Ye gods – it’s happened again. The narrative runs something like this. Somewhere in space and time, a businessman with a mill or two to spare dresses up a slice of unused land as a Christmas theme park. With promises of a “magical experience” or a “festive day out”, he proceeds to extract money from punters – lots of them. The opening day is followed by tears of disappointment and angry requests for refunds when said punters discover that the snow isn’t real, that the reindeer is a decrepit donkey bearing wooden antlers, and that the elves turn out to be all too human with needing fag breaks and the minimum wage, just like anyone else.
It has happened before; in 2008 in
Lapland – in the New Forest, not in Finland – and in Milton Keynes last year. The venue this time was the “Magical Journey” in Sutton Coldfield and the venture promoted by television doyen of design, Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen. Indeed, it seems to have become almost a metaphor of Christmas itself, the triumph of seasonal hope over actual, mundane experience. Maybe it’s good in us, this atavistic longing for a place that never was, a mist-enshrouded forest at the foot of a mountain where elves dwell and trolls lurk – and wishes really do come true for those with the right attitude.
The sad truth is that no reality can ever match even the most jaded and clichéd of fantasies. Nowadays, the maestros of the season are the store managers who deck the malls with a thousand boughs of holly, piped carols a-playing and cash machines jingling in the place of sleigh bells. By the way, Selfridges of London is looking great with its gold-and-green indoor theme, and fairytale dressed windows. If you can, do pay it a visit.
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