"Pull your jumper up!"
My grandparents took me on holiday to Butlins twice, once to Barry Island in South Wales (now demolished) and then to Pwllheli in North Wales. On this second trip I took one of my friends from school, Paul, and we spent much of our time hurtling around the site on our suedette disco-style rollerboots which were all the rage at the time.

One afternoon my grandparents suggested that we all went to the fair on the site so we could have a go on all of the rides. We started on the roundabout (there is a picture of me somewhere with a stunning basin hair-cut and a revolting T-shirt looking absolutely terrified for some reason), then went onto what was called the “parachute ride” (a kind of roundabout where the seats hung down from a horizontal metal wheel, domed “parachutes” above the seat, and as the ride started to spin it would be lifted towards the vertical – you’ve seen them before), and finally headed for the waltzer.

Now I’ve never been a fan of the waltzer, especially when some slightly rough-looking character insists on standing behind you, wildly spinning your carriage in order to “heighten” the experience. We stood, watching the cars spin around, and noticed that one of the cars – the black one – seemed to be much faster than all of the others. Note to self: don’t get into the black car. The ride stopped, we all poured in, and sure enough the only car which was free for us to ride in was the black one.

My grandmother stood outside the ride holding onto bags and coats for us, and one of the assistants fastened Paul, my granddad and me into the black car. A few seconds later the ride began to spin, and true to form a rough-looking character appeared from nowhere, stood behind our car, and started to spin it violently as we whirled around.

I remember hearing my grandmother shouting “pull your jumper up! Pull your jumper up!” and wondered why she was making such a peculiar exclamation, especially as I wasn’t wearing a jumper at the time. I looked across towards Paul and my granddad and saw Paul laughing, but my granddad – sitting between us – looked a little peculiar, his head slumped forwards, and he was suddenly violently ill, a stream of vomit pouring from his mouth, but as we were spinning it sprayed us all like an evil mist. The character behind us stopped spinning the car and shouted “PUKE!” to somebody somewhere, and the ride finally slowed down. As we stopped we looked at ourselves and we were all equally covered with vomit, a good layer of it also covering the floor of the car, and the rest of the ride.

“Sorry,” we murmured as we walked from the ride, the massed crowds of Butlins holidaymakers giving us a wide berth as we headed off to get changed.
(nasalhair The Twix guy!, Mon 13 Jun 2011, 18:25, Reply)