WHERE IS THE LAPBAR? We hung around outside the book/coffee shop for a while recharging a bit before heading off for some very important work. It was time to send the trainee Jedis on some off-world exercises. I stopped at the entrance to Star Tours and checked the wait time. 0 minutes. Must be the Force or something making that happen. Anyway I instruct the trainees on the details of their mission and send them on their way whilst I wait outside with Nanny Lesley, Harry and Steven. Nanny Lesley has completed her Jedi training so there was no need to send her on this exercise. Harry and Steven are still too short to start their training: they have only just been given their first pod racers so itâ€™s unfair to expect them to handle the jump to lightspeed at such a young age. Whilst we wait on a bench â€“ close by in case we are needed to rescue our trainees â€“ we spot, or hear, a group of youngsters who are calling for their friend who is lagging behind shopping apparently. Nanny Lesley and myself volunteered to lend our vocal support to them and helped them call for their friend. Donâ€™t tell anyone but we used a little bit of the Force to attract her attention too. Once the group were safely reunited with their friend, we proceeded to Star Traders where we had arranged to meet the trainees once they had completed their mission. I was toying with the idea of buying Harry a light saber so he could begin his weapons training but decided he was still a little reckless in the mind control department so I decided against it. Steven however, spotted a gift that he simply had to have for his Auntie Breeze. It got a little bit squashed on the flight home but when I get a moment Iâ€™ll send it over. Our trainees emerge safely from their exercise and are rewarded with a few minuteâ€™s browsing time before we proceed on to our next mission. We check the times for Indiana Jones, wondering if we can fit one in before lunch, or after lunch, or some other time maybe. We end up not seeing it today at all but hey, we do plenty else. Time for some serious stuff now. We cross the hub with the big hat and enter Hollywood Boulevard and stand there with â€œitâ€ looming above us. The Tower of Terror. Regular readers of my reports will know that I hate the Tower of Terror. I hate the Tower of Terror so much that every time I am here I have to ride it again to remind myself of just how much I hate it. And here we are again. Harry and Steven are obviously too short to ride. Nanny Lesley has no intention of going anywhere near this one: even listening to the scream emanating from the Tower is almost too much for her. I explain the details of the ride to Ellie and sheâ€™s up for it, as are Big Steve, Lisa, and Adrian. We find a nice shady bench for the non-riders to rest on, conveniently near a restroom, and we leave them with many snacks and drinks just in case the wait is longer than the 13 minutes that it always says on the sign outside. And we enter. And if I were wearing an ICD it would have registered a serious spike. There is no wait to go into the little room to watch the gairy pre-show TV thingy and then we exit into a line, which is definitely way too short for my liking. I offer to escort Ellie to the slow elevator out of there if she has changed her mind, but she gives me that look that 6-year-olds do when they think a grown-up is being an idiot. We wait literally 60 seconds before being assigned dots on the ground to stand on, and then another 3 seconds before I realise that our dots correspond with the front row of seats in the elevator. Ellie and myself exchange another glance in which she reveals her contempt for my cowardice and we are invited to enter and take a seat. I sit in my assigned spot and reach forward to pull the lapbar down and clamp my legs securely to the seat allowing no room for movement at all. WHERE IS THE LAPBAR? There is no lapbar. I look down and see two flimsy bits of webbing on each side of me, which apparently I fasten across my legs. And this is supposed to keep me safe from the impending doom that I face? As I fasten these useless bits of safety equipment I notice a small handle on each side of them. Is that what I have to hold on to? I am certain that I am facing absolute doom. There is no way I will survive this. I clamp my hand securely into Adrianâ€™s upper arm and keep it there for at least 4 hours after the ride is over. Actually not that long, but his arm was a bit sore as we departed our elevator after our adventure. Who knows how many drops we had to endure: there was a lot of upping and downing and door opening and screaming, and I swear I heard Ellie laughing with excitement. As you can obviously guess, I survived the trip and exited there on jelly legs, vowing never ever to ride the wretched thing again. Until next time. Eliie came skipping out asking if we could go round and ride again. I yelled NO, and was joined in this by Lisa who apparently had the same jelly-legged dislike of the attraction that I had experienced. Ah, a kindred spirit. Adrian was up for it again, and Big Steve wasnâ€™t really sure. Anyway, we checked out our photo â€“ funny â€“ and breezed through the gift shop as much as jelly legs can breeze, before staggering out into the sunshine again to be reunited with the rest of our family. I had survived. And I hated every second of it. I rate it very gairy.