’s absolutely paw-some!
Forever stylin’ and profilin’, Bruno the Big Pheasant has been sauntering around rural Gippsland for decades. But this colourful character is more like a phoenix, having survived a terrorist attack and come out the other side looking better than ever.
During a dark and stormy night October 2011, a deranged terrorist stormed into Bruno’s enclosure and, with hatred in his heart, approached the enormous bird. The thug dumped a homemade bomb at Brono’s feet and escaped into the darkness. Tick, tock, tick, tock. In the distance, a kookaburra cackled. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The midnight sky lit up like midday. Fickle fingers of flame reached in all directions. Then the sound and the shrapnel – like a thousand realities colliding – ripped through the landscape, plucking birds from their nests and sending children hurtling into their mothers’ arms.
And then, silence.
When the debris finally settled and the people of Tynong gathered as one in front of Bruno, they realised the world as they knew it was no more. The photogenic pheasant had sustained more than $50,000 worth of damage to his rear, and many wondered whether his tail would ever be the same again.
Clear and Pheasant Danger
Bruno can be found strutting his stuff outside the Gumbuya World fun park, which offers waterslides, animal exhibits, and other attractions that I was never able to enjoy as a youngster. The park was built on the site of an old pheasant farm so, when owner Ron Rado decided he needed something BIG to promote his investment, there was only one thing to do.
He tapped local legend Bruno Crestani to craft the 16.8- metre-long, 7.6-metre-tall golden pheasant. The friendly fowl was made from five tonnes of concrete set over a steel frame, and was revealed to a curious public in December 1981.
They were, of course, pheasantly surprised.
Bizarrely, Big Bruno wasn’t named after his creator until 2021, when the park ran a hotly-contested competition to find a new moniker for the majestic merrymaker. Suggested names included Kuryana, Goldy and the imaginative Carlos Pheasantana.
My suggestion, Donald Pheasants, was met with widespread praise but was ultimately discarded for being too controversial.
He is happiest, be he king or pheasant, who finds peace in his home
Bruno’s tale is as long and vivid as his tail. He’s recently been renovated as part of Gumbuya World’s revamp, and it’s easy to see him without shelling out for a (rather cheap) ticket into the park. It’s for the best, because my alien companion Gordon Shumway was banned for life after an unsavoury incident on the Tiger Snake Tango slide a few years ago.
Big Brono’s nice and close to Arthur Sprout, Pat the Dog and the Big Spuds and Forks. At pheasant, however, he’s the biggest and brightest Big in the region. He’s also good chums with fellow well-dressed avians the Big Kookaburra and the Big Parrot.
Bruno’s certainly peck-tacular, so don’t be a turkey and just fly by!
Please welcome the flag waving, money saving, always smiling, quite beguiling, 18-foot-high, super-nice guy… Ernie the Giant Tractor Salesman! This gregarious goliath has been Shepparton’s most eligible bachelor for more than three decades, and currently works at the family-owned Konigs Agricultural Supermarket.
The eternally-eleemosynary Ernie started work way back in 1992, and is yet to miss a day! He’s polite, kind and never shies away from a photo, so it’s always the right time for a Weekend at Ernie’s.
“People may not know the word Konigs, but if they want to know where we are they say look for the big man who flies the flag,” owner Leo Schoonderbeek recalled during his company’s 25th birthday extravaganza. “I think there are generations now in Shepparton that know Ernie from their younger days.”
Ernie was the friendly face of Shepparton long before he moved in with Leo and the gang. He was originally constructed to sell quality cars, and was hauled around to school fetes and baby showers. He was, of course, always a gentleman and very well regarded within the community.
“Ernie was a promotional item for Ford New Holland for a number of years. They called him for tenders and I bought him. The main reason was to add an attraction to our business.’’
Come for the giant statue of a handsome man, stay for the extensive collection of reasonably-priced farm machinery!
Ernie was packed and ready to move into his new digs. The Konigs team were preparing for an era of unprecedented success. But disaster was just around the corner, and Ernie almost never made it to his new home.
Where’s your head at?
“A truck arrives one day, a big semi-trailer with three boxes,” Leo recounted with a look of shock upon his face. “They were quite huge boxes, we opened the biggest and that was Ernie’s head. There were only two boxes left and I said, ‘Well something’s wrong here!’
“We opened another box and it was one arm, and then there was hardly anything left so we opened the third box and it was his other arm. There was no torso for Ernie! I’m on the phone saying, ‘Fellas, there’s something wrong, I’ve only got two arms and a head’. The search was on to find Ernie.
“Apparently what they had sent was Ernie’s spare parts. They went and searched for Ernie and found that one of the dealers hadn’t returned him so they had to box the complete Ernie up and send him across.”
Finally, Ernie was installed on a sunny Saturday afternoon with the help of a crane. Most Sheppartonians were on hand to welcome their newest – and by far largest! – resident. It wasn’t to be Ernie’s forever home, however, with Konigs relocating in 1995 to the current premises. The big boy’s certainly moved around a lot for a fella with no legs!
Ernie to the Centre of the Earth
Ernie is one of the most imposing Big Things in Australia, dwarfing other humongous humans such as the Coota Giant and the Big Girl. He’s been lovingly maintained and looks every bit as dashing as the day he swaggered into Shepparton.
Ernie’s so charming, in fact, that he made it seem like a good idea to buy a Deutz Agrotron 265 tractor with a turbo charged engine, four-speed powershift transmission and a set of four electronic remote valves. I live in a third-floor condominium in Newtown, so I’m not sure what I’ll do with it. Ah well, maybe I can use it to trim the shag-pile carpet.
Oh, and how much does Ernie weigh? About six Sheppar-tonnes!
Brussels sprouts; two words that strike fear into the hearts of children. The bitter, chartreuse vegetables have been responsible for countless dinnertime meltdowns and turned generations of youngsters off their greens for life. But one gentleman has risen up against the hatred, with a cheeky smile and a zealous thumbs-up as his only weapons.
Arthur Sprout, who stands sentinel in front of Adams Farms, has dedicated his young life to giving the despised veggie a friendlier face. The Yarra Valley’s most unlikely sex symbol has been turning heads and smashing prejudices since 2015 – and he’s slowly winning the war against anti-sproutism.
Arthur’s sanguine posture speaks volumes, yet this sprout-going chap is a man of few words. Thankfully fellow Brussels sprout activist Bruce Adams – the owner of Adams Farms and the man who brought Arthur to life – is more than happy to tell this sproutlandish story.
Twist and Sprout!
The seeds of Arthur’s journey were planted a few hours north of his current location. During his regular pilgrimage to the Big Strawberry at Koonoomoo, Bruce was struck by an idea so marvellous he needed to have a good lie down afterwards.
“I thought, ‘Oh, maybe we should have a Big Sprout,’” Bruce told a dumbfounded journo from The Monthly. Most of us have had the same idea, but Bruce actually made it happen. Sadly, it wasn’t all smooth sailing, with anti-sproutites doing whatever they could to get in the way.
“There were a lot of issues with the council,” Bruce explained. “Not in relation to his height, but with where I could put it. I wanted it at the front of the property but they wouldn’t let me put it there. They wanted it back further. They wanted it way back ‘cos they basically said to me in the end, ‘You can have it but we really don’t want people to see it.’”
Arthur – named after Bruce’s father – was unveiled during the 2015 Sprout Fest, which is like Woodstock for fruit and veg fanatics. Featured artists included Ba Na Na, Carlos Sultana and Canned Beet.
As a result Arthur stands a good way back from the main road, giving him an unassuming charm and heart-warming shyness that needs to be seen to be believed. With his farmer’s hat and rustic overalls, he’s one of the best-dressed Bigs in Australia.
Most importantly, ‘the Muscles of Brussels’ is winning over the locals, one sprout at a time.
Out and About with Arthur Sprout
My date with Arthur was a bittersweet experience, as it brought back memories of tear-stained dinner parties with my abusive stepfather Craig. As he and the rest of the family tucked into delicious fried chicken, Craig would load my plate high with uncooked Brussels sprouts and not allow me to leave the table until every single morsel had been consumed.
Often I would pass out from sheer exhaustion, unable to bring myself to gorge on my waterlogged tormentors. I would wake in the dead of night, the house silent and the unwanted spouts edging ever closer. Their tiny leaves seemed to mock me.
In retrospect it was probably Craig’s way of forcing me to run away from home, which I finally did at the tender age of 24. I’ve never been able to look at a Brussels sprout since.
And so it was with deep reservations that I rolled into rural Coldstream, unsure whether I was ready to face my fears. Would I break down in tears upon seeing the giant sprout, as memories of my abusive stepfather washed over me? Would I become enraged at the thought of a youth shattered by this bulbous vegetable?
After seeing Arthur’s cheerful face and roguish gesturing, my troubled soul was put at ease.
It was as if decades of fear and loathing were lifted from my shoulders, and I felt nothing but love and admiration for him and his kind. I was reduced to a blubbering mess and, after a cuddle, even purchased a small tray of well-priced and beautifully-presented sprouts.
Without the shadow of my stepfather brooding over me, I found the spouts to be surprisingly nutty and very moreish, especially with a generous dollop of mango chutney.
Craig, it seems, was just a crap cook.
That’s Sproutstanding!
After saying my goodbyes to Arthur, I kissed his rubenesque thorax one last time and turned to leave. Just then, a hotted-up Kia Rio rolled up to the farm and paused beneath the shade of a poplar tree. As the engine continued to cough and wheeze, one window slowly rolled down, and two acne-riddled faces, punctuated by the deadest eyes I’ve ever seen, pushed their way into the dying sunlight.
“Go back to where you came from, Sprouty!” screamed one of the hate-filled youngsters. “Yeah, go back to Belgium, where Brussels sprouts have been cultivated since the 13th century!” warbled his mate.
“Actually,” I shrieked, hurling sprouts at their hotrod, “there’s scientific evidence that the Ancient Romans propagated a similar vegetable 2000 years earlier.”
“Go back to Ancient Romania then, Sprouty!” yelled the hatemongers, their malicious diatribe hanging heavy in the air long after they had peeled out of the carpark.
The impregnable Arthur Sprout, as always, simply fired back with that machine gun smile of his.
Should you visit Rutherglen’s Big Wine Bottle? Wine not! This 36-metre-tall flagon is a real corker, so it stands to riesling that you should make a chardo-day of it and head to Victoria’s premier wine-growing region.
The Big Bottle looms large over Rutherglen, and can be seen from most of the town’s leafy streets and verdant parks. It casts an imposing figure, with its mixture of brutalist red brick architecture and quirky, weathered top. It’s unique and odd, certainly, but also feels like an organic part of this beautiful village.
The fascinating tale of this vast vial dates back to the early 1900s. Starting life as a water tower for the growing township, the structure could be seen for miles around and quickly became a symbol of pride in Rutherglen. It was taken out of service in the swingin’ ’60s – but you decant keep a good Big Thing down!
Late one boozy night during the 1967 Rutherglen Wine Festival, some bright spark suggested converting the water tower into an enormous jar of plonk. The town’s drunkards agreed it was a fantastic idea, and began scribbling ideas for it on the back of coasters.
It was a big cask, but the locals rosé to the occasion. Hundreds of Rutherglenwegians constructed the sturdy mesh top of the bottle, then came to grapes with the difficult installation. Ah well, no champagne, no gain!
Goon enough, the region’s newest tourist attraction was ready to go. The Bottle was lovingly restored in 2014 – perhaps in reaction to the Pokolbin Bottle’s growing celebrity – and has certainly aged like a fine wine. I know I can be less than enthusiastic about Big Things that started out as unremarkable buildings, such as the Big Miner’s Lamp, but the unabashed enthusiasm the people of Rutherglen show for the Bottle make it a real glass act!
Big, big wine, stay close to me Don’t let me be alone It’s tearing apart my blue heart
I was hoping for vine weather during my date with the Big Bottle, but it ended up being wetter than dipsomniac’s lunch. That wasn’t going to stop me, so I procured an ornate vessel of alcohol-free De Bortoli Melba Amphora Cabernet Sauvignon for a picnic beneath the colossal carafe.
As the Cab Sav’s dreamlike, serotinal aromas washed over me like a comforting, yet scintillating couverture, and my mouth was filled with sophisticated, nostalgic, compassionate, epicurean flavours (oh, is that a hint of nutmeg?), I was sequestered away upon the cloying breeze to a simpler and more delicate time.
The voluptuous mixture of perfectly-manicured wine and an astonishingly proportioned Big Thing proved utterly intoxicating. Swaying giddily from my encounter, I found myself in no state to drive, and was forced to sleep in my car like a common drunk.
I awoke several times during that cold, windswept evening, my skin glistening with sweat and my eyes frantically searching for the Bottle. My attempts to resist it were futile, and I would rise, trembling, and stagger on withered legs through the gloom towards my fate.
As I embraced the Bottle, tears running down my cheeks before being washed into the gutter by the beating deluge, I told myself that I could stop cuddling him any time I wished. Deep down, within my shuddering heart, I knew it to be a falsehood. The seams of life’s rich tapestry were becoming frayed, and I was utterly addicted.
My name is Bigs Bardot and I’m a Big Bottle-oholic… and loving every minute of it!
Trigger warning: the following article contains information and photos of a deceased Big Thing, that you may find distressing. But it also contains a super cute photo of a very young Bigs Bardot wearing a gorgeous pink hat, so it all balances out.
Gympie was, for a time, the most desirable tourist destination on the planet. Hollywood stars and tech billionaires bypassed Bora Bora as they made their way to this dusty regional centre, three hours north of Brisbane. And it was all because of the Big Pineapple.
Nicolas Cage and Lisa Marie Presley were married at the top and divorced by the time they reached the bottom. Steve Jobs named his company after the Pineapple (dropping the first part of the name due to memory limitations). Even The Gimp from Pulp Fiction was named after Gympie – and you’ll notice his leather tunic sports a distinctive pineapple texture.
Sadly this statuesque Queensland icon was demolished in 2008, taking with her the five-star resorts and the nightclubs that seemed as if they would never close. It also brought a crashing halt her decades-long rivalry with the nearby Woombye Pineapple.
Both were completed in 1971, both were 16 metres tall, and the bitter feud threatened to tear the Sunshine State apart. The Woombye team bragged theirs was taller, so the Gympie gang claimed theirs was wider. One side noted theirs had more realistic texturing, so the other boasted theirs had a more authentic shape.
One was cuter, the other sexier. Spikier. More eco-friendly. Yellower! Greener! Lifelong friendships ended in the shadows of these two bright-yellow Big Things. Families were torn apart. Blood, tragically, was spilled.
An apple is a pineapple
Young Bigs Bardot didn’t care about the squabbling, because I just loved both Big Pineapples so much. The day this photo was taken was one of the happiest of my life, even though I wasn’t allowed to have a grilled pineapple like the other children. Sadly, I was also abandoned at the base of the giant fruit by my adopted family after I spent too long cuddling it.
It was my fault, really.
Eight days later I was discovered, huddling in the Pineapple’s crown, surviving on half-sucked pineapple-shaped lollies and the remnants of a pineapple-flavoured snow cone. I had come to see the Gympie Pineapple as a mother figure, my protector and only friend, and it was with great trauma that I was wrenched from her supple bosom.
The community dubbed me ‘The Little Pineapple’ as they fruitlessly attempted to find me a new family. However, potential foster families found it difficult to bond with a boy who believed himself to be a sweet, tropical fruit. They would find me half-buried in the backyard, begging to be sliced into rings and placed on a hamburger. Like the icon I was named after, the locals eventually lost interest in me, and I was left to rot.
Fortunately, unlike the Big Pineapple I wasn’t knocked over by a wrecking ball, and was instead quietly removed from my care home and left to fend for myself in this cold, emotionless world. Still, I won’t allow any of that to sully my wonderful memories of the gorgeous Gympie Pineapple.
If you dig shovels, the charming village of Chiltern has them in spades! The only question is, can you handle the excitement? Read on, because your pal Bigs Bardot has the scoop!
The Big Miners Spade stands regally beside the southern entry to Chiltern and, at five metres tall, simply can’t be missed. Serving as a tribute to the region’s proud gold mining history, the towering tool also features a couple of regent honeyeaters on top. Maybe they need to eat some more honey, because they’re looking a bit skinny!
There’s an enviable selection of regular-sized shovels located at the base of the statue that unprepared visitors can burrow for a memorable happy snap.
This was a miner annoyance to me, as I’d spent several hundred dollars at a nearby Bunnings emporium procuring a selection of digging implements for this photo shoot. Oh well, I guess they’re going on Gumtree.
Let’s call a spade a spade – and this is a spade
The Big Miners Spade is the work of local sculptor Xavier Pinard. In 2018 he won a hotly-contested competition by the local council to find a new symbol for the town.
In my role as Chairman of Indigo Shire Council’s Big Thing Advisory Board – a role that doesn’t pay as well as you might think – I gently prodded them towards the Big Miners Spade. The other entries – a small brick wall and a one-metre-tall steel sculpture modelled on a child’s stick figure drawing of little artistic merit – were neither inspired nor Big Things.
My decision has certainly been vindicated, with Chiltern becoming a hot tourist destination since the Spade’s much-anticipated arrival. These days the town rivals nearby Rutherglen, home of the monstrous Big Wine Bottle, for popularity. Best visit the Spade first, though, as it’s not recommended to operate heavy equipment after a day of drinking!
Batlow’s got a lovely bunch of apples There they are, all standing in a row Big ones, bigger ones, some as big as a shed Their enormous size draws tourists like flies That’s what Bigs Bardot said
They reckon Batlow is a town built on apples but, after a thorough investigation, I can reveal that most buildings are actually constructed upon concrete foundations. The locals do, however, go wild for a fresh honeycrisp.
Not only do Batlow’s farmers provide 10% of the country’s total crop (a fact repeated by far more than 10% of the Batlowians I encountered), but there are THREE Big Apples dotted around the picturesque village.
With only 1,313 residents, that’s one Big Apple per 437.666666667 Batlowians. I like those odds!
The most prominent is the original Big Apple, an assuming fellow who’s lived just north of town for the past four decades. He’s the size of a small house, but don’t think about going in for a cuddle, because he’s on private land and it’s not possible to get within 100 metres of him. Oh well, distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Until recently the Apple was barely visible through the flourishing orchards, but they’ve been thinned out in recent years due to fire, so it’s easy to see this scarlet scoundrel. Grab your binoculars and settle in for a big afternoon of apple-gazing!
The Appleman Cometh
Wilgro Orchard, a few hundred metres south, is home to a second Big Apple. Alright, it’s only half an apple pasted to a wall, but the owners are good people so I’ll give them a break. After snapping some memorable photos with this Apple, I popped inside for a dollop of Wilgrow’s famous apple chutney and a cheeky glass of their world-renowned cider. You know, just to make sure they’re fresh.
