Xscape
A week before Louise’s birthday, I fell down the stairs. Just before I got into bed, I had my infuriating nightly thought, “Did I definitely lock the front door?” and, despite being 1000% sure that I had, I knew sleep would not be forthcoming unless I checked. Somehow, I lost my footing on the second step and clattered down to the bottom where I lay in a crumpled heap in darkness.
“What the hell is going on?” Louise said, emerging in the glow of the bathroom light. She told me I had woken up the boys and terrified her as she thought it was a burglar – albeit a bad one. I would not necessarily describe her reaction as one of sympathy.
I self-diagnosed a bruised knee and a broken big toe and Louise had little patience as I spent the next two days hobbling around, taking forever to complete basic household tasks, occasionally grunting. Three days after the accident, though, something incredible happened; I discovered I could put weight on my foot, and it was almost completely better. Too ashamed to admit my hypochondria, I continued limping for the rest of the week until I dared to declare my miraculous recovery.
Louise sighed and probably considered why she had ever agreed to marry me.
At least I was match fit for the weekend’s festivities. This year, she wanted to do something different for her birthday: arrange everything herself. Hopefully, this was not a damning indictment of my past efforts, but I’ll admit I felt deeply a little offended.
As well as a spa day for the two of us, she organized an action-packed family trip to Xscape, an enormous leisure complex in Castleford. It is a half-hour drive from Leeds and has been around for 20 years, but we have never been before. Louise and I attempted to go in the early days of our relationship, but this was pre-satnav so she drove while I instructed using several pages of those godawful print-out AA directions. Predictably, I instructed her to take the wrong turnoff, we got lost in Pontefract and drove home in silence.
Fifteen years later, we were ready to give it another go.
Louise had booked sledging for our first activity and the boys were bouncing with anticipation. I was in similarly high spirits until I realised I'd neglected to pack my coat/any form of warm clothing for myself. As we entered the snow slope alongside other families who were head-to-toe in hats, gloves, and some (a bit keen) in full skiwear including sunglasses, I stood, shivering in my paper-thin jumper and began to appreciate why Louise deemed it necessary to organize her own birthday.
Despite the biting cold, and Jacob’s competitive spirit occasionally threatening to spill over, it was great fun and I’d highly recommend it. After a few runs, Joshua grew in confidence and decided that going down facing forwards was boring so he should mix things up. For some reason, I didn’t discourage this, and the result was predictable: he lost control, veered into the safety fences, and nearly knocked over a woman. Thankfully, nobody was hurt. Unthankfully, Louise caught my low-level parenting on camera.
Next on the itinerary was a trip to the arcades where we spent twenty minutes and almost as many pounds. The boys’ compulsion to keep asking for “one more go” on the grabber machines might need monitoring.
“Looks like something they have inherited from you,” Louise said, which confused me. I can only think she was referencing my occasional and responsible gambling on the football.
We had lunch at TGI Fridays where, aside from having to sign up for their Wi-Fi and download not one but two apps before we were allowed to order any food, we had a lovely time, gorging on a veritable feast of cheese, carbohydrates, and sugar.
“What’s the plan now then?” I asked as we waddled out.
“I just thought we could have a wander and see what we fancy doing?” Louise said, convincing absolutely nobody with this laissez-faire attitude.
“Sounds good, let’s just see where the wind takes us then.”
“Well, I’ve booked the clip and climb for 2.30 pm which leaves approximately 45 minutes to play minigolf.”
Ah, that’s more like it.
The main minigolf course, Volcano Falls, has a minimum of 18 holes which is at least 10 too many when you’re with young children who are wired on junk food and post-gambling adrenaline.
“You could try the 4D glow-in-the-dark golf, though?” said a lady wearing a visor. “It’s only 6 holes.”
“Thanks,” I said, “sounds perfect.”
It was not perfect.
We were handed some pairs of 4D glasses which, as far as I can tell, are much the same as 3D ones, then entered a course called "Search for Atlantis," a dark and disorientating room with fluorescent nautical pictures on the walls, a bumpy floor, and very little indication as to where one hole ended and the next began. A young couple started just after us.
“Do you want to overtake?” Louise asked.
“No, it’s fine. You guys go ahead,” said the man.
While I appreciated his manners, this was clearly a terrible decision for everyone involved and their date was spent watching Joshua and Jacob tearing around, wildly swinging clubs at chest level, kicking everyone’s golf balls. Given it was so dark, I doubt the couple could even see my apologetic smiles. Following a traumatic half an hour, I drew two conclusions:
- 4 and 6 is too young for minigolf.
- It is not necessary for minigolf to be 4D and glow in the dark. In fact, I would argue that neither of these things are necessary.
In truth, we were well ready to go home after this, but we’d paid £20 for the clip and climb, so I tried to appear enthusiastic while a lady put the boys’ harnesses on, and I was instructed to watch a long induction video alongside another dad who was watching cage-fighting on his phone throughout.
“Can I climb that one?” Joshua said, eagerly pointing to multicoloured 30-ft wall.
“Sure.”
Momentum, though, waned when I couldn’t figure out how to work the clip and had to ask a teenage employee for assistance. While this was going on, Joshua was looking up and turning a bit pale.
“Right, you’re good to go then, buddy,” I said eventually.
“It’s really high, Daddy.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. But you’re safe. Why don’t you just try and go up a little bit and see how you feel?”
“Um…”
Next to us, the cage-fighting fan appeared to have had no such issues with the mechanics of the clip and his son, who looked to be about 3, had flown to the top of the “Speed Wall” like a spider monkey.
“Look, that boy’s doing it,” I said, wondering whether this was helpful. “Looks fun, right?”
After much cajoling, Joshua climbed approximately 4-ft off the ground. Louise came over with Jacob and subtly told me that they had been similarly unsuccessful. We tried different walls but the boys just weren’t having it – neither of them fancied it. When children don’t want to do something, it presents a dilemma; of course, you’ve got to push them outside their comfort zone sometimes but I’m also conscious about not being a dickhead dad (I appreciate this is coming from a man who has included a photo of his son crashing a sledge in a blog he promotes to strangers.)
“Do you know what, boys,” I said. “Let’s just go home.”
Why end a family day out on a sour note? Besides, following my recent topple down the stairs, I could see their point.
Being afraid of heights is completely rational.
***
