We’ve just come back from a day of sunshine and splashing around at the New Jersey water-park Hurricane Harbo
ur, making the most of the Labo ur Day three-day weekend. Imagine Alton Towers if all the rides were slides, and all the decorative tat had a vaguely nautical theme, and you’ll start to get close to imagining Hurricane Harbor.
[What is it that Americans have against the ‘u’? Was there a treaty issued shortly after the Boston Tea Party, banishing the letter from the kingdom, and forcing it to live o
ut its remaining days as a hermit in a shanty town in Ur ug uay??]
Anybody who has ever had an even slightly negative body image should be forced to spend a day at an American water park. Those who know me well will know that I have a few issues about my weight – the main issue being that if I was swimming off the coast of Japan, I would be under near-constant threat of imminent attack from blood-thirsty fisherman with a penchant for blubber.
Yet in Hurricane Harbor, it’s possible for the average man to feel like he’s just been plucked from the pages of GQ or Arena, in comparison to the vast majority of the park’s male visitors.
This is, after all, a place where the main snack product available for purchase is the funnel cake. For the uninitiated, the funnel cake is like a giant donut which has been squeezed through a funnel to increase its surface area and fat content. People who manage to eat a full one can fully expect to see Norris McWhirter appear from the dead in order to proclaim a new world record for the amount of cholesterol consumed by one person in a twenty minute period.
And it doesn’t stop at the funnel cake either. The main food emporium at the park serves burgers, pizza, hot dogs or fried chicken, all with seasoned curly fries. It’s hard to believe that any meal at Hurricane Harbor comes in at under 1000 calories, and that’s before you’ve even begun to think about a large Coke. I asked for a chicken wrap, only to be greeted by the blank stares of staff who believed that the only two appliances in the kitchen were a freezer and a deep fat fryer.
All of this allowed me to swan into the water with all the confidence of Daniel Craig or that bloke from Lost who was also in the Davidoff ads. Obviously, now I’m back home, I’ve reverted to feeling like Les Dawson. Perhaps I shouldn’t have bought that third helping of funnel cake after all?