Alice In Wonder-ish-land

In which our reluctant hero goes on a family day out.

“Are we nearly there yet?”
“No. We’re sat outside the house. I haven’t even got my seat belt on yet.”

And so our adventure began, sat outside our house in a cheap family hatchback on an unexpectedly cold February morning. About to embark on a trip to Wonderland. The real Wonderland off of Alice in Wonderland no less. Or something.

Two hundred and thirty further squeaky renditions of “are we nearly there yet?” and we were there yet. Well, in the car park anyway.

“Are you sure that this is the right place?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t look that wondrous.”

There’s pretty much nothing that a lick of paint won’t fix in life. Grubby walls, tired furniture, and broken legs to name just three. Wonderland, however, looked in need of an entire Dulux factory of colour administering by the crack team that ruined the metaphor about painting the Forth Bridge a few years back.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained though. How bad can it be?

“Two adults and two children, please.”

“That will be thirty-six pounds, please. And no, I’m not having a laugh.”

The Mad Hatter was clearly more bonkers than anyone had realised. Or perhaps we were, having decided to pay and enter?

The place was somewhat eerie, like a long-abandoned funfair in a cheap horror film in which an escaped gunman was hiding out, taking potshots at unsuspecting passers-by.

One of our party reassured us that it looks less spooky when the trees grow their leaves back. Not planning to hang around that long, I made a mental note that nobody should split up.

The first thing we encountered was a fifty-foot giant holding a massive spade. The looped eight-track cartridge that provided his giant’s voice blurted out the story of how he built The Wrekin. Of course he did. Our five year old was unsurprisingly terrified. Welcome to Twin Peaks.

The first of Wonderland’s many rides lurched off to a flurry of sparks. It didn’t gain much momentum and toddled round to its eventual stop. I wasn’t really sure what the children made of it, but they didn’t hang around for another go.

We thought better of letting the world’s most likely to escape and get lost three-year-old loose in the maze, so next up was the caterpillar ride. The kids’ seatbelt was missing an end but they didn’t seem to mind. I guess that it all added to the excitement.

While they risked life and limb, I checked out the special safety features of a nearby table. Presumably, the sharp screw sticking out of the top was to prevent things rolling off its sloped surface and hurting someone.

My wife noticed that the person in charge of the teacups ride was covered in hickeys. In 2018. Given that he hadn’t avoided totally unnecessary personal harm in the last few days, I assumed that the kids were now officially doomed.

Thankfully everybody survived until lunchtime and we headed to the Mad Hatter’s tea party with our sandwiches. I forgot to bring the flask of tea, amateur that I am.

“Dad, the table is minging.”

Yep. It was. We headed to “Castle Leaky Roof” instead, settling for an idyllic table come seesaw in a puddle on what was fast becoming the coldest day since made-up-for-blogging records began.

“This is a proper British day out!”

…reported one correspondent.

Yes, it’s the future. Or the past. Or both, for all eternity. David Davis’ post-Brexit UK being nothing like Mad Max prediction debunked in a sentence. This, contrary to what The Daily Mail thinks, is exactly why most foreigners choose to live abroad.

Fed and watered, we headed to Winter Wonderland.

“Have you been before?”

asked one mum.

“What? People come back?”

Frosty’s Ice Rink was closed despite it being about minus three degrees, presumably as there was a risk of slipping on the ice. Not to worry.

It’s always the most harmless looking things that cause the most bother. The screams from the little people as they rode on the innocent looking baby roller-coaster of doom seemed disproportionate to anything that we grownups were witnessing. Was the ride that scary or had the little people finally spotted the escaped B-movie gunman?

The rides were long to be fair. Very long in fact. Definitely a case of quantity over quality. And it was so quiet. No queues, no people. Wonderful. Perhaps Wonderland wasn’t that bad.

Things unexpectedly started to pick up. Ice Mountain had a better walkthrough snow scene than many a Santa’s Grotto. The Alice themed huts were nice enough and the children could write letters in the post room. We visited Snow White’s house, the lady who lives in a shoe, the crooked house, jumped on a couple more rides, saw some dinosaurs and met Alice and the Mad Hatter with his comedy high fives.

There was educational value too with signs scattered around providing information about animals and the like. I assumed that the “Pond Life” notice was about the history of Telford, although I didn’t read it.

I slowly started to forget the place’s total naffness. The further we explored, the more charming Wonderland became, in a naff sort of way. Before long, four hours had passed. The kids were semi-frozen but happy enough and, after an inauspicious start, it was a decent day out. If only Wonderland didn’t look so unloved.

So, Mad Hatter. Get your brush out, slap a bit of colour on, straighten the various wonky bits, grow those leaves back and give the place a spring clean and we will see you for tea later in the year. Probably.

Fin.