Halfway through my fifth can of the astonishingly good Batlow Road Cider, a funny little man with a bright red nose and a pronounced lisp wrapped his arms around me and introduced himself as The Appleman. His embrace lasted a little too long, but we were both appreciative of the human contact.
“Bigs,” he slurred, before taking more than a sip out of my can. “It was January 2020. The flames climbed to the heavens and the wind was hotter than hell. The orange nightmare raged towards Batlow, destroying everything in its path. Houses were lost. Memories were eaten by the flames. But the community came together and fought the fire, standing shoulder to shoulder to beat it back.
“We saved the Big Apples that day, my handsome friend. All three of them.” “And the rest of the village?” “I guess so,” shrugged the inebriate. “I only really cared about the Apples.”
The drunk’s story was so inspirational that I shared about 12 cans of cider with him as we discussed processes that could be implemented to prevent other Big Apples – such as the ones in Tallong, Yerrinbool, Acacia Ridge and Balhannah – falling victim to the folly of bushfire in the future. And whether a polar bear could beat a karate man in a fight.
Unfortunately I made the unforgivable faux pas of asking for a cup of pear cider.
“This is an apple town, Bigs,” The Appleman boomed as he threw me into the street. “Don’t you forget it!”
Core, Blimey!
Fortunately Gordon – who made it clear he wasn’t angered by my behaviour, just disappointed – was able to drive me to the third Apple, located a few hundred metres north of town. As he sat in the car calling those he’d wronged during his drunken years, I took a few happy snaps with what the locals call the redheaded stepchild of the Batlow Big Apples.
Created for annual Batlow CiderFest, this one’s pretty run down, discoloured, and is only half an apple. If I hadn’t been so drunk on good cider and great conversation, I may not have considered him a Big Thing at all. On the bright side, he’s the only one of the three positioned for a kiss and a cuddle.
I indulged myself in animated conversation with this Apple until Gordon – capricious as always – dragged me away and threw me in the boot of the car. It was for my own good, really.
Batlow’s Big Apples are shiny, sultry and seductive. But they’re also too much fun for one afternoon, and the sensory overload of encountering so many oversized fruits in such a short period of time will prove too much for all but the most cold-hearted party pooper.
My advice is to relax, give yourself plenty of time, and don’t head to Batlow if you’re traveling with a recovering alcoholic alien – they’ll only get in the way of a good time.
He’s more than just a Big Bat He’s the source of Coota’s pride He’s more than just one Big Thing He has some stumps by his side Fathers take their sons to Bradman’s Bat ’cause they find it’s really, really grand!
The rustic regional village of Cootamundra has plenty to be proud of, but the locals hold cricket legend Don Bradman closer to their hearts than anything else. And with good reason – the town’s favourite son grew up to become the greatest sportsman the world has ever known, and a hero across the globe.
The Don was born in Coota in 1908 and, although he moved on to greener pastures as a toddler, his time there set him on the path to greatness. Apparently he was nigh-on unstoppable during his crèche cricket matches and he would’ve been picked for the Cootamundra First XI if the matches didn’t clash with his naptime.
I’d struggle to explain the difference between a googly and a doosra, but as an Aussie I know just how good Bradman was, and how important he was to this country. It’s a burden that I, as ‘the Bradman of the Big Thing community’, carry today.
He smashed every record laid out before him, most of which will never be matched. The Don terrorised opposition bowlers, captained Australia to unprecedented success, and carried the hopes of a nation upon his rugged shoulders. But perhaps his greatest achievement was inspiring this wonderful Big Thing.
Bat’s incredible!
The Bat and Stumps were erected at Don Bradman Oval during Coota’s Big Thing frenzy of 1975, when The Giant also came to town. Standing eight metres tall, they’re a towering monument to a towering career, and plenty of fun to play cricket in front of if you’re the sporty type. They’re just metres from Don’s birthplace, which now houses a museum dedicated to the great man. Everything in there is normal-sized, though, which is a shame.
As the ever-delightful Graham Gouldman from 10cc would say, “I don’t like these oversized pieces of cricket equipment – I love them!”
A nation mourned as one when The Don left us in 2001, and it’s since become a right of passage for Australians to visit the Giant Bat and Stumps to honour him. Sadly, they’ve become run down and are badly in need of a lick of paint – and that’s just not cricket as far as I’m concerned.
The local tourism board are also hoping to raise money to throw a Big Cricket Ball into the mix. Maybe Alan Davidson could lend them one of his? If you’d like to help out, the girls at the Coota Heritage Centre are more than happy to take your donation and give you some spirited conversation in return.
All in all, I rate Don’s Bat and Stumps an impressive 99.94 out of 100!
Fee-fi-fo-fum Look at me with my massive chum He be large and he be hairy But the Coota Giant is never scary!
Now THIS is a Giant worth climbing up a beanstalk for! The Cootamundra Giant is enormous, approachable, fun to take a photo with… and, best of all, he won’t try to gobble you up! But this big boy has a story even larger than his smile, which is certainly saying something.
The Big, Friendly Giant is an affable chap with a jocular disposition, welcoming visitors to the well-appointed Cootamundra Heritage Centre. He’s also a bit of a scallywag, as he’s eternally pointing towards his crotch. Whether that’s a ‘big thing’ or not, I am not at liberty to say!
The benevolent behemoth bounded into Coota sometime around 1975 (nobody really remembers when), thanks to a local artiste (nobody really remembers who). He first lurked outside the Giant Supermarket, luring in hordes of fascinated customers and leading to an economic boom in the region not seen since the gold rush.
Tragically, this fairy tale was to become a horror story. The store’s focus shifted from Giant-related souvenirs and nik-naks, complete with name changes to ‘U-Mark-It’, ‘Half-Case Warehouse’, ‘Payless’, and the ludicrous ‘Food World’. The behemoth was forgotten and left to wither in the merciless Riverina sun.
His smile, once known as ‘the ray of sunlight that warms Coota’, began to fade. It seemed as if Cootamundra, stepping daintily towards the new millennium, was ready to leave its icon behind. But local florists Allan and Phuong Jenkins weren’t going to let that happen, buying The Giant in the early-80s and relocating him outside their shop.
I’m not dande-lyin’ when I say things have been pretty rosy since then.
He’s been everywhere, man!
Even though he’s the most popular chap in town, The Jolly Green Giant isn’t allowed into any of Coota’s pubs – because he’s legless! Ernie the Shepparton Giant suffers a similar disability, so maybe they can form a support group or something. Despite this setback, he’s surprisingly well-traveled and has even completed a lap of Australia.
Alan, known for being as fit as a fiddle, participated in a Round-Australia fundraising marathon in 1985. His support vehicle had some spare space after the Dencorub and spare socks were loaded up, so Alan strapped The Giant in and took him for a ride around Oz.
Crowds flocked in their thousands to watch The Giant roll by. Not even the Queen, Pope or Guy Sebastian commanded such crowds. As a toddler, I was crushed by a baying mob as we chased the Giant down the dusty main street of my hometown. The physical trauma healed with time, but the mental scars shall last a lifetime.
The Jenkins family donated The Giant to the people of Coota in 2014, so that generations to come could bask in his glory. He was fully restored by Robert Newman, whose brother Jim completed the original paintwork all those decades ago. Well, Mother Teresa did say that the family that paints enormous roadside attractions together, stays together.
Yes, it’s been quite a ride for this kindly ogre. He’s been to the heights of fame and the brink of destruction; to the furthest richest of this great country and deep inside all our hearts. But, for now, he’s happily enjoying retirement in this pleasant rural community.
One thing’s for sure – they don’t come much cuter than the king of Coota!
He’s chimp-ly irresistible! This 15-metre-tail repro-douc-tion of the Hindu monkey god Lord Hanuman sits on primate real estate in front of the Batu Caves, and promises a gorill-a-minute experience – but that’s a gibbon!
You may have ape expectations for this marmoset-piece, and I’m happy to lesusa-nnounce he’s a total babe-oon, from his simian-kles to his capu-chin. He’s also a very urakaring individual. They just don’t macaque them like this anymore.
I can take it no langur! Lord Hanuman is tamarin-credible, and I rhesus-pect you’ll find him just as titi-lating as I did. He’s ex-saki-ly the sort of orangutan-tilising fellow who leaves you begging for le-mur. I don’t bo-know-bo how I ever lived without him.
Lord Hanuman, quite obviously, has the mon-key to my heart. OMG – probosc-is it getting hot in here?
OK, some of these jokes have been howlers, but you should know the mandrill by now!
He might be the Hindu God of War, but Lord Murugan just wants to win the battle for your heart. This tall, dark and handsome gentleman is 42.7 metres from fetching feet to friendly forehead, and can be found in front of the world-renowned Batu Caves.
Murugan is the tallest statue of a Hindu deity in Malaysia, the third-tallest Hindu on Earth, and the biggest version of this particular God ever created. It took three years, 350 tonnes of steel, 1550 cubic metres of concrete, 300 litres of paint and a whole lotta love to have him looking so dapper.
Speaking of dapper, check out that baby-faced Bigs Bardot (complete with tough guy sunnies and Caribbean-inspired afro) standing with the Lord. Watch out, ladies, there’s a confirmed bachelor on the prowl!
Batu wait, there’s more!
Batu Caves are a sight to behold, rising nearly one hundred metres above the sprawling metropolis of Kuala Lumpur. This beautiful limestone grotto is 400 million years old, with 272 colourful steps sequestering visitors into the bowels of the mountain. There, ancient relics beckon, enchanting millions of Hindus each year.
Murugan was introduced to his throngs of admirers in January 2006 during the Thaipusam festival. Without wanting to blow my own trumpet, I was a guest of honour at his grand unveiling. The local Tamil people were intrigued by my unique relationship with Big Things, as well as my well-known religious zealotry, and had asked me to oversee the project. Of course I said, ‘ஆம்’!
There was talk of adding a giant statue of Bigs Bardot to the other side of the stairs – you know, just to even things up – but I’m a humble fellow and said ‘இல்லை’. Let Lord Murugan have his time in the spotlight.
This golden goliath isn’t likely to get lonely, because his best pri-mate, the monkey god Lord Hanuman, is gorill-y close by. Not planning a trip to Kuala Lumpur? If you’re passing by Mauritus, pop in to see the world’s biggest statue of the Hindu god Durga Maa. At 33 metres, she’s not as big as Murugan, but still Maa-ty large.
Honestly, I’m not sure what’s the most outrageous – the size of Lord Murugan, or the fact I allowed myself to be photographed in a beer singlet!
When I heard rumours of a giant bicycle rolling through the verdant hills of Lac d’Annecy, I contacted someone who knows a thing or two about riding around the Alps – former Tour de France champion Cadel Evans. ‘Cuddles’ is a self-confessed Big Thing tragic and became a professional cyclist to finance a trip to the Big Oyster, so he was only too happy to offer me a guided tour of Le Grand Vélo.
However, we had a fairly aggressive altercation regarding the correct meal pairing for a bottle of Vin de Paille, so Cadel took his bike and went home. It’s a long ride back to Katherine, Cuddles!
The joke was on me, though, because his replacement was the improbably-named Jean-Claude Van Ham, a journeyman cyclist whose greatest achievement was crashing into a horse during the second stage of the 1996 Tour.
Despite this complete lack of success during his cycling career, Jean-Claude wouldn’t stop complaining about how he could have won Le Tour if it wasn’t for Neil Armstrong and his steroids. Jean-Claude’s soupe à l’oignon was too cold? Blame it on Neil. Jean-Claude’s mistress wasn’t answering his calls? She must be off with Neil, of course.
There we were, admiring Le Gros Vélo as Mont Blanc reached for the sky above us, and Jean-Claude wouldn’t stop talking about Neil bloomin’ Armstrong. Everything was ‘Neil this’ and ‘Neil that’ and ‘Neil sent me into a deep depression from which there is no escape’. It was really putting a dampener on my day.
I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle, bicycle
“Honestly, Jean-Claude, give it a rest,” I finally snapped. “You live in the most beautiful place on Earth. You’re an extremely handsome man with a robust physique and deep blue eyes that one can’t help drowning within. Your calves are more like full-grown Blonde d’Aquitaine cows. And you have this delightful Big Thing, carved from the finest French timber, to marvel at every day. Are you even aware that it was constructed for the 10th stage of the 2018 Tour de France, which circumnavigated this very lake?
“Sure, you lost a bike race – big deal, it happens. I lost Celebrity Big Brother 2014 to Meshel Laurie and you don’t see me crying about it all the time. I’m Australia’s darling, the inimitable Bigs Bardot, and this busy-body abused the power of social media to pluck victory from my well-manicured hands. Sure, I went on to win Celebrity Splash later that year. But the ratings were modest at best, and the rest of the cast largely forgettable.
“I have my own Neil Armstrong, Jean-Claude, and her name is Meshel Laurie.”
I want to ride my bicycle, bicycle (c’mon), bicycle
“Oui, oui, you are correct,” Jean-Claude replied, turning his head in a futile attempt to hide the tears in his deep blue eyes. “You did deserve to win Celebrity Big Brother 2014. Meshel Laurie’s manipulation of the voting system was both, how you say? Egregious and indicative of the lack of government regulation of reality television voting processes in Australia. I have thrown away my life chasing the ghosts of my past, when I should be here admiring the Big Bicycle. Monsieur Bigs, how can I ever make it up to you?”
“Just pretend to ride the bike with me for a photo, Jean-Claude. It’s the least you can do. And then you can pedal off and get your life together.”
“Ah, la vache! It is fortunate you do not actually want to ride this bicycle,” sniffed Jean-Claude as the camera snapped, “because it wooden start!” “Mon ami,” I said as I embraced Jean-Claude warmly, “that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day. Let’s go get some reblochon and watch a Gérard Depardieu movie!”
Jean-Claude proved to be the perfect guest, expertly pairing a spirited and honey-kissed 2011 Domaine Pignier Côtes du Jura Vin de Paille with a decadent slice of crème brûlée as we thrilled to the cinematic delights of Cyrano de Bergerac. After a tearful goodbye, Jean-Claude dragged himself atop his bicycle and proceeded to ride it straight into the nearest horse. Old habits die hard, I guess.
Yo, yo, yo! Put your hands in the air like you just don’t care about anything other than Big Things! This is Fatboy Big in da house… or, more precisely, betwixt the Big Headphones! Should you hip hop long to see these merry music-makers? Tune in to find out!
Looming loud and proud in the Beats-ing heart of Newcastle, it’ll come as music to your ears to hear that these cans are absolutely wonderful. The sense of scale is astonishing, the artwork mesmerising. They fit in well amongst the trendy cafes and breakdancing youths that decorate this cosmopolitan metropolis. There are even some turn-tbles nearby where you can eat your lunch.
Fortunately, Mark, I was slightly more eloquent when I first met them. But I love your work, brother!
Play that funky music, Bardot!
The Big Headphones aren’t just pretty, they’re practical. Dump your rump beneath them and guffaw in wonder as music from local artistes washes over you.
Tragically, I was present for several hours without being graced by the dulcet tones of local legend Super Hubert. Rest assured, I’ve sent Newcastle mayor Nuatali Nelmes several strongly-worded emails and expect this oversight to be rectified soon.
Novocastrians with musical tendencies can also plop a guitar or bassoon into the Headphones for an impromptu performance. However, when I plugged in a microphone and launched into a medley of Sheb Wooley classics, I was subjected to a series of cruel taunts. The Monster Mash is wasted on some people.
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.
My unquenchable thirst for Big Things has taken me to some of the most beautiful and wondrous places on earth. It also dragged me through the frozen wastelands of northern Siberia, to the decaying industrial town of Nadym.
I was lured to this remote corner of Russia by fellow Big Thing enthusiast Yevgeny Kafelnikov. No, not the world famous tennis player – every second Russian seems to be called that. Yevgeny enchanted me with tales about a mammoth of immense size, so I spent several months hitchhiking through the desolate tundra to track it down.
If you’ve ever seen a Russian dashcam video on YouTube, you’d know that I really should’ve just caught a plane. I was involved in three fatal car accidents, several brutal street fights, and developed a serious addiction to vodka and counterfeit Adidas tracksuits. If I’d been on the road any longer I would’ve started yearning for the downfall of western civilisation.
Sadly, by the time I arrived in Nadym, Yevgeny had fallen afoul of the local mafia. Considering his divisive opinions regarding roadside attractions, it came as no surprise. Fortunately, I was able to stay with his grieving widow, so Yevgeny’s public beheading didn’t get in the way of seeing the Big Mammoth.
From Tusk Till Dawn
I visited on a balmy summer afternoon, as the temperature threatened to climb out of the negatives. The flat, lifeless terrain, punctuated only by the odd car wreck or abandoned shanty, made it easy to find what I was looking for. The massive mastodon lives a few kilometres out of Nadym, where a group of her ancestors were discovered a few decades ago.
I never completed my paleontology degree, so I don’t know for sure what killed these graceful beasts, but my guess would be the boredom of living in Nadym. They certainly got the raw end of the stick compared to the mighty milodón!
Tears of joy froze upon my cheeks as I finally approached my holy grail. Along with her baby, the hirsute hottie is the size of a real mammoth. If you think that disqualifies them from being regarded as Big Things, I know some Russian skinheads who want to have a word with you.
Of particular note is the mummy mammoth’s titanic tusks – she would’ve needed a really big toothbrush! More than 100 political prisoners died during the monument’s construction, so it’s nice to know their deaths weren’t in vain.
Despite their detailed craftmanship and enviable size, the mammoths can’t really be considered roadside attractions. The nearest town is 10 hours’ drive away so there’s little passing traffic, and any car that slows down risks being burnt out by a gang of troubled youths.
You can’t pull the wool over my eyes! Actually, you can…
During my visit I encountered a young boy named Yevgeny Kafelnikov (again, not the tennis player) who offered to photograph me with the mammoths. I thought it was a kind-hearted exhibition of man’s kindness to man, until I realised it had all been a ruse so that his chums could steal my iPod. Oh well, boys, hope you like Shania Twain.
After a glorious afternoon with the mammoths, I filled my backpack with cheap vodka and set off on my months-long trek back to Moscow. I would’ve stayed longer, but Nadym made the possibility of freezing to death or getting bopped over the head with an iron bar seem like pretty appealing options.
As I crossed the River Nadym, its oily surface shimmering like a dying rainbow, I wondered whether it was all worth it. The confronting journey gave me time to reflect on the fact that I’m much like the mammoth. A graceful relic of a bygone era, loved and feared in equal measure.
A few weeks after I left, local children discovered my friend Yevgeny’s remains out near the mammoths. I think he would have liked that.
