Day two of our summer holiday and we discover a child-friendly beach. It has a huge expanse of white sand, public loos nearby and a fish and chip van (farewell sandwiches!). There is also a nice tanned young man who sets up the deckchairs, parasol and windbreaker we have hired. My husband abandons his Blackberry and settles into his newspaper and I catch up on the latest celebrity news in my Heat magazine (it’s a holiday, after all). Suddenly, we hear the tinkling of music.
We turn to see the bright lights of a fun-fair opening its doors for the hords of holiday makers which will soon descend upon us. We glance at each other, wondering whether we can divert the children with a race up the beach in the other direction. No chance. The children jump up and down chanting, “Please, please can we go.” There is no getting out of it. We enter the gates to find merry-go-rounds, dodgems, a helter skelter, crazy golf and dozens of ride-on cartoon characters. The children excitedly scatter in all directions. Predictably, our son eyes up a black racing car, whilst our daughter clambers onto a horse on the merry-go-round. Meanwhile, The Baby leans forward in his buggy, hallucinating with all the bright flashing lights.
Once we have filled our pockets with tokens, we chase after the children waving furiously as they swing past us on trains, cars and boats. It was when we climbed into the dodgems, that I began to rather enjoy myself and judging by my husband’s competitive look in the car opposite, he was too. We revved up our engines and off we flew, sirens ringing out and hooters blowing. My daughter astonished me with her eagerness to hit the boys head on at top speed. Hearts pumping, adrenalin rushing, I then eagerly volunteer to take them on the helter skelter. My husband chuckles when the young teenager taking the tokens for the ride, looks me up and down and hands me two mats, saying, “It might be more comfortable for you missy.” Charming. We climb to the top of the slide and the children are terrified. “Don’t be ridiculous – it’s only a slide,” I say suddenly feeling sick as I peer over the edge. After further encouragement, they both climb onto my lap and cling on. We gently slide down, but rapidly pick up speed. I shut my eyes, the children start screaming but thankfully we soon come to an abrupt stop at the bottom. I open my eyes to find a group of smiling parents, including my husband, looking down at me chuckling. I am sitting with the two children clinging to my waist, and my skirt somwhere up around my ears. Unamused and highly embarassed, I jump up, smooth down my skirt and grab the children by the hands saying, “Now, where’s the Candy Floss.”
