Center Parcs, Center Percs, Center-field? Gin-girl goes rural on your/her ass…

Hello, Hello, I'm back on the case after a short break away from the perils and tribulations of Blogland. What have I been doing with myself? Well, trying to avoid pecuniary disaster and damnation for one, but also getting all holistic and 'with the programme' when it comes to health and fitness. Not that I've given up the gin trail of course, but I've been trying to walking the tightrope between hedonism, reckless alcoholism and total despair a little more carefully. To be specific, in grand Dickensian style, I've just got back from Center Parcs no less! Me, hawking and falconing and even horse-riding! Stick a label on me and call me Priscilla, Tamsin (or some other pretentious horsey name)why don't ya?

Yes, I have gotten over my, definately partially class-based fear (me being common as muck and my parents, friends etc, never having done such a thing in my life), and made acquaintance with our equine cousins. To be honest, the horse I ended up with was a bit of a coach potato- 'She's a bit of a fat pony' the stable attendant said as she loosened the girth (I think that's the terminology); well, quite. In fact I have sneaky feeling that 'Secret' as she was called, would have preferred to have been tucked-up in a cosy stable watching Richard and Judy with a horse-sized bag of Quavers or cheesy Wotsits, than trudging my less than experienced bag of bones around a series of probably over-familiar fields. I tried to correct her once, in a moment of Grandstand-induced enthusiasm, and a desire to go slightly more than somnabulist-tortoise speed, only to be rebuffed with a theatrical 'I'll thank you not to tell me what to do' mane-toss. Anyway, we made friends and got to our destination without further incidence. I enjoyed the experience overall and 'Secret' tolerated me like a special needs tutor with a particularly remedial charge in tow. Guess she has to earn her oats somehow!

So what else was there to enjoy of the Center Parcs experience? Well, the falconry was good, and I correctly guessed that the adult male Barn Owl, Twinkle, weighed the same as my friend's recently newborn baby, Finlay, i.e. 71b. Not much to be sure, but I never win anything, so was well chuffed with this fleeting accolade. The 'Sub-tropical' paradise was also good fun, despite the numerous over-excited and excitable munschins that dominated the pool during the day (I recommend going after dark, and with a couple of glasses of gin-based cocktail in your belly to avoid them). I even went down the water rapids and the water slides with true Boudica-style bravado; kinda. There was no ransacking of Londiminium or savaging of Roman oppressors; just me on a kiddie slide, trying not to feel like a totally effing eejit. You see the truth is that I never did this kind of stuff when I was younger; my parents were slightly less than adventurous and I was a bit of a wimp truth be told. Riding on horses and shooting down water slides at top speed was not top of the agenda for mini-gin soaked girl, more's the pity. If I ever do have kids, and the likelihood is small at this stage, I'll definitely let them have more woodsy/adventurous/outdoorsy type fun. So there.

Well, back to the gin, sawdust lined pubs and other urbanite endeavours.GSG.