My son grabbed me by the arm, propelling me across Lloyd Park to the loud, blaring attractions of the smallest funfair I have ever seen. ‘It seems a bit packed,’ I said to my wife – from a distance which only increased as it became clear she was not joining us – only to discover a truly Where’s Wally? level of congestion on closer view.
She was wearing the baby in a sling, and craftily used this as an excuse to hang back in the serene sunshine of the outer park, leaving me and the boy to enter the groaning flesh pile by ourselves. We were immediately in the queue for the front kiosk since strolling through the throng was invariably a process of altering your position in the eight queues which looped and swirled through its every dimension.
