It was my birthday last week. I am now closer to 40 than I have ever been, according to my smartarse younger sister. So what did I do to celebrate? I decided to spend the day at an amusement park. Magic Mountain to be precise. I’d seen it a few times on our trips elsewhere, and knew there was nothing really like it in the UK. Plus I hadn’t been on a rollercoaster in years. Why not?
Now, due to the fact that I haven’t been on a rollercoaster in years, I hands up acknowledge that I may have missed out on some developments in the world of turning people upside down really fast. But when you consider that my real frame of reference is Peter Pan’s playground, in sunny Southend, you can get an idea of how much this park was a culture shock. (I am kidding by the way, about Peter Pan’s I mean, I definitely went there once after the name change…)
As it was Veteran’s Day, a drizzly Friday in November and one of the last days the park was open this year, we were lucky enough to have no queues. Which meant we could ride at the very front of every single ride we went on. Except for the rollercoaster where you stand up, we were second row back on that one.
Yes, you read that right, the one where you stand up. We did that after the one where you lay down on your back and go up the hill backwards, hanging down over the tracks. Right before we did the one where you lay forward and assume a flying position. That was next to the one that goes upside down seven times, behind the one that’s famous for making people scream loudest.
I can honestly say that I have never experienced anything like it. And never had my body, which reacted violently to being thrown around all day and causing me to make a hasty escape from our final rollercoaster of the day to be reacquainted with my lunch. Because apparently that’s what being a grown up means. When a rollercoaster makes you puke, you make it to the bathroom. I am now officially a grown up.