Ripped-off in a winter wonderland

Usually at this time of year my family decamps for a weekend to some lovely city in what used to be called eastern Europe — Bratislava, Krakow, Vienna or, best of all, Budapest — for the Christmas fairs. The air tickets to these places are dead cheap, usually about twenty quid, and the hotels good value. A family of five — as ours is — can cover flights and accommodation for rather less than £200 all in. As I say, Budapest is my favourite, but Vienna is a good compromise (as indeed it was, geopolitically, for fifty years after WW2) for the kids, because of the fabulously tatty and agreeable city centre amusement park, Praterpark (with its creaking Ferris wheel famous from The Third Man). Gluhwein, potato pancakes, huge bratwurst, sides of roast pork with bread and senf, large amounts of beer. Bratislava does the best hot chocolate and the Carpathians are nearby for a winter walk when the city gets too much. Budapest is of course the prettiest. Kiev is a bit austere.

This year, though, we’re more skint than usual, so went to the new-ish Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park instead. Mountain coming to Mohammed, etc. In most respects it was excellent, a decent imitation of winter celebrations from Munich eastwards, good food and drink and plenty for the kids to do. But in two respects it was different from the authentic continental festivals. At Hyde Park there were loads and loads of HUGELY ANNOYING MEN IN YELLOW FLUORESCENT JACKETS WITH WALKIE TALKIES TELLING PEOPLE WHAT TO DO. And also, the prices were about three times what you’d pay abroad. These two facts are not unrelated, are they?