Bollocks to Alton Towers

Being a roller coaster addict in Britain is practically the same as having a fetish for queueing. In fact, bargain hunters probably have it a lot easier. At least Selfridges' automatic doors don't jam every five minutes, leaving crowds of oddly compliant people with their faces pressed against the glass. At least British Home Stores don't proclaim, in optimistic neon: "30 minutes from this point" when they really mean "we haven't got the symbol for infinity so we'll plump for this arbitrary number instead. Have fun growing old." There'd be riots outside Next if they tried to pull that one.

What do you mean I'm not tall enough?

But queue riders? C'est la vie. Ah well. Let's go for a four quid hotdog and come back later. In theme park world, later means never. Queue times don't go down, they go up, just like petrol prices. The park opens at 10am and three minutes later the queue for their newest attraction, Th13teen, is 60 minutes.

A seasoned park-goer chooses his time carefully. Saturday is usually a no-no, but this one comes at the end of half-term holidays, when skint families, having already undergone their ordeal of 'fun' have learnt their yearly lesson. It's world cup Saturday too, and England are playing later. Stay-at-home dads will refuse to budge from their laz-e-boy recliners, having already tethered a Nuremberg rally's worth of flags to the front of their houses and procured a wife-beating volume of beer. Theme park, y'say kids? Sod off. This is me time. Unfortunately we underestimate the number of non-patriots with too much money. The park isn't packed but it's busy, with teenagers, old folk and single mums, offsetting the absence of fathers as though holding a mirror to society.

Disheartened by the early setback, we make our way to the adjacent coaster, Rita, former Queen of Speed, deposed somewhere between the conversion rates from kilometres to miles per hour one assumes, but still a nippy, if short-winded opener. This queue time bodes quite well. Fifteen minutes, practically the blink of an eye in thrillseeker terms, and it's all over in forty-nine seconds, but there's time for another go, as the sheep are still fixated with Th13teen, a ride that the guy next to me on Rita confirmed was 'not worth the queue time.' "It doesn't live up to the hype," he affirms, and the comments below that youtube link seem to bear it out.

In any case, you daren't stray too far from a good queue time, because it's unlikely to get any better than this. But Air beckons. It really is a special ride. Gentle in adrenaline terms, but inspiring in the sense that it really feels like a flight, mainly due to your 'Superman' horizontal seat position. Have a gander if you've never seen it before.



The queue time is 60 minutes, but there's a way of circumventing that. The Single Rider line means you don't get to go together. They will lump you in wherever there's an odd seat, maximising ride capacity and in theory reducing queue times. But that was before the fast track pass. It's clear Alton Towers want you to stump up extra dosh on top of the entry fee, and Single Riders, handy space-fillers of yore, are now looked on almost as freeloaders, and with a sort of withering disdain.

As we join the line there's even a notice to the effect: "Single Riders - if you are queueing at this point you will probably have to wait longer than the normal queue. We advise you to join the normal queue" The thing is, there are only about twenty people in front of us. Granted, they won't get on as quickly as the regular riders at the same point, but suggesting an hour's wait smacks a little of "why don't you buy a fast pass instead you cheapskate?" So we dismiss it as an idle marketing threat.

Our worst suspicions are confirmed, though, as we shuffle closer to the holding pen, feeling ever more like fresh meat at the Bangkok Hilton than paying guests. Every ten to fifteen minutes a gloomy tannoy voice declaims: "Ten more single riders," and the victims are despatched down the tunnel to await their fate.

Meanwhile the line to our immediate left - the fast track line - streams steadily forward, their golden ticket holders given salutory winks or flirty smiles then sent on their way. The third queue, to the far left, is the regular line. It is clear we are pleb central here, persona non grata. Twenty minutes later we are next in line for the amphipheatre loading area, but a nasal bird with no regard for speaker volume in enclosed areas blares out: "Air is experiencing technical difficulties..." We groan as the ride undergoes a few empty test runs. Then it seems to start moving again. Only ten minutes of delay, and we are at the front of the single rider line. Alright, it's been thirty-five minutes in total, but we are so close we can smell it, or that could have just been the stag party in furry animal costumes at the side of us. Not the most advisable attire in this heat.

Ten more minutes crawl by, then two of the single riders who were despatched twenty minutes ago come shambling back up the ramp. "We've had enough. They're giving priority to everyone else, while we hang about like lemons." The gate assistant makes a desultory attempt to placate them, but they are not angry, just saddened. "Just let us out, darlin'." Seconds later we are discouraged further when the breakdown bird plays her recording of doom. The ride has broken down, yet again. "Sod this," I sigh, and we finally admit defeat and decamp.

Now fair enough. If you're prepared to shell out for the privilege of fast track on the best rides, then why shouldn't you?

Fast track to poverty.

But here's the actual cost of that privilege, a staggering extra £80 per person on top of the entry fee (£38) and parking (£5) for the 'privilege' of not queueing upwards of an hour, and more usually two or three in peak times, for multiple goes on the good rides. That, for me, puts it well out of the realms of family entertainment and more into "ahh well, it's only a tank of gas for the Cessna" territory. Their preferred parking (close to the entrance) has also gone up from an already pricey tenner to a staggering £15, again putting it into the exclusive preserve of people who tether their yachts at Monaco.

Nemesis fares better. Twenty minutes on the single rider queue, although the suggested time is an hour. Sneery pass politics haven't reached here yet, or the ride isn't as popular as it once was. Whatever the reason, we aren't about to look a gift coaster in the mouth. The afternoon improves considerably when we consult the notices and see that Oblivion's wait time is 0 Minutes. Naturally, we are sceptical, but make our way over there anyway. It could be that the park is emptying so people can get home for the footy. There's a good reason for the lack of delay, though. The ride has broken down.

Here's how Disney fastpasses work. And they're free. Yes, that's free. Included in the entry fee. Will cost you nada. Nowt. They work pretty well too, and I can say that from experience. Five years of visits worth. As my dear wife observed, "The combined cost of entry, parking and a platinum pass for one day at Alton Towers would buy you a three-park 14-day ticket at Universal, Orlando, with change left over for a pupil-dilating slush puppie.

No shit sherlock.

Of course parks have to make a living, I just feel that they're doing it at the expense of families. If you're of the same opinion, you might be interested in the Merlin annual pass, that we usually procure through Tesco clubcard vouchers. That way we can factor in our rides per visit, rather than vice-versa, without tipping too much of our cash into their grabbing coffers. Plus it's good for all those other parks too, whose rides are hopefully better maintained.