The Big Doc Martens make for a socking sight in the middle of Newcastle, and I certainly wouldn’t like to bump into the miscreant large enough to wear them! Their punk rock swagger and detailed feet-ures are more than enough to earn my heel of approval.
These hedonistic headkickers live outside the Famous Rock Shop, which is overflowing with leather jackets and vinyl records from bands with scary names like Cannibal Corpse and Savage Garden. If you’re after the latest Belinda Carlisle cassette, however, I’ll save you a trip. They don’t have it.
The Big Docs are a faithful recreation of the popular romper stompers, down to their laces and stitching. It’s possible to step inside, but punks aren’t known for their lofty hygiene standards, so Gordon entered sole-o. He can now add the Big Fungal Infection to his list of experiences.
Body modifications are also available, and it was all I could do to stop Gordon from getting his nipple pierced. However, there was no getting between him and aPrince Albert. He’ll regret that when he gets older – trust me.
Gordon and I were so taken by the Big Doc Martens that we briefly considered forming a white nationalist skinhead gang and going on a violent rampage through the streets of Newcastle. But it seemed like a lot of effort and neither of us wanted to cut our hair, so we went out for banana daiquiris instead.
Oh, and whilst you might think they’re twins, these boots are actually step-brothers. Anyway, I got a real kick out of meeting them!
I know what you’re thinking. “Bigs, you’ve lost your mind! The Mini Harbour Bridge can’t possibly be a Big Thing because it’s substantially smaller than the object it’s modelled after. Look, it’s even there in the name. Mini. Mini! Next you’ll be inducting Cockington Green!”
Your concern is appreciated, but the only thing I’ve lost is 5kg due to a controversial new exercise regime, and I look fantastic. Thanks for noticing. But I’ll stand proudly beside the Mini Harbour Bridge until the day I die.
The Warwick Farm Wonder’s classification is a constant cause of conjecture within the tight-knit Big Thing community. I’ve ended many lifelong friendships and served some lengthy stretches in prison due to my, at times, quite aggressive defence of this Little Big Coathanger.
And now, as the government-appointed Custodian of the Bigs, I’m making it official. Mini Harbour Bridge – Big Thing. Take that, Tucker Wankmann!
The Biggest Little Bridge in the World
The Mini Harbour Bridge is an astonishing 60 metres wide, making it one of the largest roadside attractions in the southern hemisphere. Built in 1988 to celebrate Australia’s bicentenary, the undersized overpass was plonked in front of a car dealership to coincide with the release of some snazzy new Ford Falcon wagons.
Funnily enough, what began as a publicity stunt has long outlasted Ford Australia, who shut down in 2016. I know that because I looked it up on Wikipedia, not because I’m some hyper-masculine car buff or anything.
The Mini Harbour Bridge has become one of the most beloved tourist attractions in the country, with only Ayer’s Rock and the Big Potato welcoming more visitors. It provides a little bit of glamour to the residents of Fairfield, Smithfield and Wetherill Park who can’t afford the train fare to see the real thing.
As an added bonus, the Bridge Climb over this version takes a lot less time. And anyone who doesn’t find the view out over the Princes Highway beautiful is a troll, as far as I’m concerned. Hopefully a scaled-down troll, to go with the scaled-down Bridge – ha!
Wheels and Deals!
Swagger beneath the monument to find the sprawling Peter Warren Automotive, where the prices are as small as the Bridge is big. So enamoured was I by the Bridge that I allowed myself to be talked into buying a shiny new Ram Warlock with extended warranty and something to do with the engine or the batteries or something like that.
I got a great deal, but unfortunately I’ve never learnt to drive, so I dumped it in the nearby Hungry Jack’s car park and caught the train home. I left the keys in the ignition, so I guess you can have it next time you go to see the Mini Harbour Bridge.
Now, where’s the scaled-down version of the Sydney Opera House?
Call me Bigs Bardot. Some weeks ago – never mind how long precisely – having little or no money in my Dolce & Gabbana clutch purse, and nothing particular to interest me on Netflix during those dark days between the final episode of Squid Game and the premiere of Tiger King 2, I thought I would ride my super-cute carnation pink Vespa about a little and see some oversized roadside attractions.
It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation, but mainly it’s just totally fun to hang out with giant bugs and huge bits of fruit and stuff like that.
There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair through the Land of the Bigs when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke. And so it felt when, as I sauntered along the waterfront in Nelson Bay, I happened upon a tiny alien silhouetted against the endless ocean.
He did not feel the wind, or smell the salt air. He only stood, staring at the horizon, with the marks of some inner crucifixion and woe deep in his face. He was also wearing the most adorable knitted cardigan!
Anyway, long story short, Captain Gordon had spent most of his life searching for a great white whale. It consumed him, and he couldn’t eat or sleep until he found this massive mammal. The little alien seemed to be able to drink, though, because he was slurring his words and alternating between throwing punches and trying to kiss me.
“Gordon,” I told him, clutching his furry hand. “Your life’s journey has come to an end, because the Shoal Bay Whale is just up the road. We can even get some jalapeño poppers on the way.”
“Bigs,” he spouted, “The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run.”
“So that’s a no to the jalapeño poppers, then?”
The early bird gets the sperm whale
It’s not easy doubling a boozed-up Melmacian on a Vespa, especially when everything was ‘Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents’ beds, unerringly I rush’ this and ‘Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I’d strike the sun if it insulted me’ that. We were going to see a massive marine creature, so I didn’t get the porpoise of his ramblings.
Fortunately, after passing The Big Red Bug and Bakker’s Big Peach, we soon arrived at the Whale. I was immediately smitten by his roguish good looks and cheeky smile. He’s built onto a trailer, meaning this oversized fish can splash around wherever he wants to.
It was all a bit much for Gordon, though. The Nelson Bay Whale swam before him as the monomaniac incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some furry little aliens feel eating in them, till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung. Or something like that.
Gordon piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole alien species; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it. It was a clear breach of the ‘Do Not Climb’ sign.
“To the last I grapple with thee,” Gordon whaled. “From hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee.” The poor little fella had obviously had too much excitement for one day, so I popped him on the Vespa and, thankfully, he fell asleep on the way home.
The next morning Gordon had forgotten all about his desperate search for the white whale and had decided his newest lifelong obsession was to see the Big Apple Pie. Yes, it’s quite a story, and I only am escaped alone to tell thee about the extraordinary Moby Big.
Put your hands together for these funky fingers, which seem to be emerging from Playa Brava’s golden sand. For some reason they really grabbed my attention, but I can’t put my finger on why!
This world-famous work of art is also known as Los Dedos (The Fingers), or Hombre Emergiendo a la vida (Man Emerging into Life). If your Spanish is a bit rusty, you can just call it The Hand.
The dashing digits were installed by Chilean artist Mario Irarrázabal during the summer of 1982, and represent a swimmer drowning in Uruguay’s ocean. So, not quite as light-hearted as the Big Fish or Choco Frigideira! They formed part of Punta del Este’s fist-annual International Meeting of Modern Sculpture in the Open Air, and ended up on the beach because there simply wasn’t space elsewhere.
Mario really knuckled down and completed his work in just six days. After thumbing his nose at the competition, I assume he spent the rest of summer guzzling mate and dancing in the town’s many nightclubs.
Made from concrete and plastic (not high fiverglass), the three-metre marvels have been reinforced with steel bars. As you can see, Mario nailed it!
The other exhibits have, sadly, been lost to time. La Mano, however, proved so popular that it was recreated in Madrid, Venice and Chile’s Atacama Desert. Mario didn’t palm the job off to other, either – he did it single-handedly.
You can find more giant hands in Sacramento, USA, and there’s also a similar, unauthorised reproduction in Puerto Natales. Sounds like the Argentinians were giving Uruguay the finger with that one!
I would’ve offered to give La Mano a manicure, but I couldn’t find 15 litres of nail polish ?
With a sassy attitude, girl-next-door good looks and legion of rabid fans, Aranha Grande is fast becoming the most popular arthropop-star in the Americas. The leggy luminary has wowed the New World with hit songs such as God is a Spider, Dangerous Spider, 34+35=Spider and Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m A Spider.
Not a whole lot of variety, sure, but pretty good for an overgrown arachnid.
Residing within Beto Carrero World, the largest fun park in South America and most popular tourist attraction in Southern Brasil, Ms Grande is far from the only Big Thing in Penha. A giant gorilla, sizeable snake and colossal cowboy hat (with boots!) are also on display in the park. O Milkshake Grande is nearby, too, if you’re thirsty for more Bigs.
Forever on the cutting edge of fashion, this diva is know to change her look regularly. Until recently she presented herself as a jet-black tarantula, but now sports a trendy orange tinge. I guess she orders her outfits on the World Wide Web.
Recently the paparazzi have snapped her with a rugged country boy from the Aussie outback. No, not me, the incomparable Itsy Bitsy. Honestly, please stop spidering on them. They deserve their privacy!
Apparently many visitors to the park mistake Aranha for a similarly-named human pop star, and are disappointed to find an enormous eight-legged freak rather than a diminutive American starlet. Oh well, let me know when that other famous Grande can catch and devour a mouse!
This extra-large lizard might be cold-blooded, but he’ll warm your heart! La Iguana Grande lives in front of a mini-market a few ki-monitors outside the delightful village of Puerto Viejo, where the tequila sunrises and turquoise sunsets seem to last forever.
Known as Iguana Azalea to the locals due her dream of being a rap-tile singer, this big bopper really is one in chameleon. The Iguana is wonderfully detailed and surprisingly well-built for such a remote Big Thing. Many of the villagers bow before him before entering the shop and after exiting. So if you ig-wanna fit in, you should do the same. Oh, I skink I’m in love!
La Iguana Grande may be a cool Caribbean creature, but please beware! He has a rather prickly personality, so make sure you say please-ard before asking for a photo.
Puerto Viejo is an ocean paradise that draws in travellers and wanderers from all corners of the globe. They don’t all come for the Iguana, of course. There are bamboo bars full of Latin dancers, long coastal bike tracks, and golden beaches crawling with sloths. I spent several months learning the forbidden dance of the bachata, and learning to accept myself. It’s Puerto-tally awesome!
Oh, you want more-itius Big Things from around the world? Here’s a really stat-huge one hidden within the gorgeous Black River Gorges National Park, on the island paradise of Mauritius!
The world’s biggest statue of Hindu goddess Durga took six years to complete and lives above the pristine Grand Bassin crater-lake. As the official Big Thing consultant to the Mauritian Government, I oversaw the closing stages of construction in 2017. As you can see, Durga’s beauty radiated through all those metal poles. Thankfully, there’s nothing scaffolding her back now!
The 33-metre icon was unveiled later that year to much fanfare. Thousands of Hindus and Hin-don’ts joined together for a multi-day celebration of this a-Maa-zing sculpture. Some were there for religious reasons, but I assume most were Big Thing fanatics there for a Ghandi. Sorry, I mean a gander!
Weighing in at a svelte 400 tonnes, Durga Maa is accompanied by a handsome lion to symbolise her courage. Mangal Mahadev, a similarly-sized statue of Shiva, is Bigging it up just a short stroll away. There are also a number of other enormous effigies of gods lurking around the park.
These Hindu figures are in the middle of nowhere, so you might want to hire a rental karma for the trip. And don’t worry, whilst Durga is obviously armed, she’s not dangerous!
If this big guy was any happier, we’d have to call him a smile-adon! As the fearless guardian of the remote town of Puerto Natales, The Big Mylodon has taken over a round-a-bout near the waterfront. Just follow your extincts to find him.
Mylodons swaggered across Patagonia’s frozen tundra 10,000 years ago. They didn’t swagger too quickly, though, because they were basically giant sloths with kangaroo tails. Twice as tall as a human, they were covered in delightfully shaggy hair to cope with the rather Chile weather. Just look at this big guy – he’s like a young, foppish Hugh Grant!
A lovely chap named Hermann Eberhard discovered the remains of a mylodon near Puerto Natales in 1895. Human skeletons, along with bits and bobs from other prehistoric creatures, were also found. A smaller version of this statue lives in this cave, which is 15 miles-odons north of town. Don’t be slothful, because there’s nothing wrong with caving in to your desires to head out there.
Puerto Natales is best known nowadays for the nearby Torres del Paine National Park. It’s home to glaciers, icebergs and some wonderful hiking trails for the adventurous. I enjoyed a multi-day stroll with some like-minded nature lovers, and it certainly wasn’t a Paine in the bum!
Set your alarm clock, because they’re best seen at mylo-dawn!
He gets knocked down, but he gets up again You’re never gonna keep him down!
The Brasileiros are gutter-ly in love with Big Things, and this striking stud was right up my alley. In fact, I was totally bowled over by this perky pinhead!
The four-metre-tall Tenpin lives outside the delightful Boliche Beer House in Curitibanos, Santa Catarina, where cerveja and sensational service flow freely. To a stirring soundtrack of funk carioca favourites, I enjoyed two games of bowling for a very reasonable price, and found the pão de queijo to be absolutely scrumptious. Yes, I was cheesed by the food!
Curitibanos is a sleepy regional city that’s never going to rival Rio de Janeiro as a tourist destination, but is worth visiting to experience everyday life in southern Brasil. But who am I kidding, the highlight for me was meeting this bright white delight!
It was a frame I couldn’t spend more time with this in-ten-se individual and I was bowling my eyes out when I had to leave. Honestly, though, I’ll spare you the details ???
Alright, alright, I promise I won’t make any more lane jokes, so it’s time for me to split!
Koalas aren’t endangered in scenic Port Stephens, with a pair of massive marsupials lazing about beside the main road into town. The Big Koalas fiercely guard the entrance to Oakvale Wildlife Park, where visitors kan kuddle a kangaroo or kiss an ekidna.
All those animals are regular-sized, though, so who cares.
Known as Blinky and Bill, these silver studs are around 150 centimetres tall. Not massive by Big Thing standards, of course – not even as large as Doonside’s version – but pretty big all the same. You certainly wouldn’t want a burly gang of koalas this size turning up at your front door to steal your eucalyptus leaves.
Both are e-koaly beautiful and easy to spot, living abreast a set of billboards. These signs are quickly becoming more famous than that one over in Hollywood, earning Salt Ash the nickname of koaLa-La Land.
There are plenty of celebrities around, with the Big Red Bug, Big Peach and the Shoal Bay Whale all living in the area. All deserve a star on the Big Thing Walk of Fame.
Sadly, one of these Big Koalas suffers from chlamydia. Try to guess which one!
Movin’ to Anna Bay Gonna eat a lot of peaches I’m movin’ to Anna Bay I’m gonna eat me a lot of peaches Movin’ to Anna Bay Gonna eat a lot of peaches Movin’ to Anna Bay The Big Red Bug also likes peaches
Bakker’s Big Peach is on a stand She was put there by a man But is now a little rundown If I had my little way I’d hug the Big Peach every day Sun-soaked beauty’s been allowed to fade
I’m movin’ to Anna Bay I’m gonna eat me a lot of peaches Movin’ to Anna Bay I’m gonna eat me a lot of peaches Movin’ to Anna Bay Gonna eat me a lot of peaches Movin’ to Anna Bay The Shoal Bay Whale is a fan of peaches
Bakker’s Peach is so lovely I can’t resist Bulbous and brave, she must be kissed She is my perfect woman I asked her if she wanted to come for a ride But my car’s too small for her to fit inside So I cooked her and ate her in a pie
Bakker’s Big Peach, is the peach for me Bakker’s Big Peach, visit her she’s free Bakker’s Big Peach, is the peach for me Bakker’s Big Peach, visit her she’s free
Port Stephens has been invaded by the largest pest in the world – and the locals couldn’t be happier! The Big Red Bug stands two metres tall and can be found rocking out at 419 Lemon Tree Passage Road.
With his cocksure swagger and cheeky smile, this is one roadside attraction with a ’tude just as big as he is. The only thing he’s missing is a couple of legs, because he only has four. It bugs the question, what happened to the rest?
Beetle by beetle, the Big Red Bug has burrowed his way into the community. As the mascot of Complete Pest Services, this not-so-creepy crawly is leading the battle against ticks, termites and spiders. Hopefully he’ll leave the nearby Ossie the Mossie alone!
The Big Red Bug is certainly active, and was built onto a trailer so he can take day trips. Until recently he lived in an industrial estate in nearby Lemon Tree Passage, and I was on the verge of tears when I turned up and he was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately a big-hearted tradie settled me down with a warm embrace, and pointed me towards the Bug’s current residence.
If not for Massoud, I mite not have found this critter at all.
I don’t think this red rascal will be leaving his current home anytime soon, because he looks snug as a bug in a rug. He’s also within flying distance of his favourite food, the scrumptious Big Peach. You’ll never get sick of his ant-ics, so stop by for an insect-ion!
He’s supple, shiny and perfectly proportioned – but enough about the inimitable Bigs Bardot! We’re here to talk about the scrumptious Big Apple of Darkes Forest.
Whilst he’s not the biggest of the many apples south of Sydney – that honour goes to the Tallong Apple – this red delicious is a real man of the people. He’s super close to the ground and perfectly positioned for a hug and a kiss. I can tell you from experience that he’s open to both.
As crimson as the flame trees that decorate the Illawarra, the Big Apple is truly the maça of his domain. He’s a great representative of the nearby Glenbernie Orchard
Owned by the good folks at Darkes Cider, the apple lurks wistfully in the car park in front of their cellar door. Say hello before popping in to try their wide range of handcrafted alcoholic beverages. The good news is, you might be seeing two Big Apples as you stumble back out.
Unfortunately my little alien friend Gordon overindulged on the honey mead, and I was forced to escort him from the premises before a burly biker could deliver a swift beating. He spent a teary moment with the apple where he expressed his undying affection for the fruit, before taking a swing at me and passing out.
Needless to say, it’s sparkling apple juice for Gordon from now on.
We need to discuss the true star of the 2000 Sydney Olympics… or should that be discus? The stunning, circular Discobolus lies within the shadows of the Olym-big stadium, and serves to link the Aussie sporting extravaganza with the ancient Greek games.
Well, it’s certainly a more family-friendly option than a bunch of naked gentlemen wrestling each other.
Crafted by Australian artist Robert Owen, Discobolus represents an ancient Greek discus that’s been tossed into the outback, before transitioning into a CD-ROM. Back when Discobolus was unveiled, that was the ultimate symbol of modern life. These days he’d probably be shaped like a set of AirPods.
This is a seriously impressive work of art, with details that can only be appreciated when the light hits the disc at just the right angle. The names of dozens of people who helped make Discobolus a reality – including yours truly – adorn his adorable abdomen.
Here’s to those who believed building a statue of a giant circle was more than just a pi in the sky idea!
