We go to Disneyland.
“ItsmickeymouseitsmickeymousedaddydaddydaddyitsMICKEYMOUSE!!!” cries the Toddler.
Mickey Mouse appears.
I am determined, for a few days, to leave my natural English miserable-bastardness in the hotel for the sake of family unity. I take a photograph of a man in a giant mouse suit and we walk to the theme park. Burly men at the gates are opening peoples’ bags and checking them for any negative thoughts.
The recipe for Disney is very simple: 2% pudding, 98% egg. The fact is that small children are thrilled by the basics of a) going on brightly coloured things that move and b) meeting giant mice, and you could probably leave it there and go down the pub. But they do insist on slopping on all these concepts of wishing and dreams coming true and the world being a wonderful place and all that.
Nowhere is this more prevalent than in a constantly repeated song called ‘Just Like We Dreamed It’. This plays over the tannoy on some form of constant loop, whilst made-up loons prance around with fixed smiles in the big parade. A soft-rock number in the boy/girl duet mould, it has the unusual effect for an art form of making you want to cut off your own cock in order that the pain will cause you to pass out and make the song go away. Then, just as you are scrabbling in your bag for a big knife, a truck-driver’s gear change reveals that – no – it will never go away, and will be stuck with you for ever. I have subsequently – and very foolishly – found this song on Spotify, and my life will never be the same again.
We watch the St Patrick’s Day tribute to Ireland and the Irish, which features riverdancing chipmunks.
Songs aside, I enjoy my trip. And food. Songs and food aside. I am a big fan of true American food, and it distresses me when it is spoilt by being prepared in the European fashion, ie boiled in the microwave and served in small portions for lots of money. But everything else is good.
The LTLP takes the Toddler for a wee; I sit at the entrance of the park, people-watching whilst I wait. It is the best bit. I could never get tired of spotting each child’s face absolutely light up as they step through the gates and realise that they are in a place that will provide them with brightly-coloured things that move and giant mice. It is truly heartwarming. Then I realise that I am turning into Noel Edmonds, which is wrong.
15 thoughts on “Mouse #3.”
I went to Disney World in Florida back in 2000. Not a day has gone by since without me finding myself humming ‘It’s A Small World After All’. Nine years, Jonny. NINE. If I had a cock, I’d have cut it off long before now.
Anyway. Glad you had a good time. Did you meet Pooh?
Better than turning into a giant mouse, I’d reckon.
Should’ve gone to Parc Asterix instead, Jonny. For a lot less money you could have had the overpriced food and brightly-coloured moving things, with the added bonus of wearing a horned helmet and punching Italians. That’s pretty much the complete dream package in my book. Tho’ I’ll admit that persuading toddlers to hug giant dancing menhirs is more of a challenge.
Shame that there was no equivalent tribute to Norfolk and the Norfucked to make you feel at home. I personally would pay good money to see what that would look like. Whatever it involved, I seriously doubt that the chipmunks would be dancing, unless they’d brought their sisters along…
I feel truly moved.
Does Disney Europe still confiscate visitor’s home-made sandwiches?
Are you in the European or American Disney world?
I like the way all the english children in the European Disneyworld are so readily confused by the french mickey mouse.
The European one, of course. Honestly – if I went all the way to America I would go somewhere good, like Dollywood.
Indigo – I believe so, or there were certainly some ‘no picnicking’ signs. A couple of shady characters asked me outside if I’d carry a briefcase into the park for them for 3000 Euro, and a man approached the LTLP to see if she would carry eight jam butties through security, hidden in condoms up her foofoo.
One of my children is going to work for the Florida DisneyPlace for a few months. Fortunately it’s the one who smiles and likes people and causes all children within a fairly wide radius to instantly fall in love with it. Might not be so good if it were the misanthrope whose face, when daydreaming, looks like its about to leap across the table and rip your ear off with its teeth.
For ‘Just Like We Dreamed It’ (which I have NEVER heard and refuse to Google now), I recommend either developing your own version on banjo or imagining it as sung by the happy boys of Rammstein. That should fix it.
Oh dear – I’ve just seen that it’s the one in France. Not the same thing at all I fear. Sadly I’ve been deprived of both but dear John Gielgud reckoned the American Disney was one of the greatest experiences of his life. And he’d been about a bit.
Disney has warmed the cockles of your heart. How lovely – it had better wear off.
And are you leaving your underpants like you did in Canada?
Children dying of starvation in Africa.
While their leaders who live in palatial mansions send well fed soldiers off to war.
One day, when you’re really, really old, you will remember this trip and talk on and on about it, boring your grandchildren to tears.
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