'Flumes are like life, see?' Cousin Morag said, as we neared the end of the queue on the spiral steps and approached the platform which supported the entrances to the four flumes.  An attendant in white shorts and T-shirt was supervising the people - mostly children, already damp - who were queuing for the fun.

'Like life?' I said, shuffling forward and talking round Ricky's bulk.  He had insisted on standing between Morag and me, seemingly not yet content that I wasn't in fact a stalker with murderous intent, though quite where he thought I could have secreted a weapon I couldn't really see.  Perhaps he suspected I was going to up-end Morag over the side of the spiral railings and send her hurtling to the tiles below.

'Yes,' Morag said, round Ricky's impressive biceps as she came to the front of the queue. 'You can take the short fast fun route, like the black chute here, or the long slow leisurely route like the white one, or something in between, know what I mean?'

'Sort of,' I said.

Morag got the nod and padded over to the mouth of the black tube, watched all the way by every pair of eyes within range.  She lifted herself athletically into the gaping mouth of the black hole.  Lights above the tunnel mouth changed from red to green.  She pushed herself away and down, disappearing with a joyous whoop.

Ricky turned to me, grinning. 'She always does that,' he said.  Then he strode across the moist tiles to follow her, hurtling silently down into the blackness a little later.

I thought it would seem churlish not to take the same route.  I settled myself in the mouth of the drop, grabbing the chrome handles at the side of the flume entrance.  When the red light went off I let myself go.

Terror.  It only lasted about three seconds, but for those moments I felt scared witless.  Air rushed around me, one shoulder burned with friction, water rushed up my nose, I was twisted this way and that and then hurtled from near vertical to perfect horizontality in a single body-jarring thud and blasted into the water-filled trough I'd observed earlier.  I skidded to a stop near the end of the trough, coughing and spluttering and with a chlorine-burned nose.  My swimming costume had tried to insert itself into my womanhood.  I also suspected I now knew what receiving an enema felt like.  I waved my arms around, red-faced and coughing.

Morag and Ricky pulled me out, laughing.

I thanked them, stood, stooped, spat out a little water and pulled my swimsuit into a more modest configuration.

'Wow!' I said, beaming at them.

'Again?' said Morag.

'Again!' I cried.

'In most flumes, just sit up to go slower,' Morag said, explaining how to apply the brakes. 'Though that wouldn't really work in something like the black run here.' She giggled. 'Also, you can put out your arms, or there's a way of lying down but arching your back so you get a vacuum between your back and the flume floor.  But going slower isn't the point, is it?' She shook her head at me. 'If you want to go faster, you cross your ankles and put your hands round the back of your neck, forcing down your shoulder blades.  That way you've got one heel and both shoulders in contact: minimum friction.  There's more to it than that, naturally, for really fast runs; you have to throw yourself into the curves, know what I mean?  Flex into the right shape, try to minimise collisions.  You've got to think yourself down it.  That's how to score really low times.'

'You carry a stop watch?' I asked as we moved spasmodically up the spiral steps.

'Not allowed any jewellery,' Morag said, displaying elegantly naked wrists in front of me.  Ricky was ahead of us, content that I was not such a bad egg after all. 'A lot of fast flumes have a button you hit as you set off; you go through a beam or something at the bottom and your time's displayed on a clock at the exit pool.  Really good fun, it is.'

'Oh.' I watched over the edge of the railings as somebody exited into the splash pool beneath us. 'Do you do a lot of this sort of thing?' I asked her.

'Oh God, yes; I've been to all the major flumes in England, the Costa del Sol and the Balearics.  We were due to go off to the Canaries last week; I've heard there are some good ones there, but then this thing with Frank's VAT came up.'

'Hmm,' I said.  'I take it Allan knew you were supposed to be going on holiday?'

'Yeah.  He knew.'

Of course; and if all had gone according to plan I'd have got to London, finally found out that Morag was away on holiday, and - if I hadn't decided to wait on my own initiative - would doubtless have received instructions to do so from High Easter Offerance when I reported back by phone-code. 'How long were you going for?' I asked.

'A month,' Morag said. 'But then Frank had to talk to the Customs and Excise guys and I thought, well, I'll do the Scottish flumes then, except I was a bit worried about you.  I was going to give Stirling a miss; reckoned they were a bit too close to home for comfort.'

'So there's lots of places with flumes, then?'

'God, yeah; hundreds.  I mean, these ones here are all right, but you should see some of the big ones they got abroad, the big outdoor ones; fuckin' brilliant, they are…'

'Right, goin' for the Black Hole again, right?' Ricky said, getting to the front of the queue.

'Right, lover,' Morag said, holding him by one shoulder and then patting his behind when his turn came.

'So Ricky's your boyfriend?' I asked her.

'Yeah,' she smiled broadly. 'Hunk or what, eh?'

'Oh, a hunk,' I agreed. 'How does he feel about you… you know, in the films?'

She put her head back and laughed. 'Is he jealous?  Na; I think he's proud, and he likes watching, anyway.  Besides,' she lowered her head to mine and dropped her voice. 'Don't tell him, right?  But sometimes, right, doing the porn?  I just pretend I'm faking it.'

She giggled, winking at me.

I looked at her, frowning. 'You mean you fake faking an orgasm?' I said, confused.

'Yeah,' she said, nudging me. 'Don't want to hurt his feelings, do I?' She glanced round. 'See you at the bottom.'

Terror, again.  But this time I kept my legs crossed and hence avoided any orificial invasions.  I was starting to appreciate how, for Morag, fluming might present a refreshing contrast with her day job.

'How did you become a porn star?'

'I was giving a concert-'

'The baryton?'

'Yeah; of course.  I was doing all right with that, too, though it wasn't like you could get many people to come along; very small scale and select it was… but I was on the tube train going there, kind of dolled up, I suppose, when this guy came up and gave me his card and asked would I like to have some photos taken for a magazine?  And I said, What sort of magazine?  And he said a men's magazine, but one of the class ones, like.  Well, I wasn't bothered one way or the other, but then he mentioned the money and I said, well, I'd have to think about it.  Thought about it, called him next day, said okay, went to this stately home a week later where they were doing the shoot, took off me togs, the photographer recommended Frank as a manager and he got me into the films.  Simple as that, really.  I know I should have said something, written or something, but the communal letters kept telling me how proud everybody was of me playing the baryton and I felt I'd be letting people down, and I mean after all I had started off doing what I'd said I'd do, and I still do the occasional concert, every few months, like, and so I reckoned it was sort of all right and maybe even kind of ordained, anyway, because if it hadn't been for the baryton and me going to that concert and meeting the guy on the tube train then I wouldn't have got into porn in the first place, would I?'