Welcome to Discworld
My first encounter with this not-so-compact disc came when I was little more than an infant, ‘neath a blood-red sky just moments before the Opening Ceremony of the Sydney Games. As Nikki Webster’s understudy, I had just received the devastating news that she hadn’t been struck down by food poisoning, and my dreams of taking her place as the young Kylie Minogue had been dashed.
I was crushed, but through the tears I spotted what appeared to be a silver spaceship. He certainly was out of this world and, in my darkest moment, it was the dashing disc that guided me through the minefield of my prepubescent emotions. Standing beneath him 21 years later, the bond we forged was stronger than ever.
Whilst reflecting upon that turbulent period, I noticed a waifish lass also admiring Discobolus. With blonde hair cascading past her shoulders, the girl was beautiful yet consumed by regret. I recognised her immediately. My eyes met Nikki Webster’s, and we drew together beneath the monstrous discus.
“You know what, Bigs?” Nikki Webster whispered. “Neither of us should have played the part of Young Kylie Minogue. It should’ve been Discobolus.”
I nodded knowingly, ending our decades-long rivalry. The moment was bittersweet. A few minutes of shy awkwardness followed, before Nikki Webster cut through the silence.
“You want to sing Strawberry Kisses with me, right?”
“Nikki Webster,” I blubbered, taking her dainty hand in mine, “I thought you’d never ask!”
Please rise for Her Royal Wetness, Queany the Platypus! The 500kg mammalian monarch rests regally by the Queanbeyan River, ruling the hearts of locals with a strong yet webbed fist.
Queany is the crowning achievement of Neil Dickinson and ascended to the throne in 2016. She was designed to put Queanbeyan – which has long stood in Canberra’s shadow – on the map. She’s certainly made that platypossible!
“We were originally going to do something quite modest and it just developed,” Dicko told a fascinated reporter from the ABC. “Platypus are in the river here, so it was quite exciting.”
I don’t know the bill for Queany’s construction, but I’m sure it was mono-ex-tremely reasonable. Hopefully Dicko gets royalties from her success.
Queany has a massive personality that belies her compact proportions. Whilst much bigger than a real-life platypus, she’s only the size of a large dog and would struggle to climb upon the nearby Giant Chair. Ah, now her Napoleon complex makes sense!
Despite presenting herself as a strong, independent woman, this ravishing royal seems to be forever looking for her King. She enjoyed a whirlwind romance with Morty the Snail, sending the notoriously rabid Queanbeyan paparazzi into a spin, but the two decided they were better off as friends.
It’s probably for the best. We all saw what happened when Prince Harry shacked up with a commoner, and they’re the same species.
I could gush over Queany forever, but I’d be splashing into platytudes!
Hey gang, I have some bad news. I’ve been shrunk down to a fraction of my normal height! Just look at me sitting here on a normal, regular-sized chair.
Tee-hee, only kidding! I’m still as Big as I always was, it’s just that I’m perched upon the immense Googong Giant Chair. Although I must say that being smaller would have its perks, such as Big Things seeming even huger than they already are!
This stupendous structure is more than three metres tall, and carved from particularly sturdy wood. There’s enough room for an entire family to snuggle in for a happy snap. I’m estranged from the other members of the Bardot clan, so brought my best friend Gordon Shumway along instead. He thought it was one of mankind’s greatest seats of civil engineering!
Chairing is caring
The Chair is the beating heart of the modern planned city of Googong, with the locals lined up around the block to feel its warm embrace. But it wasn’t always this way, as I discovered several years ago whilst enjoying a light brunch with Googong mayor Derryn Wong.
“Bigs,” Derryn sighed, as he he listlessly stirred his lemon sorbet. “I have built such a wonderful town, in such an incredible part of the country, but nobody wants to move here. The houses are empty, the streets are windswept. Bigs, I could lose everything.”
“Derryn,” I replied, before pausing for dramatic effect, “you know there’s only one thing that can transform Googong into the world-class city we both know it should be.”
Derryn thought for a moment, peering out towards the hazy hills. The lemon sorbet was stirred once again, before the mayor leapt to his feet.
“I should build a Big!” he exclaimed.
“Yes Derryn, what a wonderful idea,” I replied, allowing him to have his moment in the spotlight. Then, just as fast as he had risen, Derryn slumped back into his seat. The poor old lemon sorbet was stirred once more.
“But what should I build? I have so many ideas when it comes to cost-efficient housing, but you’re the expert on Big Things. Bigs, oh Bigs, what should I build for my fellow Googongians?”
“Only you can decide that,” I whispered, clutching Derryn’s hand to both reassure him and to prevent him from harassing the lemon sorbet any longer. “Just make sure it’s something that supports this vibrant, growing community. Something they’ll be comfortable with. A feature that will, in time, just feel like part of the furniture.”
“I get what you’re saying,” chirped Derryn, before winking at me and racing out of the cafe with his chair held aloft. Fortunately I paid for both the chair and the sorbet, so the cafe owners weren’t left short.
And that, my friends, is the story of how Googong mayor Derryn Wong – a man with all the subtlety of of a sledgehammer – built the Giant Chair.
Don’t be sluggish if you want to see the world’s largest snail, just escar-go to beautiful Queanbeyan. There you’ll find shy, reclusive Morty hiding in the town’s sensory garden. And despite his relaxed demeanour, he’s fast becoming a local legend!
Artist Neil Dickinson has worked wonders on this sheepish slowpoke. Morty’s handsome head is quirky and exotic, yet cheerful and comforting. He is at once so shocking enough to stop passersby in their tracks, and completely at one with the lovingly-maintained gardens. He’s even snailor-made for sitting on, so giddy-up for a fun photo!
Morty – named after his home at Ray Morton Park – cost just $10,000 to bring into this world. That leaves me to moll-ask myself why there aren’t more supersized snails around.
Queanbeyan Council must agree with me, because Queany the Platypus lives right around the corner from Morty. The Googong Giant Chair isn’t far away, either, and I recommend you go and seat it!
Spend enough slime with Morty and he really comes out of his shell, proving to be a charming and – at times – roguish gent. And, like all of us, this bashful Big is eternally chasing true love… just at a more sedate pace than some!
“Morty is a modest chap, he just needs to be loved,” Neil told a pencil-pusher from the Queanbeyan Age. “He’s a nice fellow, quite lovely and I hope everyone embraces him and he becomes part of the landscape.
“We were looking to create something that was connected to the sensory garden. We started off with an organic, abstract, shell-like form and it just evolved from there. “The response has been overwhelming. It’s good, very positive.”
Big Girls don’t cry, but I’m man enough to admit I was reduced to a blubbering mess after an encounter with this fifteen-foot female. Not even a few jars of homemade chutney and pair of happy pants from the nearby Eumundi Markets could settle me down.
Officially known as For You, she’s the work of local artist Meg Geer, who installed the Big Girl in 2018. This thoughtful piece is dedicated to those who have lived through the horrors of war. It is with the innocence of children, Meg argues, that those of us who have lived peaceful lives offer up our gratitude.
The Big Girl features a timeless, minimalist aesthetic that allows one to focus solely on her message. Nobody can accuse her of being two-faced – in fact, she doesn’t have a face at all!
With such innocence and naiveté, perhaps the Big Girl needs an older roadside attraction to guide her as she blossoms into a woman. The Wo-Man, perhaps? Or maybe the nearby Pete the Pelican could take her under his wing!
When I was a child myself, my stepfather and several of my more boisterous step-siblings would regularly call me a big girl. It was traumatising at the time, of course, but since my dalliance with the Big Girl I wear such comments as a badge of honour. I, Bigs Bardot, am a big girl and proud of it.
Big Girls just want to have fun!
As I was fraternising with the Big Girl, an acne-riddled youth rode past on his bicycle and, in a squeaky voice that sends shivers down my spine to this day, yelled, “Mate, if you love that statue so much, why don’t you marry it?”
It took all my resolve not to push the prepubescent punk off his pushbike for disrespecting this Big. Instead, I counted backwards from 10 as my therapist taught me and calmly replied, “I would love to marry her, but it wouldn’t be recognised under Australia’s antiquated legal system.”
By that time the youth was long gone, but I think I proved my point.
Alright, stop your hooting! Let’s get the obvious out of the way – the Big Powerful Owl looks more like the Big Powerful Male Appendage. But don’t let that scare you away from this eight-metre avian, who was erected in 2011.
The Owl was pumped out by Bruce Armstrong and cast from steel, hard wood and lots of nuts, based on a design doodled on a napkin. There was a bit of a balls-up during construction and the cost expanded to $400,000. I certainly hope Bruce didn’t get stiffed on his share.
Oi, I’ve already told you to stop laughing. Seriously, grow up!
The powerful owl is the largest species in Australia, so Bruce depicted it as a scrotum… sorry, I mean a totem, watching over the land. Maybe he’s the dong lost cousin of Darwin’s Chinute Chinute. The Owl, that is, not Bruce.
Tragically, local wang members have been known to deface this regal creature, causing thousands of dollars worth of damage. He was even pulled off pubic display for a while. A security camera has been installed nearby, and hopefully these miscreants will soon be given the shaft.
Right, that’s your last warning. Any more giggling and I’m going to fly the coop.
I was wet with excitement when I met the Owl, and it wasn’t just from the rain. His length, girth and rigidity were almost more than I could handle. In fact, he’s nearly as much fun to play with as Alan Davidson’s Balls.
Cauliflowers are the sexiest and most sophisticated of vegetables, so of course there’s a massive one living in the trendy inner-city suburb of Waterloo. The Big Cauliflower lurks above the historic Cauliflower Hotel, where it’s happy flower all the time!
The Hotel dates back to 1862, but the vast veggie isn’t that old. In fact, he looks quite fresh! The original publican, a Mr George Rolfe, built his pub with money he made from selling cauliflowers. He painted one on the side of the building, and the name stuck.
These days the pub is a hip and happenin’ place with an extensive wine selection and mouthwatering modern American food. It’s the sort of place salad-vertising executives love. Nothing, however, overshadows the real star attraction – the Big Cauliflower. He has a good head on him and looks very much like the real deal.
The Big Cauliflower isn’t much of an attention-seeker, and is content to sit up there on the roof, people-watching. It makes it difficult to take a photo with him, but after dodging traffic I was veget-able to grab one! I’ll hang it on my kitchen wall, next to my snaps with the Big Potato and the Big Pumpkin.
Cauliflower Power!
At the conclusion of the photo shoot I swaggered into the pub was and gleefully ordered a cup of their famous cauliflower beer. The barman looked at me as if I’d beamed down from space and told me they didn’t have anything of the sort, and never had.
A couple of tough-looking tradies with cauliflower ears even suggested that my kind weren’t welcome there. Discrimination against those with a penchant for oversized produce is alive and well in Sydney, unfortunately.
Not to be intimidated, I ordered a cup of Resch’s and dunked a generously-proportioned cauliflower in it. The concoction was lumpy, chunky, and smelled like a homeless man’s underwear, but I forced it down. The tradies soon revised their opinion of me, cheering me on as I downed cup after cup of lukewarm cauliflower beer.
I ended up becoming physically ill and was forcefully ejected by a burly security guard, but it was worth it because I wasn’t going to let them think they’d won.
Set your heart to ‘swoon’ and say hello to a big, burly bloke who’s good with his hands and could build a rat trap out of some paper clips and a broken zip-tie.
Oh no, not me! I call Hire-a-Hubby to change my toilet paper. I’m talking about the hunky Hardware Man, who I was lucky enough to have a drilling encounter with during a trip to Wollongong.
Despite boasting a chiseled physique, the Hardware Man’s proportions are endearingly odd. His bits and bobs get larger as you head south, meaning he has a rugged pinhead and massive boots. But you know what they say about a man with big shoes – he must have big feet, tee-hee!
This bearded beauty stands proudly by the busy Princes Highway, saw it’s quite a feat to get a snap with him. To achieve a decent angle grinder, I had to set my camera up on one side of the road and then dodge traffic to get near the hulking hunk. It’s easy to screw up a photo op like this, but I think I nailed it. As you can imagine, I was in quite high spirit levels when it worked out!
Just quietly, I think he’d be a good match for Wo-Man, because they both like showing off their tools – and I’m not talking about the Big Axe!
Big Man, Bigger Savings!
The Hardware Man is the mascot for the legendary shop of the same name, which has been supplying the South Coast with hammers and nails for over 50 years. And yes, they do free pool water testing in-store!
Feeling it would be rude not to pop in to say hello, I sequestered away into the voluminous yellow building. Four hours later I emerged with a wheelbarrow overflowing with safety goggles, a circular saw, needle-nosed pliers, industrial-strength paint stripper, some sort of chainsaw thing and 15 litres of weedkiller. What can I say; my penchant for impulse purchases is matched only by the Hardware Man’s extensive range and competitive prices.
I hate to hammer the point, but Hardware Man is incredible! Oh, and if anyone needs a whole bunch of quality DIY equipment that I’ll never use, drop me a line.
I’m a handsome teapot There’s no doubt Here is my handle, here is my spout When I find a Big Thing Then I shout Stop the car and let me out!
Although I’m not one to spill the tea, I must say that this ‘pot is really brew-tiful! You can find her in front of Bygone Beautys, which houses the world’s largest private teapot collection.
There are more than 5,500 regular-sized jugs inside, from around the world and across the centuries. None, however, are as breathtaking as the tea-lightful Big Thing outside.
Just look at that bunny perched on top of the ‘pot! The whimsical wabbit is straight out of Alice in Wonderland, and recalls the innocence and curiosity of youth. And don’t worry, he won’t be late for a very important date with your heart!
The whole complex is straight out of a fairy tale. Resting peacefully in a tree-lined street in the majestic mountain village of Leura, Bygone Beautys is only minutes from magnificent lookouts. There’s nowhere more inviting on a frosty winter’s afternoon.
The museum serves a scrumptious range of teas, sandwiches and deserts to please all palates. I allowed myself a moment of decadence by wallowing in the rich tapestry of a cup of Turkish Apple Infusion tea and a generous serving of bread and butter pudding with whipped cream.
It probably went straight to my hips but, then again, you only live once.
The theatrical service so enthralled me that I managed to stop peeking out the window at the Big Teapot every five minutes. I even considered treating myself to the famous apple pie, but then realised such an action would likely upset a nearby Big Thing.
Even though the skies were a little Earl Grey when I visited, I couldn’t miss the opportuni-tea to see this prodigious ‘pot. Don’t kettle for second best!
You’ll go nuts for these king-sized kernels, which loom large over the National Arboretum Canberra and double as a playground. Just make sure to behave yourself, or you’ll end up in the naughty acorner!
The Pod Playground burst open on June 22, 2013, and I’m not oaking when I say it’s nutting short of incredible. Not only are there all sorts of slippery dips and swings to explore, but there’s also a collection of burly banksia pods in which to hide from the cold, dark world and the ravages of time.
Seedless to say, the Big Acorns offer a nice, peaceful spot foresting up after hunting Big Things all day. The Mushroom, Coins, Moths and Thorny Devil are all ex-tree-meley close.
For another attraction that’ll ex-seed your expectations, try the Big Pine Cones.
Unfortunately the weather was rather inclement when I visited, and I braved a violent electrical storm to bring you these photos. You may call me a hero, but I can honestly think of no better way to leave this world than having my head explode from the power of 10 million vaults whilst sheltered within the bowels of a Big. Ah, a boy can dream!
You probably expect me to wrap this up with acorny joke, but that’s not my style!
For a ’room with a view, you can’t beat this monstrous mushie! She sprouted up beside the Belconnen Fresh Food Market in 1998, with a well-appointed playground beneath her colossal cap. Just be warned that, with so many slippery dips and see-saws, there’s not mushroom inside for adults.
With a diameter of almost 16 metres, the Giant Mushroom is the grandest Big Thing in the ACT. She could do with a new coat of paint, however, and it can be difficult to grab a photo with her because she’s tucked away amongst the markets.
A downpour added to my difficulty, but it was a fun adventure to dodge the cyclone to snap a photo! And maybe all that rain will see her grow even larger!
It wasn’t all swings and roundabouts when I visited, however, because the playground was sadly closed for undisclosed reasons. Otherwise I would’ve been able to scurry up her stalk, peek through her windows, and have all sorts of fun-gus.
Oh well, I found a nice toadstool to hunker down on as I admired this Big. A few curious shoppers asked me what I was doing, and I assured them I wasn’t stalking the Mushroom. To a person they agreed this is a mush-see tourist attraction!
The Giant Mushroom was the star attraction Belco until 2011, when the Big Powerful Owl was installed just a few hundred metres away. The Big Acorns and Big Thorny Devil are also nearby. Oh, and it’s also a great place to meat for vegetarians (which is a joke that absolutely nobody who reads this will get).
I could spend all day saying how much I love this ‘shroom, but don’t want to get mushy!
Love is in the air, everywhere in Canberra town Love is in the air, no native bird has a frown And I don’t know feather I’m being foolish Don’t know feather I’m being wise But Big Galah love’s something I believe in Beak-ause they’re making out in front of my eyes
As a hopeless romantic who aches to discover love, the allure of Australia’s most passionate Big Things proved irresistible. The Big Kissing Galahs, on the northern outskirts of Canberra, are forever perched on the precipice of a tender pashing sesh. Will they, won’t they? With my heart racing and palms sweating, I had to find out!
Unveiled at a galah event in 2013, the lascivious lovers were the passion project of artists Bev Hogg and Elizabeth Patterson. The Galahs mark the entrance to a modern planned community, and supposedly represent the concept of new families nesting in the area. Well, that’s better than the concept of new families pooing all over cars. Eight years on, their lust burns brighter than ever.
Wearing a freshly-pressed tunic and festive hat, I approached the bawdy birds to see if there was room for me, cocka-too. I leant in to join the smooching session, as every bird in every tree in the world sung a symphony for this moment. Alas, as has happened so many times in my life, I was shunned by those I loved the most, and the shattered shards of my heart were scattered on the spring breeze.
Coming up: More galah-rious jokes!
Fortunately my alien chum Gordon Shumway was on hand to pick me up off the ground. Not only did he provide me with the consolation prize of a few quick pecks, but he later took me to Fyshwick so I could pick out some sparklers. Sure, they weren’t the fireworks I’d hoped to see, but it was a nice gesture.
I visited the Galahs briefly on my way out of Canberra, and became ensconced in the sweet melancholy of what they have, and what I fear I shall never find. However, even though they crushed my soul, I’m happy for their happiness. If things go the way I think they will, expect some little Big Galahs in about nine months time!
Please note: The incubation period for galahs is approximately 25 days, however I changed this to nine months for humorous effect. Also, it’s unlikely the Big Kissing Galahs will breed as a little birdie told me they’re both male… although he may have been a lyrebird.
