A friend of mine, who swears by the restorative powers of regular adults-only trips to Disneyland, finally
convinced me to try it
Whatever the reason, we’re giggling like crushed-up schoolchildren as we skip our way across Alton
Towers’ gargantuan Staffordshire park, covering tens of thousands of steps as we rush from Nemesis to
Galactica to Oblivion to Wicker Man to Rita to The Smiler and back again. We pause only for a quick kiss
here and there – and to marvel at the sheer volume of people willing to shell out £33 for a branded hoodie
bearing the name of a very specific rollercoaster in the West Midlands.
It was my first time in a theme park in almost a decade, as well as being our inaugural attempt at an
overnight stay, and I’d felt a little weird about going as a grown woman without any accompanying kids.
After all, as a “childless millennial” I shouldn’t even be allowed in the door, according to one angry mother’s
recent viral Facebook post (she suggested that couples without children should be banned from Disney
World after being forced to wait in line to buy her toddler a pretzel. Cue the tiny violins).
But after years of extolling the virtues of a “romantic” minibreak of loop-de-loops and stomach-churning
drops, a friend of mine, who swears by the restorative powers of regular adults-only trips to Disneyland,
finally convinced me to try it.
We landed on Alton Towers thanks to the promise of its Stargazing Pods, a new glamping concept launched
this season – images of us wrapped in blankets while spotting the constellations through built-in telescopes
all seemed suitably La La Land (the undeniably budget version, yes).
Alton Towers’ Stargazing Pods (Alton Towers)Arriving the previous day after completing the first challenge of getting here – it’s weirdly not that well set
up for public transport users and we had to shell out for a 40-minute taxi ride after alighting at Stoke-on-
Trent station – we were eager to check in, then check out what one does at a theme park after hours.
Which turned out to be crazy golf. You get a nine-hole game for free as part of any overnight stay, and when
in Rome... join a tediously long line to play crazy golf. Clearly, everyone had had the same brilliant idea. We
pootled our way around at an enforced leisurely pace, rendered even slower by an adorable duckling that
followed us onto each hole, without bothering about scorecards. The fact I went over the nine-hit suggested
limit on most holes meant there wasn’t too much argument over who won.