Last Thursday saw us meet up with S's sister and her hubby and our nieces and nephew for a two day fun fest at Alton Towers. How lucky were we? The weather was probably the best it has been this year and we had a ball. The park was reasonably busy and my SIL and I couldn't help but notice the amount of folk wearing leggings. Leggings appear to be the standard uniform for visiting the park, however not everyone followed the leggings rules which are:
1 - Get out a measuring tape and measure out twelve inches. If your backside is any wider than that then opt for normal trousers. 2 - A fat ass needs a long top. 3 - A muffin top does not need a cropped top. 4 - If you must wear leggings then make sure your underwear is the same colour as the leggings. There is nothing worse than the sight of someones ass crack devouring their red spotted under crackers through their shiny black leggings. We know, we witnessed it. 5 - Look in the mirror. If your backside resembles a bag of pebbles, bin the leggings.
This makes for a far pleasanter experience for everyone (as does deodorant which a few folk in the queues obviously hadn't heard of).
Leggings apart we had probably two of the best days ever if you discount the 'fun run' incident on the Thursday night. After exiting the park we all trailed back to the cottage to have tea. My sister in law and myself were dispatched to KFC at Uttoxeter to get dinner. Fast food or so we thought. Unfortunately for us when drawing out of the farm road end we came bonnet to nose with an unmeasurable amount of runners taking part in the local 'Fun Run'. About two hundred souls ranging from the overweight, to the just plain decrepit. Usain Bolt need never worry. They shambled by like kids at a fat camp who have just been told there are donuts for tea. We couldn't go back so had no choice but to drive at a snails pace along the road with them. What a nightmare. We didn't know where to go as some of the roads were closed. We finally stopped and sat waiting for someone who said he would give us directions. He never appeared and we were moved on by a rude witch of a woman who said our exhaust fumes were terrible, made no attempt to help us when we asked for directions and snarled at us that 'the road to Uttoxeter was shut'. It wasn't - the lying cow! You know who you are, you old bag! The engine would have been switched off if we had known we had ages to wait. Rich from someone who probably had a 5litre 4x4 sitting in her drive of her palatial house. We trailed on behind a selection of folk who looked like they would never make the end of the road, let alone the run and finally escaped down a side road, away from the run that wasn't any fun at all......