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!
Everything’s going pear-shaped in the nation’s capital, and that’s just how they like it! Please welcome this incom-pear-able bunch. Officially known as Pear (version No.2) despite there being seven of the fruity fellows, they were created by George Baldessin in 1973.
The Pears rest enticingly at the entrance to the National Gallery of Australia, and appear to be scattered around as if as if displayed in a fruit bowl. Unsurprisingly famished art-lovers often attempt to eat them. Jokingly, I hope, because they’re made from steel that’s designed to rust into the brown colour of an Aussie pear.
Each swollen sweetheart was first molded from polystyrene, before being cast in two halves, sliced horizontally. Once completed, they were skewered onto individual pipes that had been plunged into the cold Canberran dirt. It’s for the best, because there’s a 110 pear-cent chance someone would fruit-nap them otherwise.
Whilst they were originally designed with leaves, these were never attached and currently reside within the gallery. I guess the artiste decided to they needed nothing but the pear necessities.
Curiously, Baldessin was part of an art movement designed to resist the Americanisation of Aussie art. Our Big Things, as much as we hate to admit it, are directly influenced by similar structures in the US, so poor ol’ Georgie boy was in fact contributing to the one thing he hated more than anything else.
The realisation must’ve been un-pear-able for him!
As for the names of the individual bulging beauties? I asked several employees of the gallery, but was unable to establish the facts. Fortunately, an impish tough guy who was hanging out in the park informed me they’re named Pears Akerman, Pear Danes, Selma Pear, Peary Bickmore, Ric Pear and two members of pop rock group the Pear Naked Ladies.
Although maybe he had simply succumbed to pear-pressure and was just after a cheap laugh.
Oh don’t mind me, I’m just hanging out with my good mate Fiddy Cent. No, not the hip hop luminary, which is a good thing because I don’t need to get into another gang turf war. I’m talking about the Big Coins, who currency live outside the Royal Australian Mint.
The Coins certainly offer bang for your buck, because there are eight of them. The leftmost disc doesn’t count, because it simply signifies the year the Mint was opened – 1965. The rest represent each of Australia’s decimal coins, including the 1c and 2c pieces, which were discontinued in 1992. Hopefully they never change the lineup.
I’m not going to mints my words – the resemblance to the real coins is uncanny. A quick look at the 2c, 20c and $1 coins brings memories of the Big Frilled Neck Lizard, Big Platypus and Big Kangaroo flooding back. You can bank on being impressed!
The mint has produced more than 15 billion coins since opening, and is also a favourite excursion destination for Aussie schoolkids. After watching a thrilling documentary on the history of decimal currency, it’s possible to mint your own $1 coin for the bargain price of $3. Makes cents!
You’ll be drawn to these winged wonders like a moth to a flame! The Big Bogong Moths rest peacefully beside the Australian Institute for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies. Based on a design by indigenous artiste Jim Williams, and crafted by Matthew Harding, they celebrate the history of the local Ngunnawal people.
No, no, no, the Ngunnawal aren’t some sort of human-moth hybrid tribe, they simply revere bogongs – as we all should.
There are six monstrous moths, and the concrete cuties cemented their place in the hearts of Canberrans in 2001.
The Bogongs are best seen from the sky, but with drones banned in the area, I called up my good chum – and self-confessed Big Thing tragic – Scott Morrison, then-Prime Minister of Australia, to see if he could help out.
“Bigs, the preservation and recording of our wonderful Big Things and roadside attractions is the most important issue facing this country,” Scotty told me in a lengthy and, at times, rambling conversation. “There’s a Black Hawk chopper out the back, do you want that?” “Sounds great, Scotty,” I replied. “Just as long as the propellers don’t mess up my hair!” “Anything for you, Bigs. Need a tank?” “Only if those nutters who claim the Big Banana is the oldest Big Thing keep it up!”
“Shouldn’t you be running the country rather than racing around admiring oversized roadside attractions with me?” I asked Scotty as we crawled through the Big Acorns together. “No, shouldn’t you be running the country rather than racing around admiring oversized roadside attractions with me?” Scotty quipped back.
Crumb one, crumb all to see a true work of tart – the Bilpin Apple Pie! The sweet treat rests on the back of an old truck, a few kilometres north of the sleepy township of Bilpin. He’s certainly not a short crust, in fact he’s quite tall!
My encounter with this homemade hottie proved to be a pie-opening experience. The round rascal is certainly odd, and the only Big I know of who drives a vehicle. He’s perfectly placed for a strudel-icious photo – and that’s pudding it mildly.
Honestly, anyone who says nice pies finish last doesn’t know what they’re on about.
Bilpin is famous for its apples, cider, and baked goodies, and is a lovely place to visit when the weather’s pie and warm. On the way through, you’ll also drive pastry the iconic Fruit Bowl. There are plenty of trees around, so Bilpin’s certainly not out in the dessert or anything.
If you prefer the apple without the pie, trot on over to Tallong or Yerrinbool. I’m sure you’ll find them both (red) delicious!
The Cottage Orchard Cafe is right next to the Pie, and the friendly owners serve a range of sweets and savouries to suit any palate. I like my pies stuffed with meat and swimming in tomato sauce, but decided to turnover a new leaf and test the local produce. My verdict? Un-quiche-lievable!
The Bilpin Apple Pie is worth baking the trip out to see, but the question remains; where’s the Big Dollop of Ice Cream to go with him?
He is a sk8er boy Big like the Potato boy He is good enough for me He has a pretty lace Takes up quite a lot of space You need to come down to Penny
Roll out the red carpet, because I rink this colossal clog is wheely exciting! The lone loafer lives atop the entrance to Penrith Skatel, and is a shoe-in to send you head-over-heels in love!
Widely regarded as the Pride of Penrith, the Big Roller Skate’s a ray of sunshine amidst a dingy industrial estate. If you’re looking to live out your Xanadu fantasies whilst having a new muffler installed, here’s your chance! The Skatel has heaps of great feet-ures and is tongues of fun.
The Skatel is economically priced, so even cheapskates can enjoy it. Unfortunately the centre was closed when I visited, however many people were already inline for selfies with the robust Roller.
I considered sneaker-ing over the fence, but feared being arrested and tossed into sole-itary confinement. I really didn’t heel like going through all of that.
If it’s wrong for a 38-year-old man to dress up as a pansy and dance in front of The Big Flower, then I don’t want to be right. What can I say – this daisy is drivin’ me crazy!
As tall as he is handsome, the Big Flower has a kitschy charm and refreshing innocence that’s granted him cult status on the Central Coast. For decades he’s welcomed visitors to to this subtropical paradise. One glance at that big, happy grin is enough to know that all is well in the world.
The plucky perennial smiles happily at drivers along the M1 freeway, so you don’t need to be a palm reader to find him. Simp-tree take the Ourimbah exit and there he is – I’m sure you can fig-ure it out!
After taking some happy snaps, spring into the Big Flower Nursery, which has thousands of flowers set out in neat rose. The staff dafodil-igently water them every day, and it’s quite a cycad-venture to roam through. The prices are quite reasonable, if you’re watching your frangi-pennies.
If you’re after a light ca-meal-ia, the on-site cafe offers a scrumptious selection of sweets. Apparently the scones are gerani-yum!
The Big Flower is not aloe-n on the Central Coast. Ploddy, Frilly, Lizzo and Daryl are just a few minutes drive south. Alan Davidson’s Balls are on the short drive into Gosford, where you’ll find the Big Poppies. They all hope to bank-seeya soon. Or should that be bloom?
I’m not dande-lyin’ when I say I wish the Big Flower was jas-mine!
Wood you like to visit a towering tomahawk and grab a load of quality kindling at the same time? I’ll go out on a limb and take that as a yes, so hatchet a plan to swing by Big Axe Firewood in beautiful Box Hill!
The Axe lives beside busy Windsor Road, ready to welcome anyone lumbering along. He’s behind a fence, so I asked the nice lady in the chop if I could take a few happy snaps. She said yes and didn’t even ask me to stump up cash for the honour!
As you can see, I was dressed pretty sharply for the occasion. Did I cut it as a big, rugged lumberjack in my flannel tunic? Chop chop with your answer, I don’t want to have to axe you again???
The Axe looks fantastic and is almost as large as his twin up north in Kew. His owners obviously love him, because he’s been freshly painted and the yard he’s in is well maintained. I just hope he doesn’t hook up with the Hardware Man and try to lop down the nearby Big Koala‘s tree!
For more information on this massive marvel without having to cleave home, log on to the Big Axe’s website. You could even send him a tree-mail. Don’t worry, there are no hackers on there!
The Big Axe is, quite surprisingly, single. He is, however, hoping to find a girlfriend on the popular dating app Timber.
Yes, I know, I never seem to age, but sadly the same can’t be said about the Big Strawberry. With peeling paint and a wilted stem, she’s one of the most pip-iful Bigs I’ve ever encountered. The strawberry emporium she promotes is closed, and a darkness has descended upon the village of Luddenham.
Honestly, if the Big Strawberry were any gloomier, she’d be a blueberry.
She once had such huge dreams. To appear in the video for Strawberry Kisses, marry the Big Pineapple, and be the first resident of Luddenham to finish high school. Just as I never realised my dreams of starring in Gilmore Girls, the Strawberry was forced to shoot for simpler goals. These days she’s in a poor state and has been dumped by the side of a road in western Sydney.
You may think this would cause a strawberry traffic jam, but no. It seems the good people of the west have forgotten about this fruit. Ex-straw-dinary, I know, but true.
To make matters worse, Koonoomoo’s Big Strawberry – the world’s largest – has gone on to become a darling of the Big Thing world. Even Gordon Shumway, who loves Bigs one and all, had to be coaxed out of the car with the promise of being able to eat a local cat.
I wanted to give the Strawberry a cuddle and tell her everything would be vine, but the height of the structure she’s perched on precluded that. That was the last straw for me!
Luddenites say that at night, when the wind blows softly, they can hear the Big Strawberry weeping. Hopefully her salad days will return.
What’s cute, cuddly, and widely beloved despite being considered daggy by zoomers? These three guys right here! Sardonic alien Gordon Shumway joined me on this visit to Featherdale Wildlife Park, where we met the un-bear-ably handsome Big Koala.
He’s not the biggest arboreal herbivorous marsupial around – that distinction goes to the Giant Koala in Dadswells Bridge, Victoria. But he’s 1.5 metres tall and made from high-koalaty materials, so I think he koalafies. Honestly, would you like to have a furr-ocious fellow that size slowly following you? Didn’t think so!
As a tiny zoo swamped by the endless banality of suburbia, Featherdale is a throwback to a more innocent time. The Big Koala fits in well, because he’s simple and homely. I assume he arrived around 1972, when the park opened, making him one of Australia’s oldest Bigs. There have been numerous attempts to turn the park into housing, but the locals fought against its claws-ure.
The Big Koala’s pouch-standing popularity proved inspirational to many nearby businesses. The Big Chook, Big Axe and Big Roller Skate are all within a short gallop.
Dozens of world-famous celebs such as Leo DiCaprio, Bobby De Niro, Fatty Vautin, and the irresistible Taylor Lautner have spent time with the Big Koala. I saw the manager taking down Gwen Stefani’s photo to make room for this happy snap of Gordon and I. Unfortunately Ko-Ali G, Leaf Cassidy and pop group U-calyptus 2 haven’t visited yet.
Featherdale is also home to quokkas, crocs, kangaroos and penguins. It’s possible to take a selfie with them, but why bother when there’s an awesome Big out the front? And sorry, ladies, but the little furry alien was a one-time deal ?
The three of us had a mar-super-ial time together. We even enjoyed a piña koala or two!
Darwin’s one of the best cities to have a BIG adventure, with all sorts of giant animals to meet! Those willing to brave the heat can find a frightening fish, a charismatic turtle, and one of the biggest dinosaurs to ever roam the Earth. Follow this delightful guide to Australia’s northern capital, and your next holiday to the Territory is sure to be a Dar-winner!
The Big Frogs
Roll out the red carpet, because we’re in the company of some Hollywood bad boys… Ribbet Redford and Dennis Hopper! The amphibian actors squat out the front of the Ramada Suites, which is just a hop, skip and jump from Darwin’s waterfront. They’re a tad-pole bit rundown, but it would be lilly not to go see them!
Although he may seem shy at first, Colin’s a turtle-y dude once he comes out of his shell. Col’s happy chilling in a quiet corner of the Garamanak Park, which is next to a community centre. He really has tortoise all how to love!
Floating menacingly along the waterfront at the entrance to Darwin’s sprawling East Point Reserve, bloodthirsty blubbers are actually very approachable and fun to play around with. The deadly duo form an art installation entitled Intertwined, which was brought to life by local artiste Aly de Groot in 2014. Why not have a picnic with them – don’t forget a bluebottle of wine!
Wanguri schoolkids all know the three Rs – reading, ‘riting, and really big fish! They’re fortunate enough to have this behemoth barra swimming around their a-cod-amy, and she’s a valuable member of the educ-ocean-al community!
Being located within the grounds of Wanguri Primary School means she can only be admired through an imposing fence. But lose that sinking feeling, because she’s fairly close the the barra-cade and assures me she’s happy with her home.
You won’t need to stay up late to see this oversized owl and I’m talon you, be prepared to fowl in love! Say hello to Chinute Chinute, who’s so nice they named her twice! She’s 1.8 metres tall, is perched in front of the Northern Territory Supreme Court, and is a real hoot to hang out with!
If alcoholics see pink elephants, then those who prefer the intoxicating allure of Big Things must see pink buffalos! To spend a right good time with Lefty, buffalo your instincts to the delightful Travans Cars & Commercials. There you can have your photo taken with a giant roadside attraction and buy a second-hand Toyota Hilux in the same afternoon.
Gorgeous George isn’t just one of the newest and cutest Big Things in Darwin, he’s also one of the largest. He measures 10 metres from handsome head to tantalising tail, so he’s the apex predator at the Darwin Botanic Gardens. He’s also lots of fun to ride – surf’s up, dude!
There’s only one place where you can snap up a sensibly-priced socket set, swallow a scrumptious sausage sandwich, and sequester yourself back 65 million years to the age of the sauropods – and that’s Bunnings Palmerston. It’s home to Big Kev the brachiosaurus and trust me, he’s excited!
Big Things are a super-sized slice of Sunshine Coast tourism, with holidaymakers thrilling to the delights of the Big Shell and Big Pelican. There are plenty of roadside attractions within a short drive of the tourist hotspot of Noosa, and they’ll put a giant smile on your face!
Read this definitive guide to Sunshine Coast Big Things and see if you can visit them (Big) Pineap-all!
The Big Shell, Tewantin
Even though this three-metre-tall beauty recently shell-ebrated her 60th birthday, she’s still a must-sea attraction! The Big Shell is well-hidden in a quiet, leafy residential street, making for a very different Big experience. It feels a bit weird to pose for photos in a stranger’s front yard, but from all reports the owners are welcoming to any Big Thing enthusiasts who wash up on their doorstep. If you see them, give ’em a wave!
Next time you spread your wings and visit the Sunshine Coast, make a splash landing at Pelican Boat Hire, home of the Big Pelican! The overgrown chicken is known to his legion of admirers as Pete, and boasts an un-beak-lievable backstory. After all, how many other Big Things have spent time at the bottom of the ocean?
With his striking looks and worldwide fame, the Big Pineapple is a rock star of the Big Thing universe! The 16-metre-tall fruit has a pleasing pineapple museum in his belly and a viewing platform from which to look out over the nearby Big Macadamia and the thrilling Nutmobile ride. You’ll have a pine time there!
You’ll be head over heels and staring in childish wonder at this eight-tonne toddler! The big baby loves tumbling outside the Sunshine Coast Health Precinct, and you’ll be feeling healthier than ever after a visit!
Matilda, Kybong
Tilly bounced her way into our hearts during the 1982 Commonwealth Games, taking centre stage at the opening ceremony. The cute kangaroo flirted with the crowd, winking her long lashes as a forklift flittered her around the track. These days Tilly’s just as beautiful as ever and is in a great location for photos and hugs, after recently bounding along to the new Traviston mega service station.
Tidying up the backyard is never fun, but you’ll have a cutting good time with this mega mower! You can find him at the appropriately-named Big Mower shop, where you can pick up a whipper-snipper after snapping a photo!
Australia is famous for its big crocodiles, but you won’t find any larger than these six! These Big Things are fun to find on road trips and are sure to put a smile on your ‘dile. From the swamps of Darwin to the mountains of northern Sydney, these Big Crocodiles won’t eat you, because they just want to meet you!
The Big Boxing Crocodile, Humpty Doo, Northern Territory
Weighing in at seven tonnes and standing six metres tall, this croc’s the undisputed leather-weight champion of the world! This Big Thing lives outside the United service station and is perfectly positioned for a photo. Because of this, you could even say he’s a real knockout!
The Giant Jumping Crocodile, Wak Wak, Northern Territory
This snappy chappy has long been the mascot of the Original Adelaide River Queen Jumping Crocodile Cruises. He’s 4.5-metres-tall (including his tail), so his size will have you jumping for joy. They say you should never smile at a crocodile, but I challenge you to look at him without croc-ing a grin!
Daryl Somersby the Crocodile, Somersby, New South Wales
Five-metre-long Daryl is a very shy Big Thing, so he lives inside the front entrance to the Australian Reptile Park. He’s there every day – not just Hey, Hey it’s Saturdays – and can be found just metres from another cold-blooded cutie, Frilly the Lizard.
George the Big Crocodile, Darwin, Northern Territory
Gorgeous George isn’t just one of the best-looking Big Crocodiles, he’s also one of the largest. He measures 10 metres from handsome head to tantalising tail, so he’s the apex predator at the Darwin Botanic Gardens. He’s also lots of fun to ride – surf’s up, dude!
A short stroll from the Giant Jumping Crocodile is another Big Thing named Keith. And as you can see, Keith has teeth! He’s around 10 metres long, making him the largest croc in Wak Wak, but there is a bigger lizard just down the road…
At 250 metres long and 30 metres wide, this leviathan has earned a reptile-tation as the most massive Big Crocodile in this sunburnt country. You can even spend the night inside him, or enjoy a crocodile-icious meal at one of the restaurants inside his belly.
Without feather ado, I’d like to in-duck-t this oversized owl – and I’m talon you, be prepared to fowl in love! Say hello to Chinute Chinute, who’s so nice they named her twice!
The 1.8-metre-tall avian landed outside the Northern Territory’s Supreme Court in 2010, and is modelled after a Dreamtime spirit who’s watched over the Top End for thousands of years. Aboriginal elder and artist Koolpinyah Barnes cast the blushing bird from bronze, based on a 45cm statue he cre-hoot-ed several years earlier.
