The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
Britain’s best one-night festive family breaks
This year, you needn’t go as far as Lapland or Christkindelsmärik for a bit of Christmas magic, says Kari Colmans
Usually I’m a bit of a Grinch, straddling December in a listless Christmas/Hanukkah limbo, trying to muster some cheer for the benefit of my children. But this year, I vowed, would be different. There would be matching Christmas pyjamas, jolly knitwear – and a festive minibreak.
I purchased the pyjamas (to my husband’s consternation), then perused our getaway options. Seeing reindeer in Finnish Lapland? Too expensive. Flying to a quaint European capital? Too involved; too vulnerable to train strikes and flight cancellations; too stressful to keep track of little ones in a heaving Christmas market. Could a UK-based break be the answer?
I’d always thought our domestic takes on continental Christmas magic could be a bit… sad: fake snow and a sweaty Santa in a cardboard grotto, fighting to be heard above the din of a shopping centre food court. But the weeks were speeding by, and the usual pre-Chrismukkah frenzy (school nativity plays, present buying, work dos) was looming – so I panicked, and booked us a weekend at LaplandUK.
This “Christmas-themed park” in Ascot’s Whitmoor Forest promised an immersive experience in an “Elven World”, complete with reindeer, a toy factory, magical forest and, for the grand finale, a meeting with Mr Claus himself. In the run-up to our visit, packages arrived: The Untold Story of Father Christmas and The Secrets of the Christmas Elves books for bedtime reading, along with personalised letters from Father Christmas. So far, so good.
My spirits buoyed, we headed to Berkshire and spent the night before our adventure in a cottage suite at Coworth Park, just a few minutes down the road from the forest. We were met with thoughtful gifts and fluffy slippers, then a delivery of milk and cookies. It was impossible not to feel festive.
The next morning, our jolly jumper-clad party set off. Arriving at LaplandUK, we were given hot chocolate, and the chance to meet a few of the characters wandering around foliage-filled dwellings, greeting both “Small Folk” and “Big Folk” with a thumb-on-nose, finger-waggling salute. Then the doors were opened, and we walked through our first snowy, tree-lined warren, sitting for a series of short immersive productions which set the scene. Then we were thrown head first into adventure – helping the elves stuff cuddly toys in the workshop; decorating gingerbread biscuits in the kitchen – all while surrounded by interactive merriment and elaborate worlds created by West End set designers.
Yes, excitement is always guaranteed when you present children with snow, fairy lights and elf-sized doors – but the magic of believing certainly isn’t. We watched as our offspring drifted, utterly rapt, from one enchantment to the next, surrounded by elves who refused to break character even when dealing with allergies at the mac ‘n’ cheese station or fickle fingers in the sweet shop.
Next was lunchtime at the Elven Village – an unexpectedly civilised affair of food stations and kid-friendly options, all beautifully choreographed to eliminate the logistical stresses that so often spoil a Big Day Out.
Then finally: the part we’d all been waiting for – our moment with Father C. The children were sure they could only be on the Good List (who was it, then, who hid my keys five minutes before the school run only 24 hours earlier?), but nothing could have prepared them for Santa Claus knowing so much more than their names (“Siena! I’m surprised you didn’t cartwheel in!”; “Luca – I hear your baby brother is with his Grandparents this weekend!”) His time for them seemed endless, and it was these moments which stuck with us long after we left his side.
And so, with sticky hands and muddy feet, we trudged back to the car, cheeks flushed from the cold and aching from smiling. I’d expect our little festive getaway to be one of those sacrifices that you bear, as parents, for the children’s sake. Instead, I found I’d never been more in need of such a soul-affirming reprieve. It was not only a beautifully curated dose of IRL magic for our CGI generation, but for my husband and I, too. As we trundled home with our delicious muck magnets, I didn’t even mind the impending two days’ worth of laundry.
Kari Colmans was a guest of LaplandUK (tickets from £59 to £149; portal.laplanduk.co.uk) and Coworth Park, which has double rooms from £545 per night, and the Gardener’s West Cottage Suite from £1,970 per night (dorchestercollection.com)
There is something very weird about this debate. Which is that unlike most “divisive” topics, which have pros and cons on either side, I cannot begin to fathom why this one is even an argument.
Seats on planes (and indeed in cars and various other modes of transport) are designed to recline because it is much, much more comfortable for human beings to sit for long periods of time leaning back than bolt upright. This fact is indisputable. The button is there for you to use it. What sort of absolute masochist, first of all, does not make use of a lever that is there specifically to lessen their discomfort?
But more baffling still, why should that person, not satisfied with spending hours in such a pose themselves – defiant, like a martyr burning at the stake – expect all his fellow passengers to choose the same fate?
The only scenario in which I can vaguely imagine being annoyed by someone in front of me reclining their seat would be if mine did not also recline. Even then, it would only be, presumably, because my button was broken, which would not be the fault of the person in front, nor even something they’d know about.
Further, in the unlikely event that such a misfortune did befall me on a long-haul flight, I would not, in a million years, stand up, tap this person’s shoulder and demand they not use their button either; thereby doubling the human suffering. Happily, we rarely need to delve into this level of philosophy, given that reclinable seats all recline, so that as soon as the seatbelt signs go off, the domino effect can take place and everyone can claim their few inches of improvement. Why – if this is you – do you not want to lean?
The only motive I can see for banning adjustable seats is the very one which has driven certain budget airlines to do just that: stinginess. Ryanair, for one, stripped out the function (along with other frills, like seatback pockets) in 2004 because it made the chairs lighter and thus the fuel costs lower. And it doesn’t make for a very comfortable flight, does it?
I’ve written about this “debate” extensively in the past and am still no closer to understanding the other side. So if anyone has a logically sound argument as to why I should, on my next lengthy flight, refrain from pushing that button, I’d like to hear it. Write in, leave a comment online. I await with bated breath.