2005-06-06 - 11:17 a.m.

I�m not really much of what you�d call a theme park person, and the conversation on the shuttle bus from the hotel to the park wasn�t doing much for my enthusiasm. Don�t get me wrong � I was glad to be talking to Ray, and after all he hadn�t threatened me with any physical violence as yet, which is a definite bonus in my experience.

It�s just that I had casually mentioned to him that I was going to review the new ride, and having done it the day before, he had launched into graphic descriptions of all the digestive and colonic bodily malfunctions I could look forward to. As pep talks go, it was less than inspiring, especially the stark �You will literally shit yourself�. I nonchalantly pooh-poohed Ray�s predictions about my rectal discipline but inside I was wishing I had gone into video game reviewing or knitting news.

The ride hoved into view about half a mile from the actual park, always reassuring to get a sense of scale combined with time to build up your fear. I was there early, and I thought the best bet would be to get it over with, but I thought I would do one of the other rides first, just to boost my confidence a bit and make sure that my breakfast wasn�t going to try and negotiate its way out. Sadly, the rides where you go round at four miles an hour in a big tea cup and the family log flume were still closed, so I had to make do with the world�s only eight loop rollercoaster as a warm up.

It wasn�t scary so much as geometrically violent � after about four loops, you�re nursing remedial whiplash and coming off, you feel like you�ve been used for sparring practice by a tag team of sumo wrestlers. Still, there were plenty of eight year olds racing back into the queue for another go, so I probably just fell outside its demographic, that�s all.

Much as I would have loved to sit around watching the surprisingly raunchy Polynesian Dance show and work my way through the hot dog menu, I couldn�t escape the presence of the Condor, it�s towery ridiculousness taunting me wherever I went. It dominated the park skyline, its victims milling about in ever decreasing circles, drawn in like moths to a flame, or at least moths to a 100 metre freefall.

I was hoping for at least a chance to compose my thoughts in the queue, but people who are there by themselves � that would just be ME, then � are given a special queue of their own and I was thrust into the harness before I could even begin my internal dialogue about why I couldn�t just make the story up, a tactic I�ve employed in many less dangerous situations � for anything requiring a modicum of personal effort, for example.

Next thing I know, me and three ten year olds are dangling 100m up on an unfeasibly thin pole. So this is how it ends, I thought. Mechanical failure in a theme park that can only afford the branding rights to Woody Woodpecker as its figurehead. Bugs or Mickey and you know that there�s at least some cash sloshing around for safety checks every now and then. Woody � an ornithological bit player in the cartoon world - is basically a symbol of cut corners. If all they�ve got is a pic of the uncle in Popeye who eats hamburgers all the time, forget it.

I fixed my gaze on the horizon, of which you could see worrying amounts. Anything but the floor would be OK. Sadly, though, this luxury is denied to you, the chairs tipping over 45 degrees forwards before being released into the void.

There isn�t much to think about on the way down. �This isn�t so bad� was my initial thought, as we hit about one tenth of the maximum speed. Then, in no particular order came �We�re going down really fast but we�re still really high up�, �I think my internal organs are about to implode� and �Ray, I should never have doubted you�.

I expect the experience is like committing suicide by throwing yourself off a tall building, only with a safety net and a bunch of cocky, sanctimonious pre-teens looking only slightly less than bored as you flounder to regain your normal walking ability.

In the interest of research, I asked William, who was about 11, what he thought of the experience. �Yeah, it was OK. It was nothing, really.� I�m not sure, but I don�t think he could have been paying attention properly. Or maybe he was mentally slow and the shock would only surface some hours later.

Anyway, the hard work done, I could at least relax. Now all I had to do was spend a couple of hours as a dishevelled lone male, wandering around surreptitiously taking pictures of young children enjoying themselves. Just how uncomfortable could THAT be?