A couple of weeks ago the children and I went down to Hayling Island for a return visit to Mill Rythe Holiday Village. We had a sensational time and one of the highlights for the children was the family sports day. The kids loved the traditional sack race, egg and spoon, and welly wanging, and they nagged me mercilessly to join in with the team finale. Reluctantly I got to my feet and we made our way to the start line, where we were split into teams.
On my team were a number of large chaps, a couple of women and a young boy. Our captain eyed us all up appraisingly and manoeuvred us into size-appropriate pairs for the first race: piggyback relay.
‘Alright, love?’ my partner Jeff grinned at me. I nodded, feeling rather reluctant to leap onto his back. It was an exceptionally hot day. The sort of day summer memories are made of. And Jeff was shirtless. His back glistened with sweat, running in rivulets through a carpet of hair and coming to rest on top of a perfectly circular roll of stomach protruding over his waistband.
Just as I was wondering if it would be bad form to offer him at the very least a towel, the whistle blew and we were under starter’s orders.
Jeff eyed my skirt and winked. ‘I think you’re going to have to hitch that up a bit, love.’
Gritting my teeth, I tucked my skirt into my knickers and clambered aboard, losing my grip as my fingers clutched at his slippery shoulders. Jeff grasped my thighs firmly (and, I thought, a little higher than strictly necessary) and as the second whistle blew, we were off with an alarming lurch.
Never have 100 metres seemed so far. With each lumbering stride I shot into the air, feeling the welcome rush of cool air on my bottom before I slammed back down onto hot flesh with a squelch.
‘We’re gaining on them!’ Jeff grunted.
‘Brilliant!’ I managed, shuddering as I felt my knickers grow damp with the sweat of a man whose last name I’d never know.
As we reached the line, Jeff executed a surprisingly neat turn, which caused me to slide to the side like a jack-knifed lorry. I clung on for dear life, arms tight around the largest neck I had ever seen, my face pressed against an inky-blue mermaid tasting, appropriately enough, of salt. With a final grunt of exertion Jeff hurled us both across the finishing line. He released my legs with a chummy squeeze of my thigh, and I slithered down his back.
‘Light as a feather!’ Jeff proclaimed, gallantly.
I felt a sudden urge to wipe myself on the grass like a dog, but I settled for surreptitiously squeezing the sweat from my hem as I thanked him for the ride.
I have no idea if our team won, as the entire experience left me deeply traumatised. I rounded up the children and bowed out of the remaining team games before anyone could suggest a wheelbarrow race.