This whole experience works because it’s ridiculously British. We’re talking queuing in the cold, paying eight quid for a biscuit, and pretending a fall is “on purpose.” But it’s also magical in a way that feels accidental. The ice rink doesn’t try to be fancy—it just lets you skate under a dinosaur and call it a day.
I went back last December with a mate who swore she’d never skate again after a childhood incident involving a railing and a bruised tailbone. She spent the entire session clinging to the side, cursing under her breath, but at the end, she had the biggest grin. “I beat the Diplodocus,” she said. And honestly? That’s the spirit.
The Verdict
If you’re in London between November and January, stop overthinking. Grab some skates, embrace the wobble, and let the long-necked monstrosity judge your form. You’ll laugh, you’ll fall, you’ll eat a too-expensive pretzel. And when you leave, you’ll carry a little slice of that silly, chilly joy with you.
Just don’t forget to book in advance—the queue for walk-ups is longer than a brontosaurus’ tail. And bring tissues. Your nose will run faster than that six-year-old on skates.
So go on. Be a wobbly dinosaur for an hour. It’s surprisingly great.
