I recently convinced myself that taking our kids to a very large theme park would be a good idea, and on a bank holiday, what's more. Tom was harder to convince, but we ended up going anyway.
Once on site, I insisted that Betty and I went on the first ride we came to. We queued for an agonising hour and twenty minutes, behind a lady that Betty couldn't take her eyes off. I feared she was going to give loud judgements on what this lady was wearing/saying at any given moment, and get us beaten up. When we finally got to the front, I rationalised that to queue for this long, the ride must be bloody amazing. 'Hold onto your hat' I told Betty, as our carriage pulled away. 'Why are we going so slowly?' Betty asked, 'Is the ride broken?' I was embarrassed, and even more so when literally 30 seconds later we were back at the beginning, and I had to break it to Betty that after all that standing in a line it was time to find something else to do. 'Isn't this all such fun' I said faux-cheefully. Betty looked intensely annoyed.
From then on, the day just got worse: Dolly got bellowed at by another child who said 'I don't want you here, go away', Betty became increasingly frustrated/upset that she couldn't go on most of the rides, Dolly lost her sacred rabbit comforter, my new shoes were killing my feet, Tom had gone into a depressive state and wouldn't talk, it was hot, and busy, and Betty got temporarily lost. It was at this point, once we had found her, all of us in tears, tensions at an all time high, we decided to throw in the towel and go home.
As we sat in traffic on the M25 in uncharacteristic stunned silence, Tom announced: 'I am taking out that National Trust annual membership as soon as we get home'.
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