Blog 19: Prescribed Fun

Why do I get myself into the stupidest situations?

My mum and my sister decided to go away to a camp during the Easter holidays to get her used to half-extreme sports such as rock climbing, abseiling, etc, and being the adventurous person that I am I thought that there could be no harm in a little abseiling trip.

I mentioned to my sister that the trip sounded like fun, and it would be pretty fun. My mum asked if I would like to go, I said “why not” and then asked nothing more of it.

The time came that we had to leave. All happy that we were off on a little excursion, I hopped in the car with my laptop, music, stuff to read, an Iron Man DVD and off we went as if we were straight out of a Cliff Richard song.

In the car when we were about half hour away, I asked my mum to see the brochure, and then it dawned on me that we were off to a family activity place, set up mainly for children and their parents, where you were forced to have fun, or else. My stomach twisted, lurched...I panicked. “What have I done?” I asked myself.

On arrival, I found that the place we were staying was basically a Gulag, as shown in the photos and videos. It was scary. Blue-garbed guards patrolled around; one had a Mohawk which was all red and tall and I didn’t like him one bit. The guard who guarded us was called Mawry or something, and decided to offer me some orange squash on arrival, despite my obvious beard, and also was kind enough to knock on my door 10 minutes before 7.30 to let me know that dinner was in 10 minutes time, as if I couldn’t work out that dinner at the predestined time of 7.30 was going to be at 7.30.

Dinner itself sucked; it was the sort of dinner you’d give someone that you wouldn’t mind annoying or not treating very well because you know they’ll die during the night anyway.

Later that evening, which is as I write this, I was invited to join in activities and play with my 4 year old “peers” in an evening of prescribed fun. It all sounded jolly, but unfortunately I had to try and go on the internet to escape the reality of where I was.

Foolishly, I forgot that the place we were at was in the middle of nowhere, Lincolnshire, and of course, phone reception and wireless internet access is still something from the Terminator films out here.

So I stayed in a while, until I was intrigued to go outside to see if I could find reception elsewhere.

Outside was haunting. Although I knew inside that the screams were of joy, I couldn’t tell whether they were actually joyful, or screams of people dying. It was horrible, and I mean it without any exaggeration at all. The heavy spotlights beaming down on me, casting areas in deep shadow and other areas in bright piercing light, again, like a Gulag or death camp, and the tall “high ropes” course like a sentry tower, as shown in the pictures, together with the screams made me feel very frightened to be honest, so I walked (briskly) back to my deserted 6 bed room, complete with dust, one duvet and pillow, and half eaten skittle, and sat down on a mattress on the floor and typed this up. I can still hear screaming from outside.