My husband and I went to Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park last night to celebrate Thanksgiving. I love funfairs and much prefer them to summer festivals, where people spend an exorbitant amount of money pretending to be homeless in the English countryside for a weekend.
Funfairs are a mysterious presence in London. Pink posters for them pop up every other month sporting a slightly different holiday theme from the last. (The skeleton in front of the haunted house may or may not be wearing a Santa suit.)
My first weekend living in London, my husband took me to a nearly deserted funfair in Clapham. I was the only rider on an attraction whose metal creaked in a way that suggested I was going to die on the ride. What an apt welcome to London.
I bought all of our food, drink and game tokens for Winter Wonderland online in an effort to save money and not risk losing a bank card by taking it out of my wallet all the time.
The bratwurst and alcoholic drink token proved to be a scam as none of the food stalls served alcohol and none of the alcohol stalls would or could scan the QR code we were given. My husband pointed out, ‘You got scammed. Isn’t that the whole point of going to a funfair?’ He had a point, so we went off to play skee-ball and throw balls at cans. I won a very thin spiral notebook and pencil. Happy with my haul, I wondered what happens to the big stuffed animals people carry around their necks at the festival—like the Mardi Gras beads that they are—after the Christmas season. Do they go to good homes or end up in the dumpster after a month?
We drank cherry moonshine in hot chocolate which tasted more of cough syrup than the cherry cordial bonbons at your aunt’s.
It may have been the cough syrup, but I am convinced pink nutcrackers are having a moment. My husband pointed out that moment is probably, ‘Christmastime’. Happy Black Friday everyone.
Happiness is winning enough tickets to win a boom box.