Medium ones. This is entirely biased by having grown up on the farm that hosted the local one for many years, and my mother was assistant secretary for much of my childhood, so I knew a lot about it, from laying out the first markers for the marquees, to it all going up in place, the signs going out, the catalogues being printed and stacked in Dad's office, sorting out the traffic signs and bollards, stewarding, being in the information tent, arranging the entries the night before (picking weed seeds out of the grain entries, putting up my photos and paintings and so on, shampooing the cattle), drinks in the members' tent, litter picking after it's all come down again. The wet years where they had to have tractors dragging traffic off the showground. And water. Dad was always having to deal with water problems, and less often, electricity.
The loos changed over the years, too - they're now all self-contained trailers. They used to be trenches dug in the field with sheds and planks with holes over - one glorious year, when all the marquees were being taken down, the marquee company's lorry was going up the slope out of the field and they didn't put the brakes on or something. Anyway, they ended up in the loo trench. When you're a poo-obsessed child (and most children go through that stage), it was one of the best things which happened. Grown-ups didn't see the entertainment value quite so much, I don't think.
On the day, there was all the waiting for the tents to open, so you could see if your prizes had won, and going round all the stalls to see how many freebies you could get (stickers and so on - very exciting when you're a child - the grownups just did boring stuff like have cups of tea/glasses of wine and talk) and asking Dad if we could just have another 50p to get something desperately important from a stall we'd seen. (More likely to get money from him than Mum.)
For me, the Show was more special than Christmas. It's on a different site and my parents are dead these days, so I've only been home for it a few times in the last decade or so.
We went to other shows too occasionally. I remember when I was very little, Dad was a steward on the cattle lines at the Bath and West, and he apparently shared a shepherd's hut/chicken shed or whatever they stayed in with someone who'd been a prisoner in Colditz. But they're not the same as the local one where you know loads of people.