Under Pressure in Cheshire

We spent the May half-term in Cheshire with Louise’s mum and sister. I like this part of the country and, when I was 18, came close to starting a teacher training course at Chester University. In truth, this was less about genuine aspirations to inspire the next generation and more about being a Hollyoaks fan; Lee and Bombhead appeared to spend most of their time in the students' union, drinking snakebites while flirting with implausibly attractive women over the pool table and it looked terrific. A few weeks before I was due to start, though, I impulsively reversed my decision.

“And how do you plan to fund this gap year, Andrew?” 

“Don’t worry about that, mother. I’ll up my hours at Subway.”

On our way to the accommodation, we stopped at Delamere Forest. It was a beautiful day, and I was anticipating sauntering along woodland lanes, supping a latte, possibly whistling, while the boys ran around with my in-laws. Louise, though, had other plans and insisted we take their bikes out. Of course, teaching your children new skills is a wonderful, life-affirming thing. This does not mean it is wall-to-wall fun. 

During Joshua’s early lessons, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of his saddle and squat-jogged alongside him, sweating, knees aching. When someone literally cannot ride a bike, letting go of them seems roughly in the same league as, I don’t know, booting them in the shin? Progress under my tutorship was slow and it is due almost entirely to Louise’s efforts that he is now competent aside from a bizarre aversion to using his breaks.

Jacob remains in the balance bike stage.

“Have you altered his saddle, Andy,” Louise asked.

“Um…”

“Well, have you got the Allen key then?”

Not a realistic question. I don’t think there has been a time in my life when I have been in possession of an Allen key. 

Anyway, it went well; Louise’s mum treated us to coffees, Joshua only fell off once, and Jacob only had one tantrum (about his saddle being too low - reasonable.) 

We arrived at our accommodation, The Hollies Forest Lodges, in the late afternoon. Our cabin was delightful and, after Louise’s sister poured us glasses of Prosecco, we strolled outside. With the sun shining and birds singing among pine trees, I eyed up the hot tub and felt in high spirits. Unfortunately, I was snapped out of my blissful state by the high pollen count.

“For god’s sake, Andy!” Louise said. “It’s not necessary to sneeze that loud!”

I imagine Louise would like me more if I did not suffer from hay fever.

The boys slept in the same bed for the first time and, aside from waking up at 3 am and inexplicably screaming in each other’s faces, it went smoothly. Knowing I will never have to assemble a travel cot again is thrilling. 

The following morning, having double-dropped my Benadryl, we headed to Bewilderwood, a forest adventure park with treehouses, mazes, playgrounds, and entertainers. I honestly think it is one of the best kids’ attractions we’ve ever been to, and the boys thoroughly enjoyed clambering around, getting their faces painted, and making cardboard crowns with owls on. Jacob, still clinging onto the coronation celebrations, is a crown aficionado and, if he had his way, would wear one at all times, preferably with fairy wings and a sparkling wand. It’s a subtle, understated dress sense. 

As we were getting ready to leave, Joshua noticed a drop slide that you go down in a sack.

“Will you come on with me, Daddy?”

I had a flashback to a traumatic episode on a similar slide at Piglet’s Farm; we’d held hands while I counted down from 3, but Joshua didn’t move when I did so I’d inadvertently dragged him and chucked him down, headfirst. Fortunately, he wasn’t (badly) hurt, but I felt like the worst man alive, and the familial atmosphere was thick afterwards. Stony silence on the tractor ride.

Just as Joshua and I were clambering into our sacks, Jacob came scurrying up the stairs.

“Can I do it, too?” he asked with the unspoken agreement that if I said no, he would have a significant tantrum.

“Um…ok.”

As he got into his sack, my heart was racing. Was he too small for this? It will be fine, I assured myself. Besides, if the three of us get down unscathed, it might finally banish the ghost of Piglet’s Farm past. We held hands in a 3-person chain while I started the countdown. Hmm, was Louise furiously shaking her head? Too late. Jacob jumped the gun at 2, let go of my hand, and we watched as he tumbled out of his sack mid-slide, overshot the bottom, and whacked his head on the floor.

“I don’t want to do the slide anymore, Daddy,” Joshua said.

“No, son. Me neither.”

Walking down the steps to a soundtrack of Jacob’s crying was slow torture as I anxiously considered:

1.       How injured Jacob was.

2.       How angry Louise was.

3.       Whether my in-laws had seen.

4.       Why I am such an idiot.

Thirty seconds later, the answers were in.

1.       Egg-shaped lump on head.

2.       Very.

3.       Yes.

4.       Because I never learn.

Gladly, Jacob soon bounced back, and it didn’t turn out to be a day ruiner. Still, I never want to look at a drop slide again. Stupid invention.

In the evening, we relaxed with some drinks in the hot tub where, fortunately, I didn’t repeat an incident from a few years ago where I spent too long in a jacuzzi and literally fainted when I stood up, then had to be dragged back to my feet by an elderly man while Louise tried (failed) not to laugh.

On Wednesday, we went to Chester Zoo, which Joshua had been looking forward to for weeks. He takes after Louise and her family who are very much animal lovers. I’m not on the same level and would class myself as more of an animal liker; this is probably down to being a pet-less child aside from some stick insects. Due to being unusually tall and rake-thin at the time, I was quite self-conscious and, to be honest, found them quite triggering. Thanks, Dad. 

So, while I enjoyed seeing the elephants, giraffes, and cheetahs, I was less excited by the wild dogs and pheasant pigeons and lacked the required enthusiasm when Joshua eagerly informed us that we’d missed seeing some red pandas at the other side of the zoo. 

By the time we were standing in a barely moving queue for the lazy river ride, I’d slipped into a daze.

“Is everything okay, Andy?” Louise asked. “You’re a bit quiet?”

Subtext: “Don’t be a grumpy prick.”

“I’m absolutely fine,” I said.

In front of us, a man with dubious sideburns was loudly and inanely rambling on to his visibly disinterested wife and children. Here is a snippet:

“Do you remember that time we went for dinner, and I asked for a pizza without mushrooms, but, when it came, it had mushrooms on it, so I asked them to take it back? Do you remember that?”

Would Louise rather I said something like that? Surely silence is preferable?

Anyway, the boys had a great day at the zoo and that’s the main thing, isn’t it?

In the evening, Louise’s mum and sister kindly stayed in, allowing us to go for a date night. We walked to a posh country hotel nearby and pretended to be guests so we could enjoy the courtyard bar. This reminded me of many childhood holidays when my mum would take us into 5-star hotels to use (steal) their facilities. She insisted it was foolproof.

“Nobody ever questions a mother with young children, Andrew.”

Aside from some midges incessantly chewing at my ears, Louise and I had a lovely evening, sharing a bottle of wine and reflecting on a lovely holiday; there are loads of things for families to do in Cheshire and we will definitely come back.

Who knows, next time, I might finally get to enjoy a snakebite over a game of pool in Chester students’ union?

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