It was the
first Sunday of October half-term (first mistake). We arrived soon after
10am (second mistake, given that it opened at 9am) armed with an itinerary
and strategy on how to work the system. The plan was to rush around
grabbing fast passes (timed rides) for the five big rides: Big Thunder
Mountain, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Peril, Space Mountain, Peter Pan
Flight and Star Tours.

But the park was decked out for
Hallowe’en, and jam packed. The sheer volume of people was bewildering. We
joined the throng and shuffled down Main Street, and, like sheep, turned
left (third mistake) to do the park clockwise.

First stop was Frontierland – The Wild
West. There was no chance of getting even close to the Rustler Roundup
Shootin’ Gallery, which appealed to my boys. Everyone has now wised up to
the fast passes and the queue was a whopper. “Don’t worry, we’ll come
back,” I said, which became the catchphrase of the day.

However, the entrance to Big Thunder
Mountain was eerily empty so we took the plunge and headed into the mine
shaft. But it was an illusion. A clever labyrinth wound round and round;
packed and stacked we waited like patient cattle. It was too late to bail
out, we were totally jammed in. “Oh it won’t be long now,” I bleated for
the next hour and half. Some tiresome schoolgirls kept us semi-amused as
they nudged, jostled and pushed each other into my teenage son, Francis,
until one tripped and almost sent us down like pack of cards.

“Some giant television screens would keep
us from hyperventilating,” suggested Francis. But at last we were there,
and then it was all over in a few minutes. It was briefly brilliant. The
thrilled screams of the children made us almost forget the tortured wait.
I thought of a friend who had come with her children, mid-January,
mid-term mid-week; they had stayed on the ride until they overdosed.

We gathered up three more fast passes;
the Peter Pan Flight was completely full, Indiana Jones came up at 2.30pm,
Space Mountain and Star Tours at 4.30pm and 5pm. It was now 12.45pm. We
twisted and turned trying to find something without a queue. Pirates of
the Caribbean and Honey I Shrunk the Audience were gridlocked, the Mad
Hatter’s Tea Cups were overflowing. “Do you think people are enjoying
this?” asked 10-year-old Georgia. “And it’s all plastic.”

Spirits were flagging – we needed to sit
down. Finally we pounced on a dirty table outside in the cold. My husband
nobly queued for an hour for some anaemic chips and chicken nuggets. Most
of which were blown away by an almighty gust of wind.

Like everything else, the ladies’ loos
had stupendous queues – and no fast passes. In total desperation Georgia
and I disappeared into some thick bamboo.

Hearts pounding, we hastened to Indiana
Jones and the Temple of Peril, for our 2.30pm slot. Horror! The ride had
broken down. The staff shrugged.

We hung around for half an hour. Little
Alexander pathetically stuffed paper napkins into his shoes, “Just in
case,” he explained (there is a height restriction of 4ft 8in). But his
subterfuge was never put to the test, the ride could not be repaired.
“Let’s go!” the children begged.

We had hoped for maybe 15 minutes’ worth
of rides and left with one four-minute memory.