This post will detail some of the highs and lows of that fun filled week, without trying to sound like an advertisement for Centerparcs!
After unpacking in our new home - a luxurious chalet - we said goodbye to our cars. This was a simple, blissful pleasure. To get around the site, which is essentially a large village, everyone uses bicycles. There is no distant roar of engines to be heard. The toot of horns was replaced by the chiming of bells, and the bicycle traffic gave the place a tranquil, utopian vibe.
There was, however, one small problem. My bike was fundamentally broken. The brakes didnt work. Not ideal on hilly terrain. The chain also had a habit of falling off if I completed one full revolution of the pedals. The result was that I either tagged along at the back of our group, jerking awkwardly on my crippled contraption whilst going uphill, or sped off at high velocity and out of control if going downhill. My family of course found this hilarious. Bystanders would peer as I slowly passed by, making a godawful racket as the chain clunked and whirred, shattering the woodland idyll. But I, being Mild Discomfort Boy (see previous post) persevered. I am happy to say I have since parted ways with that bike. I donated it to a homeless Albanian man. True story.
The week consisted therefore of cycling from one event to the next. I was not in peak physical condition, and the activities slowly took their toll on my flabby excuse of a body. The most embarrassing moment came during the rock climbing. We had to scale a 30 metre wall. Needless to say my athletic young niece and my trim wife both zoomed up the thing like a pair of spider monkeys, whilst I did well at first and then sputtered to a halt. Clinging on for dear life, my muscles were shaking and I was sweating profusely. In my mind I looked like Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger, but really I was a fat man hanging 5 metres above the ground unable to ascend a wall that (literally) an 8 year old just climbed. It dawned on me suddenly how much my body had deteriorated over the years, and then, from somewhere, adrenaline fired me up the wall. I got to the top, almost collapsed, then abseiled down like an absolute boss.
Following the ritual humiliation of the wall, we then had to do the Leap Of Faith. This involved climbing a telegraph pole, then standing on top of it and jumping for a trapeze suspended in midair. Jessie went first, and put on a typically fearless, virtuoso display. I was clumsy by comparison, and almost missed the trapeze, managing to grab on with one hand. There is video evidence of all these endeavours somewhere. Im sure my sister will use said videos to shame her little brother when the time comes!
Luckily my ego was restored when I later bullseyed a wild boar with a bow and arrow during woodland archery. It was a pretend boar, but hey, small victories.
Other highlights included a family boat trip on the lake. This started off as a very enjoyable and exciting communal experience - the harmony and unity of rowing as one, gliding through the water - and quickly descended into competetive chaos. 'Why can't we go as fast as them?' 'How do you turn left?' 'Don't run over that duck!'
Perhaps inevitably, the boat trip hit a climax when I somehow clouted my dear wife Natasha right on the head with my oar. Tears and shouting ensued as our vessel wended its woeful way back to the pier. The weirdest part of that whole afternoon though was the response of the young man in charge of the boats. 'Ah, yes' he said, when told of Natasha's unfortunate injury, before adding, both laconically and mysteriously, 'There's always disputes on the lake.' Sinister.
My favourite part of the trip was the laser battle. We journeyed into the woods, and were met by a group of families who all temporarily became warriors. A guide gave us guns and split us into 2 teams. Then battle commenced. Now, even simulated combat gives you a sense of who people really are. One young lad was dressed in full camouflage gear and his Dad, a growling Scot, stood on the sidelines barking orders like a ham-acted general in a cheap sci-fi. My nephew Haden was far too small to carry his gun properly, but loved it nonetheless. Jessie my niece wandered around like cannon fodder, oblivious to the carnage! Two older ladies on our team looked harmless but had camouflage like Predator (they literally disappeared at the start of every round) and were crack shots I regressed to my childhood, and was reprimanded for doing a power slide, then jumping headfirst over a barricade. The guide said something about 'health and safety,' and I overheard two opponents muttering about 'the long haired nutter who takes it too seriously.'
I had a stroke of luck at one point that played out like a Hollywood movie. I was in a wooden dugout shooting at the enemy when a voice behind me said, 'Freeze.' I turned round and there was the lad in camouflage, his gun levelled at me. He could have shot me and taken me out of the game there and then, but I guess like all good villains he loved a bit of drama. He stepped forward (did he want to take me prisoner?) and his headset announced he was dead and out. The fool had stood on a clearly marked landmine. His dad was not impressed.
My absolute favourite memory, though, is crawling next to my sister. She was carrying a bomb (our objective was to blow up the enemy base), writhing around in a patch of mud, and both of us were laughing hysterically. Then, our referee announced my sister had been shot and killed. I, instinctively, took cover behind her body! That's war. You weren't there, man. It was hilarious.
So, after a week of mayhem, we returned to Surrey weary but happy. And the verdict on Centerparcs? Brilliant. Just dont expect to relax, and book a holiday afterwards to recover!
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