I've just blown in from Windy Castle

You've got to respect the evil genius who came up with the idea for Peppa Pig World. You've also got to respect the evil genius who came up with Peppa Pig, but that's for a different post that I won't be writing. I have seen enough of the winsome adenoidal juvenile piggie participating in a variety of unthreatening yet knowingly ironic humorous activities with her eccentric middle-class family and colourful cast of alliterating animals. Usually I check my emails on my phone while Monkeyrina has her daily fix. Once she asked for the same episode 8 times in succession. It wasn't even one of the classics (the "Who is Miss Rabbit?" one, for example, or the funfair episode that has led to a family catchphrase of "A pound?!" every time we have waste cash on some useless child-related frippery.) No, it was the obscure tooth fairy episode, which Monkeyrina seems to have regarded as training for her future career of sneaking into people's homes at night to rummage under their pillows. It's not a typical way for dentists to behave but, who knows, perhaps the NHS cuts and the public's unwillingness to pay for private treatment are having an effect.

So one day this evil genius strode into a boardroom with an evil proposal to unite the popular toddler religion of Peppadom with new and imaginative ways of extracting money from their parents ("A pound?!"). Take one obscure and slightly shabby Hampshire theme park, mix with an expensively procured licence, spend £6 million on design and build, invest in a frankly ubiquitous marketing campaign, await pester power and sit back and enjoy the profits.

Happy exicted toddlers, happy revitalised Paulton's Park, happy A1 Entertainment shareholders.

And the parents?

We got there at opening time on a Tuesday in June and it was absolutely heaving. Batallions of pushchairs and purposeful striding towards the comparatively small corner of the park in which Peppa resides. The queues for each ride were half an hour or more - just what you need when potty training. I've never seen so many tantrums, and that was just the mums.

But I have to admit it was well done. It's new, of course, so not yet covered in kiddie sick and chewed gum. It was clever and colourful and lovingly created - just like the TV series. The rides were well judged for the riders' ages, and the playground was one of the best I've seen (and, believe me, I've seen a lot). All the main characters were there, and even some quite obscure ones, which Mr B (who doesn't always have his phone handy when reruns are on) was able to identify for us. There were even people (I assume they were people) in Peppa and George suits, greeting their loyal subjects. Monkeyrina wasn't fooled, however - she knows the real Peppa is made of stone and can be accessed via a hole in the TV.

So what? Well, the fact of it being a promotional triumph, a case study in creating and fulfilling a demand, should be enough. But some other points struck me:

• The pricing structure was unique in my experience - no children's discounts - anyone under a metre is free and anyone over a metre pays £21. ("21 pounds?! That's a lot of pocket money"). 
• There was an overpriced snack bar, of course but we, in a rare moment of proper parenthood, had brought our sandwiches. Our ironic bacon sandwiches. There were no obvious picnic tables, at least none I spotted until after perching on a bench munching Peppa's relatives. Bringing your own food rather than purchasing it from the park did not seem to be encouraged.
• The rest of the park, and there was quite a lot of it, was virtually deserted. This probably tells you something about why Paultons and Peppa were united but is also a good tip if you don't want to queue for what Monkeyrina called the adult roundabout.
• I hear there's a Dolly Parton World. I wonder if it's similar?

Nothing we could offer for the rest of the holiday quite lived up to such toddler heaven. Even the Isle of Wight ferry, although it was a close-run thing. Now we're back in Home World (so to speak) and, after spending all that money, we have our photos to remind us of the day, and they're free. Apart from the official portrait of Moneyrina in Madam Gazelle's classroom. That was £8 ("8 pounds?!") but she looks so happy to be meeting her heroes, even if they were not made of stone, that we we were happy to spend it. 

So there's some inspiration for the cynical for you, right there.