dicked over by a cup

I feel sick just looking at this image.

I got dicked over by a rollercoaster last night.

OK, so I'm 30. And until this year I had never:
1) Been ten pin bowling
2) Been on a rollercoaster

The first is neither here nor there, possibly because it just sounded a bit dull. The second is because I have an incomprehensible and undeniably irrational fear of anything that goes fast and upside down.

So I've never even attempted to do it. I don't get off on adrenaline. I get off on nicotine.

So. I go off to Winter Wonderland with my colleagues. It's this (quite festive and glorious) Christmas market in Hyde Park, with a fairground, ice skating, stalls that sell giant sausages, waffles and anything else stodgy and delightful that makes you want to stuff your pie hole, mulled wine, hot cider, and...rollercoaster rides.

I usually ignore rollercoaster rides and people that go on them.

For 30 years I have abhorred the sport. And rather successfully.

Until we all decided to go to Winter Wonderland when it was, like, -10 outside.
I was with my colleagues who'd come over from the Sweden and Switzerland. And even they were so cold they couldn't feel their toes.

When Nordic people complain of cold you know you're in the band of Death By Circulation. Or lack thereof.

So in an attempt to get indoors we raced to this thing called The Black Hole. A giant dome that appeared innocuous and vaguely warmish from the outside. "Let's just do whatever it is inside. Who cares what it is, let's just do it. At least it'll be warmer," chimed the Vikings.

I saw the track. I saw the little car. And the flimsy seat belts.

'No. No no no. You don't underst...'

"Oh look the 'Tough South African girl' being scared. Shut up and get in.'

"Listen you European freaks. I'm not getting in there if it's a rollercoaster."

I asked the dude running the thing if it was scary.
"No," he said looking bored.

"I will come back and kill you if it is."

He didn't look mildly alarmed or call Health & Safety, which is what Brits do when threatened.

Fine, squashed myself in between a German and a Dutchman, (literally. He's from Den Haag), and promptly shat myself.

I have never screamed the word 'Fuck' in such quick succession or at such vocal range in my entire life. And I say 'fuck' a lot.

FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!FUCK!MOTHERFUCKER!FUCK!

The Dutchman is since deaf.

During the ordeal - in the dark might I add - My only awareness was that I was about to have a farking heart attack.

The 'Black Hole' was a rollercoaster in the fucking dark (fancy that?), so you had no idea which way you were turning or hanging at any such point.

How I didn't blow my aortic ventricle is beyond me.

Even as we docked at the end, I sat in the cart screaming FUCK! over and over again, until the realisation set in that I wasn't moving anymore.

I got out, high fived God. One does that when one is still alive.

And then thought: 'Ang on. I'm PUMPED.'
Jesus, now that I'm still living and breathing this shit, I might as well carry on!

So I promptly got onto one of those twirling cups.

Well fuck me on a foozball table. What a painfully dof idea.

If centrifugal force at 200km/h is your idea of a shit hot time, then we'll never get on.
The chick next to me was loving life.
I had dribble coming out of the left side of my mouth, my hat over my eyes, and then promptly vomited on the platform after I got out.

An hour later, I still had problems standing straight. It had fucked with my whole alignment. I still feel like I could puke on command today.

And people do this for fun?

Get the hell out. That was categorically the single worst self-inflicted thing I have ever done to myself in my life.

Apart from that time I ate a whole tray of hash brownies and couldn't talk for four hours.