My kids are nagging me to go to Alton Towers. I feel that, at 12 & 10 they are too young. Of course, I was their age when I first went but that is beside the point; as is the fact that my daughter is taller and far more fearless than me. Whilst pondering how long I can drag this out for before rebellion kicks in and the kids start making DIY rollercoasters out of go-cats and bloody steep hills, I came across this old article from the archives of my Columnist days. It made me wonder…
My daughter turned six last weekend. She hoped to have a party at home but the thought of sixteen six-year-olds running riot through my house was too horrifying to contemplate!
|This is as scary as it should get!|
We opted for Geronimos, Rhyl instead. With exactly fourteen sleep nights before her birthday, hubs & I both struck on the idea to buy her birthday gift. Unfortunately, inspiration hit us on a day when we weren’t together. The lightbulb flashing above my Man’s head lit his way to Game Station whereupon he bought her the latest pink Nintendo DS, complete with accessories and three games.
At the same time, in a town several miles away, I was in Claire’s Accessories handing over the dosh for my daughter’s gift. My daughter was sat in a tall chair quaking and attempting deep breaths. The gold studs were loaded in the piercing gun and positioned at her ear.
My little girl had requested ear piercing on many occasions in the past, I had been extremely reuctant. One time, I had let her watch another girl of about the same age have her ears pierced. The girl had slid off the stool and promptly vomited. Her mother had looked ready to rip my head off when she noticed my broad smile which had involuntarily sat on my face. Her child’s upchuck had given my kid’s feet flight, right out of the door. Unfortunately, now we were back.
Later that day, we were gathered at Geronimos. Hubby was in charge of gathering up the kids and supervising their journeys within the play area. I was left with the job of introductions between the parents and was gutted to have the adult duties whilst my man was hurtling down slides with the kids!
20 minutes in and someone else’s little girl comes flying at me. “Miss, Miss, they’re going on the big slide and I’m scared they are gonna get dead” Her mother approaches me, her voice raising in pitch as she demands to now what’s going on, why there is no barrier on the drop-slide and did I realise that the kids were all too small for that slide?
I looked over the barrier and see a mop of brown hair hurtle alarmingly fast in a downwards non-diagonal direction. “Ann, that was your kid” I yelled as I ran toward an almighty drop-slide. “OH MY GAAHHHDD, It’s MY kid” I freaked out as I saw my 4 year old son sprawled at the bottom; I prayed he had not broken any bones or worse. Racing down the stairs, I called for Hubby to come quick.
That’s when my boy jumped up waving his little fists around hollering “Yeah, Yeah, that was well cool!” his face had a scary, hyper expression as if he had eaten 20 packets of Smarties washed down with a bottle of SunnyD. “Dude, you frightened the life out of me. You could have hurt yourself. What’s your Dad going to say when he finds out?” I rambled as I checked him over. “Dad knows” my Son laughed and pointed upwards “Dad dropped me”
|Party Face Paint All Ready|
It was then I became aware that my Son’s name was being chanted. I slung my small Son under my arm and legged it up the stairs to find all the other kids and several Fathers whopping and clapping.
The other Dad’s refused to meet my ‘You are dead-meat’ eyes as Hubby sheepishly informed me that all the other kids had been too scared to go on the drop-slide, whereupon my boy had climbed up and proved them all cowards.
As he was telling me this, he was hunched over the slide and in his hands were the hands of another child. The kids in the background were goading “Drop, Drop, Drop”. The other Dads looked shamefaced as they saw their respective partners stood behind me, hands on hips.
Turns out that only my Son & the neighbours twins had the guts to go on the slide. As the party was drawing to a close, I was relieved that the event had passed without injuries or complaints. A good time was had by all.
When the attendants brought out the party bags, I asked my friend if she would mind handing them out for me. There was something I needed to do. I grabbed Hubs by the scruff and marched him off…
“Drop, Drop, Drop” yelled the kids as my feet dangling, eyes squeezed tightly shut and both mine and Hub’s knuckles white. “ARRGGHHHHHH…..That was WELL COOL!!”
So, that was six years ago. Since then we have been to Gulliver’s World, Camelot, Aqua Jungle in Egypt, Siam Park in Tenerife, PortAventura in Spain and to the Fun Palace in Caernarfon which has even more scary drop-slides. So, why am I so reluctant to take them to Alton Towers? Is it the worry that my Son is still too small for most of the rides? Is it that I still haven’t recovered from my utter terror on the BlackHole over a decade ago? I guess the nearest thing to the truth is that, with each passing year…there’s a good chance that I’m turning into a chicken and I’m feeling just too damn old to be dragged onto rides which make me lose my stomach, bladder and lunch all at once!
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