Since joining the Star in April, I’ve worn a suit every day. I’ve only recently abandoned wearing a tie, and only because it’s absurdly hot here in August and my pale Scottish skin can’t take it.

Despite the odd foray into celebrity gossip or quickly-sourced listicles, I like to think I’m a (reasonably) serious journalist.

But on Friday, at the first day of the CNE in 2015 and my first day at the event ever, I lined up alongside six and seven year old kids, eager for another shot on the Polar Express, my customary attire discarded in favour of a silly Jaws t-shirt and childish grin.

Cards on the table, I’d never heard of the CNE before Wednesday. When I was initially asked to cover it, I thought it was some kind of stuffy conference.

Sometime between hurtling down a log flume with a Minion proudly hoisted above my head, and pulling a Superman pose while idiotically filming the view from the Cliff Hanger, I realized how wrong I was.

The CNE is easily one of the most inexplicably eclectic events I’ve ever attended.

I saw giant whirlpools and hot tub spas for sale, directly across from a casino, an authentic-looking country music bar, and Slushie vendor.

I visited a psychic who told me my love life would soon be in ruins and I’m probably not going to write a truly significant article for three to four years.

Less than 30 metres from the mind-reader, I fed llamas and had my hopes of becoming a farmer for the day ripped apart by a rigid height restriction rendering me three feet too tall.

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Nearby, I watched a man correctly guess a complete stranger’s age, despite the bearded participant looking anywhere from 22 to 40.

I paid extortionate prices to smash kitchen plates to pieces, all in the name of winning a stuffed cuddly toy. Incidentally, I also discovered there is no masculine way to hold a Minion. It cannot be done.

The stand-out experience was probably the decadent plethora of divergent foods. Scots and Canadians evidently share a blatant disregard for their own ballooning body mass index, if the CNE’s deep fried poutine balls, Tiny Tom donuts, and Asian buns smothered in strawberry syrup, are anything to go by.

I had many misgivings about Corrado’s Greek and Italian cuisine’s spaghetti and meatball burger before trying it. But, thanks in part to the enthusiasm of chef Corrado Pecorella, who was more than willing to help shove food into your face, it was the highlight of a lavish day of gluttonous ‎feasting.

Thousands of calories and a burgeoning friendship with a Minion later, my first CNE experience is over.

This is one Ex I would be glad to see again. Maybe that’s the romantic trouble my psychic was talking about.