Logging - Nick Spalding Page 0,98

enormous sign is a splash panel that reads ‘Don’t forget to include the hashtag #ThornManorIsOpen in your social media posts!’

I roll my eyes. Because you can’t enjoy a day out at a theme park unless you tell all of your friends on social media about it, can you?

I know I sound like a moany old bastard, but it’s approaching thirty degrees on this unseasonably hot summer’s day, and I am surrounded by sticky things.

And their parents.

I look at Grace, who is clearly as distressed as I am.

‘Shall we get out of here?’ I venture.

Grace nods. ‘Oh yes. I think that would be a lovely idea.’ Then her face falls. ‘But I don’t think I can face that car park again. Not yet.’

I shudder again. The traffic jam is probably still hideous out there. She’s absolutely right.

‘I tell you what, how about we go find a cold drink, have a sit down and decide whether we want to stay here any longer or not?’ I suggest. ‘If nothing else, it should give the car park a chance to thin out a bit.’

Grace nods. ‘I am very thirsty. That sounds like a good idea, Andy.’

With that decision made, we take ourselves off in the direction of a small concession called Quench, which sits close to the ridiculous-looking monstrosity that is The Blitzer. Quench sounds like the kind of place you can pick up a very large cold drink, and that would be just about perfect right at this moment.

I pick us each up a Coca-Cola slushy and we sit down on a bench overlooking The Blitzer, which has a track that loops high over our heads in stomach-clenching fashion.

The ride has a very obvious arctic theme. The entrance is covered in a lot of large, pointy ice crystals and snow. It all looks vaguely ridiculous under this hot summer sun, it has to be said.

The Blitzer logo is horrible, as well. All silly jagged points and snowflakes. About as subtle as a half brick. They should have had me in to do it. I would have done a much more aesthetically pleasing job.

‘Looks like they’re gearing up for something,’ Grace remarks as she unconsciously unbuttons the top of her shirt, letting it fall open almost to the top of her bra.

I would find this unbearably sexy in other circumstances, but my penis is far too sweaty and anxious right now to properly appreciate it.

The Coke slushy is rather glorious, though, and is managing to take the edge off my overheated internal workings.

I look over at where Grace is indicating and see that a section of the area in front of The Blitzer’s entrance has been roped off, and a large queue is forming. ‘Looks like it,’ I agree, and continue to suck on my slushy as we watch proceedings unfold.

A young woman in a business suit emerges from the entrance to The Blitzer, with two old, rich-looking men standing either side of her. The woman begins to speak to the crowd in front of her, and while I can’t hear every word she says because we’re not quite close enough, I do pick up the gist of what she’s saying.

‘Looks like they’re opening the Blitzer ride now,’ I say to Grace as I take another grateful suck on the straw buried in my slushy. ‘Those people have exclusive tickets for the first go on it. Lucky them.’

‘I’d rather have angry hornets inserted into me sideways,’ Grace remarks, also taking a gulp of cold, refreshing slush.

I nod in agreement.

The woman concludes her speech, and the crowd start to file into the ride’s entrance. As they do this, I spot a guy who seems very nervous, walking alongside a pretty blonde girl. He looks like he’d probably rather have hornets inserted into him sideways as well, but his girlfriend looks very enthusiastic about the whole thing, so he’s got no choice but to brave The Blitzer and hope to come out of the other side unscathed.

I give Grace a grateful look.

I’m very happy the lady I’m with today doesn’t have that same kind of enthusiasm for such an awful-looking contraption. I’m not sure I could stand it. I’d probably let her go on it on her own, and stay down here, sucking on my slushy like the big coward that I am, to be honest.

The small crowd of lucky first riders have now disappeared into The Blitzer’s bowels, leaving the plaza we’re sitting in a little less crowded. From off to the left, close