Pure Terror

So I thought I might talk to you about being scared. More specifically, the theme park version of being scared.



Now I don't do theme parks well. I don't care for heights, or speed, especially when I feel completely out of control. Yeah fuck it, I'm a big gay, whatever. I don't like spiders either. And I'm fine with it.



I have been to Disneyland in Florida, when I was 15, and actually loved it. Went on a few rollercoasters and really enjoyed them. My first was the Rock 'n' Rollercoaster (featuring Aerosmith). Yeah I never knew a rollercoaster had to 'feature' anything but speed and the occasional big drop, but apparently what was missing was an ageing rock band trying to act. Yeah, it really made the experience.



Good fun though, it was. One of those fast-start jobbies. Firing you up to 50mph in a second and a half or something. Then into darkness, with neons and all sorts flying about your head. Proper cool stuff, and the darkness helped take away a little of the "ohmygodisn'tthatthegroundcomingtowardsmyface?" feelings.



The thing is, though, that all the rides at Disney felt safe. I never thought I was actually going to die on them. There's always that thing in the back of your mind that they can't run these things and let thousands of kids on them every day if they're not mechanically sound. Well ok, maybe only I think that way, but I was an odd 15-year-old.

Fast forward a couple of years and we find ourselves at my next theme park experience. Flamingo Land, Yorkshire. Yeah, people have called it Eurodisney 2. It's that fucking special. Like special needs special. It's in Yorkshire for fuck's sake.

I think an indication of the quality of the rides at Flamingo Land comes in the fact that they need a Zoo tacked on to keep people's interest. Hence the name. It's not just a particularly oddly-themed park in which every ride is pink and stands on one leg. And they only serve prawns.

So I've clearly been badgered into driving to this god-forsaken place by my then-girlfriend, and so we trudge around, me dragging my heels and moaning about everything like a proper well-balanced grown-up. And so we have to go on some rides. Fair enough. If we're not here for that then we're only here for the incredibly uninterested-looking animals. Well if I was a tiger living between York and Scarborough I'd probably be wearing a frown most of the day as well.

In all honesty, it's actually not a bad park. It's got some decent rides and some decent animals, which is really more than you expect for a zoo/theme park in Yorkshire, and from somewhere than chooses to call itself Flamingo Land. I mean really, if you're looking to get people excited, maybe don't focus on the Flamingoes. It just doesn't make sense to me. Call it Lion Land, Rhinos and Rides, just not fucking Flamingo Land. That's like renaming Disneyland something like Ralphland after the guy that sells the candy floss. It's not why you're there.

Aaaaanyway, I urge you to go to Flamingo Land, genuinely, because you'll have some of the most visceral experiences of your life. I've never been scared on a ride like I was at Flamingo Land. It was this sort of disc, that we were all hanging from the outside of, facing inwards, and it rotated while lifting into the air, so you were thrust towards the ground and then hoiked back up again. Fun times.

Yeah, so I was sat in my seat next to my girlfriend and the brace thing comes down over my shoulders and locks and we prepare for lift-off. Then one of the guys running the ride, let's call him Archibald, or Archie, wanders over and is doing his last-minute checks. Then he shouts out to his mate, who we will call Nigel, "Oi Nige, check 23 for us!" and then simple-looking Nigel wanders up to me and begins to examine my shoulder brace thingy.

I may remind you at this point that I was considerably larger than I am now, and was probably approximately 19 1/2 stone. So Nigel is looking at the one thing holding me in my seat while I'm thrown into the air and spun around at high speed. He pulls at it, shakes it back and forth, then just starts repeatedly shoving it into my stomach. Just shoving, looking over his shoulder at Archie, who is staring intently at what I can only imagine was a warning light, telling him that I was clearly not secure in this situation.

Now I'm not proud of how big I was, but I had to some extent come to terms with it at that point. I'd grown larger and larger throughout my childhood and had got used to not being able to do certain things. Like shop in Topman. And use kids' trampolines. I was fine with this. I wasn't bothered about the ride. The only ride I was bothered about was the one I was hoping to get when I got home for being such a great boyfriend.

So at this point, I'm realising what's happening and am just about to start saying "Don't worry about it, mate, I'll sit this one out" when the moronic tit decides that despite the obvious safety warnings, it was all good. "Yeah it's cool, take 'em up" he shouts to Archie, who instantly, before I can utter a word of caution, or more accurately fear, flicks the switch and starts us spinning.

We begin to speed up, round and around and around, then beginning to lift higher into the air, me desperately clinging to the handles on the brace, knuckles white, face drained of blood, literally terrified of death.

I'm convinced this thing is going to just let me out. Let us not forget that it wasn't happy with me WHEN IT WAS STATIONARY. And I'm not a stupid man. I'm a physics geek, deep down. I've studdied circular motion and angular momentum. Centifugal force. If you don't know it by name that's ok, but you will have experienced it. The force you feel when you go around a corner in a car and you're flung to one side or the other.

Right, so I'm there realising that I'm now putting more force on this already strained contraption because I'm spinning around and a-fucking-round, thinking that all I'm going to have to save me is my own grip, which was considerably less than needed to hold my tremendous weight to this machine.

The ride goes on its side, with people flying down straight towards the ground before coming back up on the other side. Now I'm feeling the force is primarily pushing against the brace itself, not even the seat. I'm at the top, the highest point of the fucking ride, with 19 and a half stone pressing against a dodgy mechanism, convinced I'm going to die, tears streaming down my face, desperate to get off, clinging on for dear life.

Finally, the ride slows and drops and ends with me intact. I've never been more scared in my entire life. And my loving, doting girlfriend - of two years at this point, I might add - turns to me after the ride, looking at my red, tear-strewn face desperate for comfort and love, and just simply says: "You fucking pussy."

Thanks for that Sarah, love you too.