My London-bred cynicism dominated when I landed in Orlando: grown adults were sporting oversized black mouse ears, en masse. The parking attendant urged me to ‘go and have the best day!” Cheerful music emerged from bushes. It was weird; synthetic, near-dystopian.
Hours later, I was a fully converted member of the cult; beaming my way around It’s A Small World at Disney’s Magic Kingdom, and contemplating my own mouse ears in one of the many (many) shops. The whole ‘happiest place on earth’ thing was starting to bear truth.
