He had said that he would prefer 'an experience'.
Carenza, Sandy and I took him to The HG Wells War of the Worlds Experience in Leadenhall, London. When we arrived in the foyer cafe, I nipped to the loo. When I came back, each of the others was holding a tablet and adding their signature to it.
'You just need to sign this, Clare. It's the waiver.'
Trustingly, I signed so as not to hold up the show.
There followed two gripping hours, during which the Martians landed, we fled our homes, escaped by sea, attempted to live underground in the sewers, got ingested by an alien pod and spat out, and finally watched the demise of the aliens, felled by bacteria.
'Some of the virtual reality bits were astonishing,' said Nigel.
'I enjoyed the live scenes where we interacted with actors. They were really good,' said Sandy.
'I liked the steam punk styling of the sets and props,' said Carenza.
'I enjoyed it but I has a bit startled by the bit where we got sprayed with water, and the bit where it was dark and somebody touched my arm, oh, and that big spiral slide we wooshed down! I wasn't expecting that.'
'But it was all flagged up in the waiver, Mum.'
'Oh wait, you were in the loo.'
So that will be my strategy if ever I am caught in a Martian invasion. Go into the loo and stay there. Clearly it will insulate me from everything that is going on.