“Chinute Chinute is a Larrakia spiritual ancestor who exists within the sacred site known as Stokes Hill adjacent to this walkway,” Koolpinyah told fascinated reporters at the time. “This ancestor manifests itself from time to time as the tawny frogmouth and stands as sentinel to the waterfront area.”
Chinute Chinute is anything but a hid-hen gem, being located a short stroll from the popular Smith Street Mall and the Big Frogs. I suggest spending time with our feathery friend before heading straight to the waterfront for a refreshing dip in the man-made beach, which isn’t just cheep, it’s free!
Darwinians have been doing owl the right things to attract Big Thing fanatics, with Chinute Chinute joining Colin the Turtle and the Giant Jellyfish as a much-loved member of the communi-tree.
These burgundy bud-dies have been bravely garden the entrance to Gosford for a few years now, and have blossomed into the city’s top tourist destination. The nine nice guys stand by the shore of the gorgeous Brisbane Water, and I’m not pollen your leg when I say it’s a bloomin’ beautiful place to spend an afternoon!
Created to commemorate the centenary of the Gallipoli campaign during the First World War, the Poppies were unveiled to an adoring public during the 2015 ANZAC Day ceremony. With 40,000 smaller fabric poppies decorating the grounds of Gosford Rotary Park and hundreds of curious townsfolk in attendance, they really rose to the occasion!
Flower Power
The Poppies rest in what was once a fountain, on a galvanised steel base. The handsome flowers are made from aluminium tubing and flat sheet metal, and are so cute I used my tulips to kiss them!
Sadly the Big Poppies aren’t as fresh as they once were, and are badly in need of some tender budding care. Maybe we convince the caretaker of the Big Sunflowers to help them out? They also no longer light up at night – although they will light up your heart.
I’ve been fortunate enough to visit these towering flowers with my own Poppy, who is a Second World War hero, so they hold special significance to me. These Bigs aren’t just fun, they’re a tribute to the brave men and woman who have fought for our freedom and way of life.
Although they’re overshadowed by the world famous Ploddy the Dinosaur, who lives just up the road, the floral to this story is that you need to put the petal to the metal and visit them!
2B or not 2B, that is the question. And the answer, of course, is not 2B, as the perky Pencil is clearly an HB, the most princely on the graphite grading scale.
Positioned beneath the jaw-droppingly beautiful Nobbys Lighthouse along Newcastle’s eastern beaches, he doubles as a seat from which to enjoy this glorious part of the world. Despite what you may think, the area’s not sketchy at all!
And don’t worry, this scribbly sensation won’t be going anywhere, because he’s stationary. Now that’s worth writing home about!
I’ve been lead to believe the Big Headphones and Ossie the Mossie are nearby, but what about a Big Sharpener? I’d hate for this crazy crayon to get blunt!
Time to pencil in a visit to Newie, Big Thing lovers!
For more than a decade, the far-flung village of Narrandera was the centre of the Big Thing universe. As home to the World’s Largest Playable Guitar – a 5.82m-long acoustic axe that fascinated music lovers and Thing-o-philes alike – the region’s economy boomed. Then the unthinkable happened, and it all came crashing down. This is the story of how the music almost died.
Looking to promote the Country Music Club of Narrandera, local guitar guru Robert Palmer (who may or may not be the Simply Irresistible dude) spent more than 300 hours carefully crafting the bodacious banjo, before presenting it to the public in 1988. Headbangers, country bumpkins and wannabe rock gods put aside their differences as they teamed up to play the fully-functional fiddle, which is so big it requires a small team of musicians to play it.
When the Guitar was listed in the 1991 edition of the Guinness Book of Records, the town’s pubs were drunk dry in celebration. Tourism reached record highs and every road led to Narrandera. There was even talk of building an international airport with direct flights from Shanghai and Wagga Wagga to cope with the sightseers. The owners of the other Big Guitar could only look on with envious eyes.
But, as pop legend Bob Dylan once warbled, “The times, they are a-changin’”, and darkness descended upon Narrandera in 2000. And I’m not talking about Y2K, although many locals did unplug their toasters as a preventative measure against them gaining sentience and chasing them around the kitchen.
Don’t mess with Texas
Proving that everything is indeed bigger in Texas, a bunch of rowdy students from the Academy of Science and Technology in Conroe built an immense, 13.3-metre-long playable guitar and cruelly snatched the record. Conroe got the tourists. Conroe got the fame. Sadly, Conroe even got the international airport with direct flights from Shanghai and Wagga Wagga.
The unveiling of the Big Tennis Racquet in nearby Barellan was a further humiliation for the townsfolk, who were often the subject of cruel taunts from their northern neighbours. Not surprisingly, they soon reached break point.
The people of Narrandera were left with nothing but the shirts on their backs (which were, shockingly, emblazoned with the words ‘World’s Largest Playable Guitar’ and thus rendered unfashionable). The town never fully recovered from the tragedy, and when I visited a palpable atmosphere of depression and defeat engulfed Narrandera like a thick fog. I struggled to locate the huge ukelele, because locals burst into tears when I asked about it.
Yesterday’s guitar hero
After discovering the Guitar had been sequestered away to the Narrandera Visitor Information Centre, I trotted inside and was led out the back by a very pleasant volunteer. The Guitar didn’t string me along, and we shared a chord-ial greeting. He may be the second-biggest playable guitar, but, with his handsome plywood body and carefully-painted details, he’s number one in my heart!
I plucked up the courage to play with him and, with the assistance of a rambunctious local granny, banged out a rousing rendition of Old Time Rock and Roll. As we segued seamlessly into The Crocodile Rock, local shopkeepers and students swept in through the front doors, surprised but delighted to hear the Guitar playing once again. Narranderans jived and gyrated as our playing became wilder, and the gloom that had consumed the town lifted.
With sweat pouring down my face and the final echoes of my hour-long interpretation of Stairway to Heaven fading in the twilight, I felt a firm but friendly hand on my shoulder. Turning, I was met by an impish man in a broad, black hat – my good mate, roadside attraction-loving country music legend Lee Kernaghan. We embraced in front of the Big Playable Guitar as our admirers cheered us on.
Lee, me, and the Guitar make three!
“We need to stop cuddling in front of Big Guitars,” I beamed when we finally came up for air.
“Bigs,” Lee Kernaghan rasped, with tears in his eyes. “Look at what you’ve done! You’ve brought life and love back to Narrandera. You’ve saved the bloody town, mate.”
“Firstly, Lee Kernaghan, I don’t care for your colourful language,” I snapped. “You’re a talented songwriter who can surely find more appropriate ways to express yourself. And anyway, the Big Playable Guitar is the true hero of this story. I’m just a vagabond with a heart of gold, travelling the land to cast light upon the trials and tribulations of our beautiful Bigs.”
“My apologies, Bigs. You’re right as always. Do you want some more of these Country Music Awards? I won another eight this year and they’re just piling up. I’ve been using them to tip waiters.”
And so, with a song once more in the heart of every Narranderan, Lee Kernaghan and I climbed atop my scooter and burnt out in the endless night. With our smiles cutting through the darkness and only the stars to guide us, we chased our next Big adventure.
You don’t need to leave the Land of the Bigs to have a memorable encounter in the African wilderness. Just pop over to the Botanic Gardens in sunny Darwin, where a monstrous metallic maneater meanders through the Madagascan-modelled meadows. Mmmmm… marvellous!
Surrounded by breathtaking baobabs and bubbling brooks, Gorgeous George delights with his size and looks. The 10-metre-long lizard was cast from steel by local legend Techy Masero, the artiste responsible for Colin the Turtle and the Big Barra, under the watchful eye of world-famous wildlife wizard Tommy Nichols. It truly does take a village to raise a colossal crocodilian.
After five wonderful years of hard work, George was dipped in a vat of zinc (in a scene I can only assume was reminiscent of the ending of Terminator 2: Judgment Day) and hauled off to his forever home in April 2020. I’ll go out on a limb and say nobody leaves the Gardens jabbering on about the heliconias and orchids anymore – although they are delightful.
Always smile at this crocodile!
I’ve had encounters with the most beautiful Bigs ever made, but was reduced to a blubbering mess upon meeting George, so beautiful was he. Thousands of hours went into his intricately-detailed features, and it certainly shows. I was particularly impressed by the oversized barramundi he has tucked between his titillating teeth. Fortunately George didn’t snatch the Wanguri or Katherine barras for his lunch!
As I struggled to catch my breath, a couple of the Gardens’ friendly horticulturists assisted me to a bench beneath a nearby weeping willow, where I was able to regain my composure before resuming my date with George. He lives in a quiet patch of the park, beneath a huge tree, but of course he attracts a lot of attention. Move over George Clooney and Boy George, we have a bigger celebrity here!
I strongly urge visitors not to climb upon Bigs they don’t have a strong and trusting relationship with – it’s a hate crime as far as I’m concerned – but George made it clear to me that he’s open to being mounted, so I made the most of the opportunity. Despite hardly being a ‘waxhead’, I a surf on George’s handsome head. Hang 10-metre-long crocodile, dudes!
There’s no doubt about it, George is a real croc star!
A word of warning, this Big is a real gold digger!
Tall, dark and handsome, the Big Gold Panner Man sauntered into the historic inland city of Bathurst in 1979, taking up residence outside the lavish Gold Panner Motor Inn. He welcomes millions of visitors from Sydney each year, many of whom can barely pan-dle their excitement.
Not surprisingly, he’s become by far the most famous and celebrated thing about this bustling Gold Rush town, edging out the extraordinary Town Square and the fascinating Fossil and Mineral Museum.
But wait, there’s more! Big Thing lovers can actually tick two landmarks off their bucket list in one go, because the World’s Biggest Beard is also on display here!
That hasn’t helped him find gold, though, and after 42 years he’s yet to strike it lucky. But he has found the love and admiration of a nation, which is far more valuable than a precious yellow mineral.
Despite bending over to work with his impressively-realised mining equipment, the Big Gold Panner Man measures five metres from the bottom of his sturdy shoes to the top of his trendy hat. This makes him the second-tallest human Big in Australia after The King of Atlantis.
As one of the kindest and most respectful characters in the Land of the Bigs, this major miner proves all that glitters is gold – and there’s more than a nugget of truth to that!
Slip an extra Gordon on the barbie!
There was a brief moment of unpleasantness during my date with the Gold Panner, when he scooped Gordon into his skillet and threatened to fry him up for dinner. I know what you’re thinking – two big, tough, macho men marking their turf.
But, really, it was all Gordon’s fault. He was behaving in an antagonistic manner towards the Gold Panner and said his hat looked effeminate, so he had it coming.
Fortunately the kind-hearted giant let his much smaller rival get away, shaken but not stirred. You might not be so lucky next time, Gordon!
Some think he looks more like a Poo-tato than a Potato, but I reckon he’s a real spud-muffin! The 10-metre-wide, four-metre-tall Big Potato was carefully crafted in 1977 by local farmer Jim Mauger, and stands in starch contrast to the rural village of Robertson that houses him.
Modelled after the delicious Sebago variety of spud, the beguiling Big Potato was designed to house a vegetable museum that, tragically, never eventu-tatered. Wipe away those tears because there are plenty of takeaway shops in town, so you’ll be able to find some potato scallops to study!
The best place to gobble your lunch is right next to the Big Potato, because his admirers recently chipped in to landscape the park he lives in, and he’s now wedged between some delightful picnic tables. It’s particularly fun to watch the endless stream of spec-taters stopping by for selfies!
Right next door is the ravishing Robertson Supermarket, which offers a wide range of Big Potato magnets, stickers and tea towels. I bought a scrumptious Spud t-shirt that I wear several times a week – we’re a mash made in heaven!
He’s for sale… and cheap as chips!
If this is spud at first sight, I have some wonderful news – The Big Potato can be yours for the bargain price of $920,000. That’s right, his current owners, Heather and Neil Tait (yes, that’s their real names! If only everyone in possession of a Big was forced to have a related name!) are looking to bake someone’s day by sending this potato to the market.
Imagine living inside a giant potato – wouldn’t it be a lux-tuber-ous existence! You’d also be perfectly positioned to make regular day trips to Yerrinbool’s amazing Apple, because it’s a short drive away.
Astonishingly the Big Potato isn’t heritage listed, therefore it could be demolished by a cold-hearted developer. So come on, Big Thing fanatics, let’s pool our money and buy. I therefore raise my hand to be the care-tater.
Hear ye, hear ye! ‘Tis I, Sir Bigs-a-Lot of Kingdom Bardot, and I doth welcome thee to a time when fearless warriors and ferocious dragons roamed the landscape of northern New South Wales. Please pop on ye olde face mask, as ’tis a spot of bubonic plague around – tee hee!
Just kidding, I’m really your friend Bigs Bardot, and it’s knights for you to join me as I share some kind swords regarding this 6.5-metre nobleman. The Big Knight’s been protecting the good folk of the Macadamia Castle since 1985 and, despite looking a bit scary at first lance, is one of the most pleasant fellows I’ve ever hel-met.
Indeed, you won’t find armour wonderful chap!
A quick note: The Big Knight was, shamefully, removed in early-2023. He has been purchased by the friendly folk at the Coffs Harbour Butterfly House, and I’ll let you all know when he’s been installed. The crux of this entry has been left unchanged, to allow us all to step back to a simpler, more whimsical time. Namaste.
Lord of the Sword
The Knight, as he’s officially known, is the creation of local botanist Ken McDonald, who long ran a plant stand at the castle and dreamed of selling more seeds to tourists. He set to work designing a dapper dude of enormous proportions, basing him on a suit of armour on display in the castle.
“I just measured everything and drew it up, then multiplied it by three,” Ken explained in the official history of the castle. “First thing I did was build a big rotating spit, just like you’d use to cook a pig. That way I could build the Knight’s frame onto it and rotate it around as I applied the fibreglass.”
Ken used steel pipes for the frame and flat steel strips for the Knight’s robust body. He had a little trouble balancing himself (the Knight, that is, not Ken), so the sword and lance were reinforced to keep him upright.
Lennox Head luminary and surfboard shaping superstar Bob McTavish was tasked with applying the intricate fibreglass details to the Knight – and was forced to come up with some creative solutions to complete the job.
“For the head, we went shopping in Ballina to find just the right sized beach ball, inflated it and coated it with resin,” jabbered Bob. “When it set, we deflated it and kept on adding more and more layers for strength.”
Boogie Knights
After three months of tireless work, the 6.5-metre-tall gentleman was unveiled to a delighted public. He was originally adorned with white armour and a red cross, which were added by local artist Mark Waller.
“It was supposed to be St George, you see,” Ken declared, “and I’ve always had this dream of building a dragon to lie down at his feet.”
It’ll be a maca-damn-ia shame if that doesn’t happen!
The Knight’s home has been through a number of owners and names over the years, and these days the Macadamia Castle is definitely worth taking a pecan at, with putt-putt golf, a small zoo, a salubrious cafe and sprawling shopping options. I enjoyed dropping my tough guy facade for a few moments to show off my inner Maid Marian in the gift shop. A Round Table discussion decided I looked delightful!
Those on a road trip along that NSW North Coast are often left ponder whether the Big Knight could defeat the nearby Big Prawn in a battle but honestly, our beautiful Bigs are peaceful beings, so you’d have to be medi-evil to contemplate that!
A Hard Day’s Knight
The Knight’s debonair swagger and pensive masculinity, though inspirational, have not been enough to stave off the threat of image-obsessed millennials. The new owners of the Castle – who have transformed it into some sort of petting zoo – saw little value in his history, bravery and importance to the community, and so tore him down in early 2023.
A hero to millions and an integral thread in the fabric of Knockrow, he was knocked down in the name of progress. The Knight’s muscular legs were smashed to bits, and he was dragged through the dirt like a filthy commoner. The good people of Knockrow wept as one. They’d lost their inspiration. Many turned to narcotics to fill the void.
Thankfully, they are willing to sell what’s left of The Big Knight to the highest bidder. Not wanting to be gazumped, I put in an offer of $1.2 million to purchase the shiny hunk, hoping he’d spearhead my grandiose plans for a sprawling medieval-themed gentlemens club up the road in Binna Burra.
Sadly it seems my cheque was lost in the mail, because he was snapped up by the happy chappies at the Coffs Harbour Butterfly House. Ah well, maybe I’ll buy the Big Banana instead!
As a passionate supporter of the LGBTQI+ community, it’s my pleasure to introduce Australia’s very first transgender Big – the voluptuous Wo-Man! Xe is loud and proud and shimmers like a disco ball, bedazzling all who venture into the backwoods of Wollombi.
This remote location is a surprising home for such a progressive Big, who’s happy to show off xis ample bosom and metallic member for anyone to see. Xe has legs for days and is the true monarch of the forest, so if you think I sound jealous, I am!
An abandoned service station, rotting furniture and desolate fields make for a lonely yet unique home for Wo-Man, and there’s even a rusting yacht on site, despite being hours from the coast. It’s like a scene from a bloodthirsty horror movie, with Wo-Man playing the part of the buxom beauty!
Beauty and the Beast
There’s trouble in paradise, however, and I must issue a serious warning to those planning to visit Wo-Man, as xis owner is a real oddball and not particularly welcoming of those who stop for a photo. In an unprovoked and hyper-aggressive display of male fragility, I was verbally and emotionally abused by the heavily-bearded tough guy as he grilled some sausages, leaving a group of disgusted customers gaping in disbelief. As the vicious words crashed down upon me, I sensed Wo-Man shuddering.
I would’ve thought someone who built a four-metre-tall trans friend to keep himself company in remote bushland would be more open-minded. Then again, if I owned a Big Thing – especially one as alluring as Wo-Man – I’d probably be a tad possessive, too!
My suggestion is to pull up, say a quick hello to Wo-Man as you snap a selfie, then drive off before the hate speech starts flying. Hopefully this gentleman’s sausage sizzling skills are better than his social abilities, because he certainly left a sour taste in my mouth!
My heart weeps to think of Wo-Man being trapped in such a toxic environment, but it’s not my place to get involved. Not just because xe is big enough to fend for xirself, but because xe simply wouldn’t fit on the back of my scooter. Hopefully one day xe’ll meet someone who treats xem the way xe deserves – maybe the hardworking Big Gold Panner, the brave Big Knight, the bashful Coota Giant, or even Matilda. Until then shine on, you crazy diamond!
Serving as a monument to Wimbledon champion and Barellan local Evonne Goolagong Cawley, the 13.8-metre-tall Big Tennis Racquet is a real grand slam and I’m sure you’ll love (it) all!
