Saturday, 25 June 2016

Rubber bullets...

There are times in your life when you seriously question a decision made.  One of those times happened yesterday as I was hurtling 450 metres above a Welsh quarry at around 120mph.  When Miss R had booked these tickets with the underhand approval of the husband, it didn't even register on my feeble brain as to what I might actually be asked to do.  Let me take you through the first half of yesterday morning....

Having got over the initial shock of opting out of the EU on Thursday night, and having asked many pertinent questions (mainly will I be able to cash in my £3.78 Euromillions winning ticket from last week) we headed off to ZipWorld in the pouring rain and high winds. 

Why is it that these places, where death is a minor possibility, employ children as instructors.  One of them, who was given the job of telling us how to work the safety harness was so young that his voice hadn't broken.  Another one, with her plaits and braces looked as though she'd stepped off the set of Little House on the Prairie, never mind a manly Welsh slate quarry.  All tackled up, I looked at the zip wire with some trepidation, watching people speed down like bright red bullets. 

'It doesn't look that bad', I said.  'I think I can do that'.

It was at this point that the husband and Miss R shared a worried look.

'That's the practice zip - we're going up there......'

Looking to where the husband was pointing I tried very hard to see where he meant.  Of course the low cloud, circling vultures and torrential rain meant that I couldn't quite see the start of the zip wire, but I could see where it was coming from and where it was ending up.  A vertical drop over the edge of the quarry, above a turquoise lagoon and over the trees and home. All taking about a minute.

'Oh'....

So fast forward one hour, and you find me suspended over the edge of the precipice in my harness, hands tucked into straps, muttering under my breath that if I survive this, someone will pay.  The child instructors merely slipped the safety strap off and basically pushed me over the edge.  In more ways than one.  Apparently I screamed all the way down.  I dispute this, as I know I used some rather fruity language too, and even I am not that clever to scream and swear at the same time.

As one of the other children grabbed me at the bottom of the ravine, he asked me how the ride was.

'Horrible.  Really horrible'.

'But what about the view?  Did you enjoy that?' he persisted.

'Don't know', I spluttered through my tears.  'I had my eyes shut all the way'.

I shall never look at a zip again without breaking into a cold sweat.  It's a lesson though...

Pay more attention when the husband is in charge of planning as he really can't be trusted...
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