Dumped, Actually(4)



‘What do you think that’s for?’ Samantha asks, pointing at the small, low stage.

‘No idea.’ I shrug. ‘Probably something to do with The Blitzer’s first outing.’

Samantha nods. Ha! She has no idea!

In no time at all, we are both stood with a crowd of about forty people outside the ride’s entrance. The Blitzer has a wintry theme, so everything is coloured in icy blue, white and silver. It’s rather like standing at the North Pole, if it had been created by children full of imagination and E-numbers.

Amy emerges from the entrance with an excited look on her face. She is joined by two middle-aged men, both dressed in expensive suits, and even more expensive hairpieces. These must be Jacob and Silvester Marleston, the owners of Thorn Manor.

Amy welcomes all of us to the new ride and promises it will be the greatest experience of our lives. I think she might be overstating things a bit there, but she is in PR, so I’ll let her off just this once.

She gives a little speech thanking the Marleston brothers for constructing the park. They both smile the smiles of men with seven figures in their bank account. Amy then thanks all of us for being here.

As she does this, a park photographer is skipping around the crowd, snapping away merrily to record this most prestigious of moments. I’ve already arranged for him to also take photos of my most prestigious moment, which will follow the three minutes of high-speed mayhem I’m about to endure.

With her speech done, Amy lets us into the entrance to the ride. The small crowd whoops and hollers with excitement as we go in. Samantha’s voice is one of the loudest of all.

We all walk through an atrium covered in fake snow and plastic ice, before emerging on to the broad platform, with the rollercoaster cars parked next to it. I’m slightly taken aback when I notice that the cars don’t have a bottom, and are instead suspended from the track that hangs overhead.

‘Er . . . how are we supposed to sit in that?’ I ask Samantha. It’s becoming apparent to me that in all of my excitement about arranging today, I didn’t really pay that much attention to what kind of ride The Blitzer is.

‘We don’t sit in it, Ollie!’ she replies with excitement. ‘You hang from those harnesses, which have a full one-eighty-degree range of parabolic movement.’

Well, I may not have read up much about The Blitzer, but my girlfriend clearly has.

‘Oh . . . great,’ I say, starting to go a little white. I was prepared for a fast ride around in a little rollercoaster car with my feet planted firmly on the floor and my hands gripping a metal bar for dear life. I’m not prepared for 180 degrees of hanging parabolic movement – whatever the hell that is.

Too late to turn back now, though. I have a marriage proposal to get to.

Samantha immediately makes a beeline for the front carriage of the three-car coaster. We don’t get the front row, because that’s been commandeered by two teenagers, but we do get the next row back, so it’ll pretty much be a front-row seat for this experience in extreme parabolics.

I have to stand on tiptoes to get myself into the strange stand-up harness, with my genitals resting on a thin padded rest that protrudes from the back of the moulded plastic. A rather overweight young man in a Blitzer T-shirt and khaki shorts bellows at all of us through a microphone to be careful as the safety bars are lowered from above. I press myself back into the padded harness as a large U-shaped bar descends, tightly bracing my shoulders and midriff once it’s in place.

This feels less like I’m about to enjoy a thrill ride, and more like I’m about to undergo a battery of scientific medical examinations for something very unpleasant.

Samantha grins broadly at me, her eyes out on stalks. I try to return her enthusiastic expression, but only manage to look like I’m experiencing bowel problems.

I can’t see my own face, but I’m pretty sure I’ve gone as white as the Joker.

Suddenly a booming voice fills the entire area.

‘It’s time to blitz!’ the deep, manly voice tells us. ‘Are you ready?’

I’m not sure, manly voice. I’m not sure at all.

‘Blitzing in three . . . two . . . one . . . go!’

And with that, the rollercoaster flies into motion with stomach-churning speed.

Aaaargh!

This isn’t how rollercoasters are supposed to start! You’re supposed to do the chugga-chugga bit first! A nice slow motion up the track to the top, before descending the other side!

Where’s the chugga-chugga?! I needed the chugga-chugga to prepare myself!

Instead, we’re shot forward at what feels like the speed of sound. My whole body is forced back into the harness as we rapidly approach that hellish-looking loop I spied earlier from the safety of the park’s walkways.

I can already feel my gorge rising as we hurtle towards the sharp incline.

Don’t be sick, you idiot! You can’t propose marriage with half-digested porridge drying on your shirt!

The Blitzer’s car hits the incline at roughly Mach 10, and immediately hurtles skyward.

From beside me I hear Samantha scream with delight. In front, the two teenagers have their arms held out and are screaming as well. In fact, everyone is screaming. Except me. Out loud, anyway. My internal scream meter is off the charts, though – largely trying to convince my stomach to behave itself as we continue to climb skywards.

Nick Spalding's Books