Locals were courting the idea of a towering tribute to their tennis treasure for years, and made such a racquet that they netted themselves a Big! This wonderfully-realised statue was unveiled in October 2009 during Barellan’s Centenary celebrations, and is a 20:1 scale replica of Vonnie’s famed wooden signature Dunlop racquet.
‘The Sunshine Supergirl’ won 14 majors to become one of the greatest tennis players of all time but could never hold this supersized sports equipment because she is, ironically, quite a diminutive lass. Yes, that was a backhanded compliment!
Along with a handsome 1.25-metre-wide tennis ball (take note, whoever is responsible for Westbury’s Big Wickets) the Big Tennis Racquet forms a Doubles Team even the Woodies would be envious of. He lives by the side of Barellan‘s sleepy main street, so you won’t be strung along trying to find him. Sorry, it was my fault for that bad joke!
If, like me, you have three left feet and are drawn more to the arts than sports, the Big Playable Guitar is just down the road at Narrandera – rock on!
The only small annoyance is that some silly goose planted a decorative bush in baseline-of-sight of this Big, making photos slightly more difficult than they should be. Hopefully they twig to this issue and remove the shrub beforehand it causes further problems.
Take advantage of the Barellan hospitality, because you’ll have a ball visiting the Big Tennis Racquet. My rating? Ten out of Tennis!
You might think it’s silly, but I’m in love with a man who’s frilly! For a frill-a-minute encounter with a cold-blooded cutie, head to spectacular Somersby on the scenic Central Coast. Honestly, you’ll be reptiling from ear to ear when you meet this gigantic frilled-neck lizard… but a word of warning, he has a fiery side to him!
Frilly was painstakingly constructed by the geniuses at Natureworks in 1997, and found a home at the Australian Reptile Park shortly after its relocation from Wyoming. Along with the matriarch of Aussie Big Things, Ploddy the Dinosaur, he lured thousands of visitors to the region, and it was all smiles and crocodiles. Then tragedy struck.
In the dead of winter, July 17, 2000 – a date no lover of Bigs will ever forget – a ruthless fire ripped through the park, leaving a trail of terror in its wake. A nation celebrated as one when Frilly and Ploddy, the indestructible lizards of Oz, stepped through the hellfire to become beacons of hope for a mourning community.
There must be something in the water that makes this region’s Bigs imperishable, because the Big Prawn also survived a barbecue attempt. Hopefully Alan Davidson’s Balls and the Big Poppies won’t be next in the firing line!
Heartbreakingly, hundreds of innocent critters didn’t make it, with only a pig-nosed turtle named Miss Piggy and an alligator snapping turtle named The Terminator surviving. But it was the park’s owners saying, “I’ll be back!”
They scrambled to rebuild the Aussie Reptile Park, placing Frilly proudly atop at the entrance to welcome visitors. He was soon joined by the dashing Daryl Somersby and the sultry Lizzo to create a true mecca for Big Thing aficionados. With so many large-scale lizards on display, when are goanna visit?
Everybody’s heard about this bird, which isn’t surprising because Stanley’s 18 metres tall and one of the nest-looking Big Things around. Yes, he’s aviary nice chap indeed!
The elegant emu was lovingly crafted by local artist John Murray out of old VW Beetle bonnets and doors, then placed atop a stunning steel girder. This gem took up residence on the outskirts of the opal-mining village of Lightning Ridge in 2013, but he was o-Ridge-inally destined, quite appropriately, for Birdsville.
“The tyranny of distance made it too expensive to truck him into Queensland,” Senhor Murray told a gobsmacked journalist from the Sydney Morning Herald.
“The bloke in Birdsville wanted to call him Big Bird and put him out on the Birdsville Track in XXXX colours. I wasn’t too keen on painting my bird yellow and red, but even less enamoured about having my work used to promote beer. So the Ridge got him.”
Oh, what flight have been!
The best news is there could soon be more Bigs feather down the road… and I’m not talking about Murray the Cod. Walgett Council is holding a competition to encourage farmers to build their own roadside attractions, with the wing-er to receive $10,000. They might have to change the name from Lightning Ridge to Big Thing Ridge!
She’s a sexy humpback Them other Bigs don’t know how to act I think she’s special, what a large humpback! Go visit Nala and don’t forget a snack
Have a whale of a time and a blowhole lot of fun with Nala, the 22-tonne pride of Hervey Bay! The town is one of the best places on Earth for whale watching, but now you don’t need to risk a bout of sea sickness to admire a massive mammal.
Nala was introduced to the communi-sea in 2012 to much finfare, with hundreds of whale-wishers blubbering with delight at her grand un-whaling. She’s a heartfelt tribute to her namesake, a much-loved whale who’s visited the region every year since 1992.
The big bopper has to be marine to be believed, and wouldn’t look out of place at the Louvre or Guggenheim museums – if she’d fit! Just look at those intricate wooden details and all that shiny metal! I almost felt like I should’ve worn a tuxedo for our date!
Ross Bradbury built the 11.5 metre-long, 8.3 metre-tall leviathan out of ironbark timber and stainless steel, and reckons he spent more than 250 hours on the carving alone. He’s also the virtuoso behind Nala’s son Nolan, a smaller whale who lives at the neighbouring WetSide Water Park.
“I feel really lucky to be a part of it,” Ross whaled to a bemused journo from the Courier Whale… oh, sorry, the Courier Mail.
If you’re planning to get spout-and-about, the good news is you don’t have to pay to see Nala – that’s right, a visit is free, Willy!
Many thanks to local fisherman and lifelong Big Thing admirerDickie Ham, who acted as my tour guide. He’s a perfect gentleman and quite the twinkle toes. Who would’ve though Hervey Bay would have such a vibrant salsa scene?
He’s absolutely mango-nificent, but this tropical treat has flirted with scandal to become one of the most controversial Bigs around. The Big Mango, who lives beside the Visitor Information Centre, stands a regal 10 metres tall and was erected in 2002 as a tribute to Bowen’s ebullient agricultural industry.
He cost $90,000, weighs in at seven tonnes, and is modelled after the delicious Kensington Pride variety of mangoes. Yum, yum, yum – he’s just fruit-iful! So how did it mango so wrong?
It was a case of Bowen, goin’ gone when the Mango mysteriously disappeared one dreary day in February 2014. Horrified locals woke up with a mango-sized hole in their hearts amid reports a group of spiteful hooligans had loaded the Mango onto a truck during the night. The story hit the headlines around the world, search parties were formed, and a nation sat silently by their telephones, mouths agape, praying for good news.
Where did he man-go?
Was it Al-Quaeda, intent on toppling the West by Big-napping all our wonderful roadside attractions? Or maybe diehard fans of the Big Watermelon, whipped into a fury due to their martyr being overshadowed by a newer and hipper Big? Or perhaps the Big Pineapple, Big Banana and Big Strawberry would be next, to create an even larger Big Fruit Bowl?
But a few things didn’t add up. Firstly, pinching a house-sized fiberglass mango is a little harder than swiping a fistful of grapes from Bowen Woolworths (which isn’t difficult at all, to be honest). Secondly, the Information Centre failed to report the theft to police, instead going straight to the media. And then there were the sightings of enormous mangoes around the country, including one in the main street of Melbourne, some 2,500km away. What was mangoing on?
When the Big Mango was discovered by astonished locals in a field out the back of Bowen, covered by palm fronds, the game was up and the story began to unravel.
The nightmare unravels
“There’s an old road that leads up into the scrub from the back of the information centre,” appalled Mango devotee ‘Bob’ told ABC Radio. “What they’ve done is put it on a truck and taken it up there and laid it on its side in the bush, and they’ve covered it up with tree branches and shade cloths so nobody can see it. It’s a pretty hard thing to hide.”
As Big-thusiasts from across the globe descended upon North Queensland hold a vigil by the globular giant’s side, Portuguese chicken ‘restaurant’ Nando’s came forward and took responsibility for the sickening stunt. Apparently it was all to promote a new mango chutney or something, but who cares, I’ll never step foot in one of their slop shacks after this ghastly deed. Some blame also rests on the local council because it takes two to mango.
“The disappearance of Bowen’s Big Mango has generated quite a lot of attention over the last day or so and we confess… Nando’s was behind moving the three-storey high, ten tonne tourist attraction,” a deranged media release, obviously penned by a lunatic, said. “Nando’s would like to thank the people of Bowen for being good sports about us ‘borrowing’ their beautiful mango.” I’ve read more charming ransom letters.
Such exploitation of a beautiful Big is completely unacceptable, and for the past seven years I’ve campaigned for all involved with Nando’s – from the owner of the company to the bloke who takes out the garbage – to be jailed for crimes against huge-anity.
Things are Bowen to get better
But, thankfully, some good has come from this nightmare. A slightly smaller, six-metre-tall replica of the Mango was shipped around Australia for publicity purposes, before being donated to the good people of Bowen. Small compensation for the trauma they suffered, yes, but it makes a great memorial to these tragic events.
As I was admiring the marvellous mango, I encountered a handsome young gentleman named António who initially enthralled me with his good looks and jocular personality. I was, however, disgusted when he started taking some racy photos with Bowen’s Finest. My patience reached its limit when I discovered he was Portuguese, and almost certainly planning a second coup against this Australian icon.
I trotted straight down to the nearest pub and alerted a few local tough guys as to what was going on, and they wasted no time delivering a severe beating to the perverted playboy. I don’t regret what I did for one minute.
Today the Big Mango sits peacefully in the sun, reflecting on his wild ride and enjoying his infamy. Hopefully they have a full-time security guard watching him, because another kidnapping could make a mango crazy!
For an unforgetta-bull experience, head to Rocky, where you’ll find multi-bull bulky bovines on display. All six Big Bulls have moo-vie star good looks and would love to meat you, so it’d be a mi-steak to miss them!
The first two Bulls – a Braford by the Bruce Highway and a Brahman located on the main median strip in town – were con-chuck-ted in 1978 as a way to beef up tourism. They were designed by Hugh Granderson… sorry, Anderson, the legend behind the Big Cow, and the townsfolk were very shankful to have them.
Udder-standably they proved so irresisti-bull that they were joined by a Santa Gertrudis in Frank Ford Park in 1985, and a Droughtmaster at the entrance to the airport in 1994. Rookie error, Rocky Council – if there’s a Big Thing by the airport, people will never want to leave!
Public demand saw the Fab Four joined by a Romangnola, located in O’Shannesy Park, in 1997, and another Brahman – known as Forrest Rump – swaggered into Rockhampton in 2000 and set up camp at the roundabout on the southern entrance to the city. It sounds like a cock-and-bull story, but it’s true!
Although they seem like typically ‘ocker’ fellas, the boys do, in fact, have an American cousin. Chromey, a bison of epic proportions, lives in Colorado. Say buff-hello to him if you’re nearby.
I had plenty of fun exploring the sultry city of Rocky, which straddles the Tropic of Capri-horn, seeking out the Big Bulls. Sure, they’re not enormous, but they’re all very handsome and their sheer number makes them a must-see. But I guess you’ve already herd that!
Please leave their balls alone!
Unfortunately they also attract the dregs of society, with local troublemakers finding amusement in stealing the Bulls’ bulbous balls. This behaviour is reprehensi-bull, but we can console ourselves with the knowledge these ruffians will probably spend the rest of their lives in prison where there are few, if any, Big Things.
It was my displeasure to meet one of these deranged imbeciles in the form of a Portuguese backpacker named António. Whilst seemingly gorgeous and charming at first glance, this pervert showed his true colours by stripping off in front of the Bulls and gyrating provocatively for photos. Dispica-bull!
Thankfully a hurried call the the local consta-bull-ary saw António deported for his outrageous display of disrespect, and he’s Portugal’s problem now. I’ve spoken with Australian Immigration Minister and Big Thing sympathiser Alex Hawke at length about the situation, and he has assured me that António’s been banned from Australia for-heifer.
Sorry to turn this into the punning of the bulls with all these terri-bull jokes!
“Bigs,” I’m sure you’re screaming, “the Big Rig – despite standing 140 metres tall and being an icon of the Maranoa Region – isn’t a Big Thing at all! He’s an actual oil drilling rig from the 1960s who was relocated to the centre of Roma in 2000 to attract tourists. If you’re going to include him, you might as well open the flood gates and induct large trucks, jumbo jets, wide-screen TVs and basketball players. Where does it stop, Bigs, where does it stop?”
I share your concern and trust me, writing this entry was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I’ve taken to the streets to protest claims the Big Banana is the oldest of the Bigs and waged bloody battles against those who won’t accept that the Big Bogan nothing more than a billboard due to being two-dimensional. He’s a sign, deal with it.
Though not proud of it, I was arrested after an online discussion regarding Singleton’s Big Sundial turned nasty. Sundials can be any size, so a particularly large one isn’t a Big! But the Big Rig’s different.
Unless you’ve clasped a Romanian farmer in your arms, his eyes welling with tears as he sobs that the Big Rig was the only thing that kept him going through years of drought; Until you’ve held the hand of a grandmother who only gets out of bed in the morning for the chance to worship the Big Rig; you don’t know how much this Big Thing means to the people of Roma. And I can’t take this away from them.
And I guess the statue of major miner John Machado is pretty large.
Rig-iculously large
So important is the Big Rig to this proud outback community that they’re currently spending a couple of million dollars to add an observation tower to the surrounding complex. It’ll offer sweeping views of the Big Rig, mining museum, the sweeping new tree walk exhibit… and the sunkissed desert as well, I assume.
If they build it big enough, you might even be able to see the Big Melon and the Big Sunflowers. It’ll be a drill-a-minute experience!
Yes, this might come as a shock, but some things are more important than the strict guidelines regarding what does and does not constitute a Big Thing. Roma’s Big Rig, by entrenching himself as the beating heart of this rural community, has earned his place in the pantheon of oversized roadside attractions. He’s Big. He’s beautiful. He’s a Thing.
Have a bowl, have a bat. Howzat! Howzat! Add eight Bigs to your score – all balls!
Alright, alright, settle down! You’ve had a good giggle at the name of these Bigs, now it’s time to take an in-depth look at Alan Davidson’s Balls. Oi, I said quit it!
There are seven oversized cricket balls dotted around the picturesque Alan Davidson Oval, each emblazoned with a ‘Davo Fact’ such as how many home runs the eponymous cricket superstar hit. It’s certainly fun to wander around the grounds, occasionally spotting a big, shiny ball peeking shyly through the bushes.
The world was exposed to Alan Davidson’s Balls in 2015, when artist Margrete Erling – who also delivered the nearby Big Poppies – threw them into the scrum. And as you can see, they look as pretty as a pitcher. At 80cm, these aren’t the largest balls I’ve encountered, but size isn’t everything. It’s all about the texture, the shape, and how much fun they are to sit on. Oh, grow up!
They’ll bowl you over!
There’s also a set of Big Stumps, but they pale in comparison to Westbury’s version and look like a bunch of rotting telegraph poles. Whilst I’m being a bit catty, the build quality of the Balls is atrocious and they’re falling apart. I assumed they were several decades old, and was appalled when I discovered they’re some of the youngest Bigs in Australia. Thanks, former mayor of Gosford Lawrie McKinna!
For the tough guys, a lone Big Soccer Ball is also on display, and I made the most of it by turning up for my photo shoot in a festive sporting tunic. Look at me, all dressed up as a brawny footballer! Grrr, I’m Toni Lockett, run at me, bro! Actually, don’t run at me as I’m not one for physical activity or severe beatings.
For those alpha males with a softer side, the Big Flower is only minutes away. You don’t have to be a pansy to visit!
These balls really score a strike and, needless to say, I had a great time climbing all over Alan Davidson’s Balls. Ok, ok laugh it up, you big baby! Honestly, sometimes I don’t know why I bother.
Let me take you down ‘Cause I’m going to Big Strawberry Fields The size is real And something to be amazed about Big Strawberry Fields forever
Bright red and bursting with life, the Big Strawberry looks delicious enough to gobble up with a dollop of cream. But this blushing beauty is actually an unstoppable tough guy, having defeated a crazed cyclone in 2013.
The turbulent tempest tore through Koonoomoo with unabashed enthusiasm, destroying four homes and shattering 12 others. A camper van was tossed 40 metres onto its roof, and the village was left looking like a cantankerous toddler’s bedroom. But the brawny Strawberry, long a source of inspiration for the townsfolk, stood tall against the wild winds.
When survivors emerged, cowering, from the rubble, they saw their beloved Strawberry standing proudly in the gathering sunlight. Everything will be alright, he seemed to say, and the rebuilding process began. Since that day, not a single deranged downpour has dared darken the doorways of Koonoomoo.
The cardinal cutie is one of the most straw-some Bigs the world has ever known. He’s shiny, delightfully textured, and very accessible. Fans can get up close and personal for a memorable and life-affirming photograph with the striking strawberry, and there’s even a deliciously retro sign with a hole to pop your happy little face through for the perfect holiday snap.
Something new for Koonamoo
The juicy giant started life in 2004, when Michael and Lorraine Hayes (along with their son Darren, the current owner) witnessed the popularity of the nearby Big Murray Cod and Big Cherry and decided to get in on the oversized action.
It was a community effort to raise the six-metre-tall, five-metre-wide icon, with Cobram Plumbing bringing the steel frame and local workers preparing the mesh. The oar-some blokes from Competition Kayaks put up the fiberglass, before Barry Dickson from Barry Dickson Paint and Panel went to town with his brushes.
Oh, and the scrumptious colour? Monza red, because Darren loves his Ford cars. I guess Fords are red, but I wouldn’t have a clue, I ride a scooter. I’ll paint my Big bright pink if Mum ever overcomes her aversion to having a ten-metre-tall concrete hamster in the front yard.
The adjacent store boasts Big Strawberry t-shirts, magnets and socks, along with a wide selection of chutneys and relishes. Slather some melon and pineapple marmalade on a chunk of home-baked damper and thank me afterwards.
Koonoomoo’s Big Strawberry really is one in vermilion. Even the Luddenham version doesn’t come close. I’d love to spend all day writing love ballads about this ruby rascal but honestly, I’m clutching at strawberries here.
Wine me, dine me, 21-foot-nine me! No visit to New South Wales’ Wine Country is complete without sharing a cheeky glass of red with this vine fellow, who’s been baffling drunkards since 1998.
The Big Wine Bottle takes pride of place at the sprawling Hunter Valley Gardens, which offers an array of restaurants and gift shops against a backdrop of rolling fields. A visit is a grape opportunity to eat your body weight in cheese and have a blood alcohol level higher than your age by 11am.
The Bottle’s bulbous bottom has space for an open fire – perfect for those chilly winter nights – with the neck forming a charming chimney. He’s located in the shade of a pleasant tree and, like the similarly-sized Big Bundy Rum Bottle, it’s no cham-pain to grab a photo, so wine not see him today?
