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Ice skating at Kew Gardens
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| Ouch! After falling over, Nancy Groves gets a helping hand from the friendly stewards at Kew |
Worried you are not good enough to attempt skating at one of London's outdoor rinks or, perhaps worse, are too good to be fenced in by a bunch of amateurs? Our two reporters, Nancy Groves and Paul Fleckney - of vastly differing skating abilities - went to Kew Gardens rink and found that, regardless of talent, Christmas spirit binds us together like sticky tinsel. Merry Christmas everybody!
Paul: Some people are born with genius, some acquire it. I am a bit of both. And one of my extraordinary talents is ice skating. As a young boy, while other lads would wear their football kit to the supermarket, I would don my ice-skating boots and leotard to trawl the malls with my heavily disguised parents.
Greatness seemed inevitable and when, aged just seven, I received a lesson from Olympic gold medal-winning skater Robin Cousins, it was because he saw in me a lot of himself, not because my beginners' teacher was off sick that day.
At the end of that lesson, presumably overcome, Robin skated off without even acknowledging me. His silence said everything. He knew, and I knew, I was special.
Which is why Kew Garden's rink presents such a dilemma. Can I enjoy and express myself without losers who can't skate getting in my way? Well, readers, pleasure came from unexpected sources.
The beauty of the surroundings - the Temperate House lit up splendidly, the eerie beauty of the walk to the rink, the possibility of sneaking a glimpse of one of Henry Moore's brooding sculptures.
As for the skating, I have never felt such satisfaction as guiding the hopeless Nancy through the basics.
Like a modern-day Mother Teresa, I nursed her through those difficult times and, in a world where computers and machinery have rendered the male impotent, I felt like a man again.
Nancy: Co-ordination has never been my strongpoint and I am none too keen on showing this to the rest of the world. Imagine my delight, then, when I found most people at Kew were on my level, waddling around in those ridiculous plastic boots like a duck in wellies.
It also helps that the ice rink is tucked away deep inside Kew Gardens. Not good for getting to the loo but at least you don't feel so on show as you would at places like the Natural History Museum.
As a pre-rink warm-up, and for reasons of Dutch courage, I got straight onto the mulled wine, it being luscious and temperatures being on the chilly side.
Dressed for the part in my best pom-pom hat and bag, I started tentatively, reluctant to peel myself away from the side. Paul was rubbish in comparison to his outrageous claims but it proved handy to have someone who could give a few tips, and stop me falling over and enduring a wet bottom for the next few hours. Even if I nearly toppled him in the process.
What you do have to endure, though, are the turkey twizzlers, those show-offs who think they look oh-so-cool spinning around, nailing the circuits at break
neck speed before stopping abruptly in a shower of ice and ego.
There weren't too many at Kew but they are out there, the wintery equivalent of the beach bum, whose most sophisticated seduction technique involves kicking sand in your face and being reasonable at volleyball. Not that I'm suggesting Paul was one of them, of course.
Kew Gardens Ice Rink, Victoria Gate, Royal
Botanical Gardens, Kew Road, until January 6, 10am-10pm, £7.50-£11.50, family £30, call 0870 400 0797, visit kewgardensice rink.com
4:46pm Friday 21st December 2007
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