Day 3 of one father’s continuing reluctant adventures at Pontins. If you haven’t already, check out Day 1 here. Day 2 here.
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The family were out. I was sweltering in the bedroom, typing this non-blog when there came a knock on the door.
Knock knock knock.
I knew at once who it was and shouted to my brother-in-law, Richard, not to let them in.
Richard, being Richard, obliged the other, “proper” side and opened the door. He began to explain how we didn’t want to join in the festivities and organised family fun but he was knocked over the head by a burly female bluecoat and dragged outside to the crazy golf and abseiling, unconscious. Later there would be photographs confirming he enjoyed these events.
By now I had barricaded the bedroom and dug myself in under the bed, but they soon broke through. Two bluecoats stood before my protruding feet now as a third explained how it was for my own good.
“You’ll love it!” she assured me in a sweet, sympathetic voice. This was the same one who knocked out Richard without a word. Dear Richard. Dear, dear Richard.
“We have bicycle rides around the park,” she informed me, “and we even provide a child to cycle with if you can’t find your own.” A fat kid with a limp and runny nose was presented to my heels. My feet pretended they didn’t hear or see.
“We have face-painting for adults and candy-floss parties!” she enthused, but when she saw it wasn’t working she immediately changed tack..
“You can sit in the bar and just _pretend_ to join in!” she told me, but I knew at once it was a lie. Token partipation is not an option. She was willing to say whatever it took to coax me out from under the bed. It would look better for the records. I could hear the approaching sounds of a nearby Aga-Doo singing conga-line and knew at once her aim was for me to head it.
“You’re only making it worse on yourself you know,” the bluecoat was now telling me and sure enough, when I didn’t answer right away, she nodded silently to her accomplices, who began to pull at my feet.
By now I had dug in with my fingernails, but even that was no use. Two long trails of five were ploughed through the multicoloured polyester carpet as I was dragged to rights and to “FUN” with a capital-F.
Right before the chloraform-soaked rag was placed over my mouth I looked up to see
the face of one of my assailants: NOOOOoooooo!
“Thomas, how could you!” I cried. “I thought you were my friend! You fixed the TV for my Wii!”
How unfair is this place? It comes for me even in my dreams, reaches out and drags me in.
We failed to make the Pig & Donkey Races last night you’ll be saddened to hear. It was being held at the back of a nearby fair (we call them “Merries” where I come from).
By the time we made it through it had already started and they wanted a tenner from each adult and a fiver for each kid. For pig and donkey racing! Did we get to eat the winners afterwards for that price I wondered? Perhaps they were aiming for authentic fast food? No matter, we had already easily dropped a hundred in the preceding half hour. There was no way I was allowing anyone I knew pay for pork n’ ass. This _IS_ a family holiday after all you know.