If you’re on a winery tour of Big Things, pop over to Rutherglen to drink in the delights of their 36-metre-tall bottle! Oh, and you’ll need a Big Corkscrew, which you can find in Berrima!
I visited the Pokolbin Wine Bottle during a chum’s Hen’s Night, and unfortunately overindulged on Tyrrell’s Pinot noir and chocolate macarons. I ended up bursting into tears and wailing about how I’ll never find a giant roadside attraction who’ll love me for me, and a sémillon other silly things. Thankfully, when I woke up the next morning, the world looked a little more rosé.
I told that joke to the Big Wine Bottle, but he just gave me a sauvignon blanc stare.
Never smile at Daryl the Crocodile No, don’t get friendly with Daryl the Crocodile Don’t be taken in by his games and lark Or the fact he lives at the Aussie Reptile Park
Never smile at Daryl the Crocodile Never kiss his handsome head and stop to talk awhile Never listen to his hopes and dreams Of gobbling up six football teams
You may very well lose your body Just up the road from Frilly and Ploddy But there’s always a special time and place To look at that rugged, whimsical face And say, “I don’t care if he eats me, we just have to kiss!” Daryl’s one Big that you just can’t miss!
You can’t pan-dle the truth! Actually, you probably can, because it’s an indisputable fact that the Big Gold Pick and Pan are ri-pick-ulously magnificent! The cheerful chums were built by another legendary pair – Peter Mason and Tony Durham – under the supervision of the Grenfell Men’s Shed, in recognition of Grenfell’s history as a gold town.
But first, a confession. When I was told about the Big Gold Pick and Pan several years ago, I misheard and believed the attraction to be the Big Gold Peter Pan. As a boy who refuses to grow up, I understandably made it my life’s ambition to meet my hero. Imagine my surprise when I turned up in Grenfell, resplendent in my green tights and felt hat, only to be met by a set of oversized gold mining implements!
The ten-foot tools were up against it from the outset, but I’m happy to say they briskly dug their way into my heart. Yes, it might sound like I’m pan-dering to them and pick-ing favourites, but along with the Big Axe they’re the most glorious utensils I’ve ever met. I think even the Big Gold Panner would approve!
A Bunch of Tools
Despite the simple nature of the subjects (don’t tell them I said that!), the Pick and Pan are easy to take a photo with and easily accessible in the middle of vibrant Grenfell. In fact, they’re the centrepiece of a community-funded campsite, so it’s possible to sleep right next to them!
As a keen camper I was never going to miss that opportunity, and shared a cheeky glass of Pinot noir with the Bigs as a stunning sunset painted Grenfell colours I can’t even describe. I turned in early, content with my day’s adventuring, but a funny thing happened during the night. Being so close to my friends, I could feel their presence and hear them calling to me – just as Ploddy has throughout my life.
I visited them several times beneath the light of a silvery moon, until I eventually decided that resisting their siren song was futile. The Pick and Pan wanted a sleepover, so I grabbed my handsome wearable sleeping bag and snuggled in for the night. We gossiped, we sang pop songs, we opened up with secrets we’d never told anyone else.
I can honestly say I’ve never had a more peaceful sleep. Come the morning, as the birds sand to awaken the people of Grenfell, I enjoyed a cup of coffee with the Big Pick and Pan, said a tearful goodbye, and regretfully left town. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
BREAKING NEWS:It’s with a heavy heart that I announce the passing of the beautiful, whimsical Big Prawn. Our fearless friend was found dismembered on the morning of August 5, 2023, his head and legs sawn off by an angle grinder and stolen. Police believe they could turn up on the black market.
Next time you pick up a bag of frozen prawns, please, please check if there’s a metre-long metal head and some sawn-off chelas in there. With some luck, we can put the Prawn back together before he’s smuggled out of the country.
Don’t try to slip this shrimp on the barbie, because he’s uncookable! The Big Prawn was caught in furious bushfires in 2013, which saw everything around the durable decapod – including the service station he was perched in front of – burnt to a crisp.
He now looks a little lonely by the side of the Old Pacific Highway in Lake Macquarie, surrounded by rubble and trapped behind an old fence. But wipe away those tears, because the future is bright for our fire-fighting friend, with a bidding war raging for his ownership.
Controversy erupted in 2020 when nearby Central Coast Council made a play to buy the prawn to welcome visitors heading south – as Ploddy does to those coming up from Sydney.
“People often say we don’t get any attention in the north,” Councillor Jillian Hogan told a concerned reporter from the ABC. “Well, the Big Prawn is a good way of getting some attention!”
Don’t come the raw prawn!
However, with Central Coast Council drowning in debt, the move looks unlikely – which is music to the ears of the prawn’s creator, local legend Shane Simpson. He designed the creature in 1991 at the behest of a popular fish-and-chip shop, and based his design on a huge crustacean shipped up from Tasmania especially for the project.
“We’d love to see it stay in Lake Macquarie, only for the fact that every time I drive past I tell the grandkids I made it,” he exclaimed. “We made it with a fire-resistant resin, and it did its job – it didn’t melt!”
Just like his big brother in Ballina, the Crangan Bay Prawn has scurried through the fire and found peace and contentment on the other side. He was recently joined by the Big Pine Cones in nearby Caves Beach, in what is fast becoming a hotbed for Big action. Ah, sorry for the insensitive wordplay, buddy!
Pining for some Bigs with a view? Then cone on down to splendid Caves Beach, which boasts sparkling blue water, resplendent golden sand, and two of the largest pine cones you’re ever likely to see!
Officially known as Norfolk – after the spiky spheres dropped by the many Norfolk Island pines growing in the area – these stately seed pods were created by Newcastle-based artist/beekeeper Kelly-Ann Lees in 2019. Pine and Cone, as I prefer to call them, stand 1.5 metres tall and are just the right size for cuddles!
You might have noticed they’re rusting away, but don’t fret, because they were designed to evolve along with the coastal environment. No cones about it, they simply get more beautiful every day!
These brown bombshells aren’t the cone-ly Bigs in Lake Macquarie, with the inimitable Big Prawn only 15 minutes away. Do your wood seed for the day and say hello to all three of these coastal cuties.
Honestly, if I had a conifer every pine someone told me how ex-tree-mely nice these guys are, I’d be a rich Bigs Bardot!
Visitors to the river village of Tocumwal have been exclaiming this for almost six decades, and this water-dwelling dreamboat has lived a life most of us would be en-fish-ious of.
This bulky baby boomer’s story starts in the swingin’ 60s, when three of the more rebellious members of the local Chamber of Commerce decided the town needed something exciting to draw in tourists. They looked northward to Ploddy the Dinosaur, who was luring streams of Big-ficianados into Gosford, and a fish of epic proportions was soon on the carps… uh, sorry, make that the cards!
Big Thing visionaries Kathryn Moore, Alice Johnson and Lorna Nash held dozens of dances and sizzled sufficient sausages to raise the £3000 required to build the aquatic amigo. He was designed by Melbourne’s Duralite Company, and made from fiberglass with a steel skeleton. His outer details – such as his suave scrap metal fins – were lovingly added by volunteers and admirers.
The Big Murray Cod was o-fish-ially unveiled at a gala ceremony and quickly became a symbol of Berrigan Shire’s burgeoning counter-culture movement. His arrival ushered in a summer of love, with long-haired hippies, flower children, beatniks and other assorted delinquents rolling into Tocumwal to smack him right on the lips!
You’re carping on and on… When will this fin-ish?
The ’70s saw bell-bottom pants and safari suits find favour. But the Big Murray Cod wasn’t a slave to fashion and, aside from a few repaints, barely changed his look. Things took a grim turn in 1982, however, when the good people of Swan Hill, Victoria, erected a Giant Murray Cod of their own.
Bigger and fishier than the Tocumwal version, it was feared he’d hog all the glory. But the original still reels in the tourists – and there’s no de-baiting that!
Flannelette and a sullen attitude were the fish’s forte in the ’90s, and he was ahead of the tech curve by opening his own MySpace page in the 2000s. His family has since expanded to include Murray cods in St George and Tintaldra. The younger fish have grown up to be respected members of their communities, so obviously weren’t cod-dled as larvae.
This Big has settled down in recent years and is content, like most his age, to spend his days reading Aldi catalogues and preventing younger Bigs – such as the nearby Big Strawberry – from owning real estate. After so many years and such wild adventures, there are still a gill-ion reason to visit him, and it feels like Woodstock whenever one spends time with this fish.
It’s safe to say things are going swimmingly for the Big Murray Cod!
Please note: the plaque beneath this fish erroneously identifies him as the second oldest of the Bigs, but this honour actually belongs to the Big Banana, with Ploddy being the OG Big. Upon discovering this sickening glitch, I raced straight to the mayor’s office and was assured that the plaque would be corrected as a matter of urgency. I’m sorry, but there are some fins that I just can’t let go!
Tilly bounced her way into our hearts during the 1982 Commonwealth Games, taking centre stage at the opening ceremony in front of 50,000 enamoured fans. The cute kangaroo flirted with the crowd, winking her long lashes and swivelling her perfectly-proportioned head as a forklift flittered her around the track.
The world drew breath as one when the voluptuous Matilda lingered in front of the Duke of Edinburgh for an extended moment and their eyes locked. Time stood still as we hoped and dreamed that this most unlikely relationship might take its first, tentative steps.
The silence, however, was broken when dozens of excited kiddies dressed as joeys poured out of Matilda’s massive pouch and jumped around on trampolines as Rolf Harris belted out the timeless classic Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport. It was a moment no Australian will ever forget.
I was one of those joeys, and I’ve never felt as alive as I did whilst crouched in the belly of that 13-metre-tall marsupial. I cherish my grainy first photo with Tilly, and my memories of playing with Rolf’s wobble board. After that magical afternoon our lives took such different paths – Rolf as a much-loved singer, me as Australia’s foremost expert in Big Things, and Tilly as a hero to Queenslanders of all ages.
Bounding into retirement
Following the Games she took pride of place at Cade’s County Waterpark on the Gold Coast, where she kept a watchful eye over swimmers until being dismantled in the mid-2000s. She lay sad and alone in a field until 2009, when the happy chappies from Puma Energy resurrected her as the mascot for their new chain of service stations.
Though she originally hoped to live in Tugan on the Gold Coast’s glitter strip, Tilly settled for a quieter life in Kybong after planning approval fell through. It’s probably for the best, because I would’ve hated to see her with collagen lips and a fake tan!
Tilly’s just as beautiful as ever and is in a great location for photos and hugs. She’s an inspiration for other former parade floats such as Buffy and Pete, but the service station she called home until recently had been bypassed by the Bruce Highway and fallen into disrepair. On my recent visit, a dog chased me – and he wasn’t as friendly as his golden relative down south! Fortunately Tilly’s no stranger to a life on the road, and was recently roo-located to the new super servo along the road. Phew!
How much is that Tilly in the window?
I’m not sure whether there are any Matilda souvenirs at her new home, but you might be able to buy something much better. No, not a tea towel – a nine-metre-tall replica of the lovely kangaroo from Natureworks in Highvale, Queensland! Slightly slimmer than the busty original, she can also turn her head and wink. There were plans to place replica kangaroos at hundreds of Matilda service stations around the country, but financial strife scuttled that and only one was ever built. My birthday’s coming up, in case my admirers want to pitch in for a present…
Sexy, sassy, survivor. From packed stadiums to water slides to abandoned petrol stations, Matilda has lived a remarkable life with the sort of class and grace others can only dream of. She’s every bit as seductive as the day we fell in love with her 39 years ago, and I wish her much hoppy-ness in the future.
Please note; since writing this article, it’s been brought to my attention that Rolf Harris has been convicted of serious crimes and is currently incarcerated. Whilst I’ll always love his music and consider him to be a visionary, Matilda and I have decided to remove Rolf from our WhatsApp group.
Please note 2; apparently Rolf has died, so let’s all just move on.
Open the door, get on the floor Everybody walk with Digby the Dinosaur!
She might be 65 million years old, but this delightful dino is still a big kid at heart. Digby lives in Albury Botanic Gardens’ wonderfully-presented Children’s Garden and is more than happy to be kissed, cuddled and climbed upon. It’s safe to say she’s dinos-awfully popular!
Digby’s not as famous as her aunty Ploddy or as grand as her uncle Big Kev, but is every bit as remarkable. She’s immense yet adorable, vivacious yet shy, and incredibly unique. Oh, and those eyes are to die-nosaur for! You can find her hiding away in the trees, head to the ground to say hello to her friends.
For those who are overwhelmed by Bigs on this scale, Digby’s baby son Diego is playing blissfully nearby – and he’ll fill you with joy. There are also cubby houses, a fairy temple, and a terrifying troll cave that I was too much of a sissy to enter!
After a big morning of playing with Digby and Diego, why not head to the nearby World’s Biggest Rolling Pin for a sandwich at their dino… uh, I mean diner!
Cairo has the Pyramids, Paris has la tour Eiffel. Bundy has its own tribute to the culture of its people – this fantastic flagon of the good old fighting juice! The Big Rum Bottle wearily outside the Bundaberg Rum Distillery, which is a mecca for barflies Big Thing fanatics.
The rum-filled Romeo was constructed for World Expo ’88 in Brisbane. He overshadowed the futuristic monorail and the Nepalese Peace Pagoda, and shipped north shortly thereafter. He remains as popular as the booze he’s modelled after and welcomes a non-stop stream of devotees – some of whom even seem sober!
The distillery offers a tantalising variety of Bundy Rum memorabilia, although sadly nothing with the Big Rum Bottle on it. I had to visit the nearby Visitor Information Centre to buy my magnet. There’s a fascinating museum on site, and tours of the distillery are available, complete with generous tastings of the famous rum range.
But please, try not to go overboard, otherwise you’ll have an encounter with another Big Thing – the Big Hangover!
Like most icons, the Big Rum Bottle has plenty of copycats, including a doppelganger up the road in Rocky. There’s also Darrel the Barrel, who’s full the brim with the most scrumptious range of fizzy drinks you’ve ever seen – perfect for those who, like me, shy away from hard liquor.
Standing seven metres tall, the Big Rum Bottle is large enough to hold several thousand litres of hard liquor. Or enough to last your average Queenslander for about three days, tee-hee!
The good people of Bundy are so obsessed with ginger beer that a regular-sized barrel full of it could never satisfy them. So in 2005 they built the Big Barrel – lovingly referred to as Darrel by his swarm of admirers – in the middle of the city. This soft drink paradise is certainly sweet!
Darrel serves as a shrine to the region’s enviable fizzy drink pedigree, with everything from cola to lemonade on offer. For the curious, free tours of this Big Thing are available. I’m sure you’ll be as fascinated by the process behind crafting pink grapefruit sparkling water as I was. It’s certainly a brew-nique experience!
The Barrel is open seven days a week for your drinking pleasure. For those who spent all their time posing in front of darrel, takeaway six-packs are available to purchase.
Darrel is an alcohol-free barrel, so the nearby Big Bundy Bottle is the place for wallowing in intoxicated decadence. I must, however, confess to overindulging on the sarsaparilla. The alluring licorice aromas proved irresistible, and the resultant sugar high led to some particularly silly behaviour. I was sent barrelling towards self-destruction.
I was forcibly removed for starting a fist fight with another patron over his belief that the Big Banana is the oldest Big Thing in Australia. Whilst my opinion was completely correct and his was, to put it bluntly, foolish and ill-educated, I shouldn’t have caused such a scene. I’ll stick to sugar-free beverages in future.
Darrel may be only half a barrel, but he’s a whole lot of fun!
There was a time, long before the age of man, when enormous creatures roamed the wasteland we now call Australia. From Tiddalick the Frog to Biladurang the Platypus, these behemoths filled the rivers with water, shaped the mountain ranges, and cast the stars into the sky. Dreamtime stories, passed down through a thousand generations, keep the history of our homeland alive.
Gubulla Munda, a carpet snake of epic proportions, has been the protector of the Birri-Gubba people of North Queensland for millennia. Now he looks after the rest of us, too! This 60-metre-long totem was built in his honour in 2004, having been designed by local indigenous artists.
You’re unlikely to find a longer or lovelier Big Thing, or one with so much hisssss-tory behind him. I’ve met hundreds of Bigs around the world, but the sheer size of this gentleman brought me to my knees. Ironic, seeing as he doesn’t have any!
Gubulla looks absolutely wonderful, is well cared for and regularly repainted. The snake offers so many options for fun photos, because his friends are welcome to climb all over him. Just be respectful, not only because he’s a Big, but because of the cultural implications.
Love is in the Ayr
The Big Snake lives in a particularly happy corner of Queensland, which is full of good viper-ations. This cobra is a cutie and subsequently snakes any journey up north worth it.
After snapping off some photos, do take time to explore the surrounding Plantation Park before heading off to see the nearby Big Watermelon, Big Pumpkin and Big Sardine Can. The area has long been a sacred site and burial ground for the local indigenous population, and there are a number of commemorative plaques. There’s even a cafe where you can purchase a meat pie-thon.
An afternoon with Ayr’s Big Snake is time well serpent!
Victorian bushranger Ned Kelly is known for his handsome beard, wacky armour, and penchant for ruthlessly slaughtering innocent people. He is not, however, known for taking relaxing holidays in sunny Queensland. So how did this seven-metre-tall tribute end up in Maryborough? Your fearless reporter, Bigs Bardot, headed to the scene to find out!
My quest for the truth started by asking Ned himself, but the oversized outlaw wouldn’t snitch. He’s the strong, silent type, you see. The investigation continued inside the adjoining service station which does not, tragically, sell Big Ned memorabilia. The receptionist could only theorise that Ned might’ve been the original owner of the station. Nice guess, but unlikely.
A wild-eyed resident of the nearby Ned Kelly Motel stumbled over to breathlessly inform me that the Big Ned Kelly watches him in his sleep, at which point I decided to take my inquisition literally anywhere else. Even the lovely ladies at the Visitor Information Centre didn’t know why Ned was built – although they did admit to finding him cute. Oh, Ned, if you’re not stealing horses you’re stealing hearts!
Buckets of fun!
My research yielded little useful information. I did, however, get to spend the afternoon with a particularly impressive Big and foster some lifelong friendships with the locals. Unlike the slightly smaller Big Ned Kelly in Glenrowan – you know, the place where the real Ned was caught – it will probably never be known how and why this gentleman of the road came to be.
During an early meeting with Ned, I was outraged to discover a wasp next nestled in his crotch. Thankfully the little pricks have been removed, and this buckethead is safe to insect!
Maryborough really should be home to the Big Mary Poppins, because it’s the birthplace of the magical nanny’s creator, author P. L. Travers. Maybe they could pop a bonnet on Ned’s head, give him an umbrella, and call him Mary. How supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!
