“Hold. On. Tight!” I managed to gasp as all the air was pushed out of my lungs, and my cheeks did an impression of the worst face-lift in history. Torn between keeping my suddenly very small-looking child safe, and preventing my own ungainly demise into the ocean, I alternated between white-knuckling the grips, and resting an ineffectual elbow across his belly.
My husband was screaming at the other end of the sofa; I could just make out the words “lunch” and “shrimp,” as I realised he was fearful for the contents of his stomach. “Mine’s halfway up my oesophagus!” shouted my seven-year-old, and credit to me, I had the parental wherewithall for a moment of pride at his vocabulary.
It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, I recited in my head. It’s only water, and we’re all in life-jackets. The memory of a waterskiing tumble that left me face-slapped and minus my bikini bottoms surfaced, and I knew it wouldn’t be. We had to hold on at all costs.
But oh, how we laughed. Shrieking, gulping great whoops of euphoria at the sheer joy of speed, and sun, and stinging water. It was terrifying, but we loved it. Climbing off, our legs were shaking, our teeth fixed in perma-grins. It was all we could do to stagger to our sunbeds and wave feebly for someone to bring us a drink.
If you’ve ever wondered if it’s worth paying all that money for 15 minutes on an inflatable sofa, it is. Do it. It’s the best £100 you’ll ever spend. Next time I’m totally doing this:
What even is this??!
If you ever go to Barbados, head down to the beach at Zacchios, and ask for this man (below). Kindly recommended by Tanya at Mummy Barrow (check out her Barbados posts too), Marvin took us swimming with turtles, and quite literally made our day by organising all our watersports there. The least we could do was buy him a drink, while the smiles were still on our faces!