In the car on the way to the Easter Show, you sit and stare thoughtfully out the window. How are you going to get Johnny Franzetta’s skellington out of the Ghost Train?
Your mum notices you in the rear view mirror, and asks if everything’s okay.
“Yeah,” you reply. “Mum, have you ever been on the… Ghost Train?”
With a screech, your dad slams down on the brakes while your mother makes the sign of the cross.
“Madre de dios!” cries your dad, who is Mexican even though I hadn’t mentioned it before. “A Ghost… Train? I’ve never heard of anything so spooky in all my life. Are you sure you’re brave enough to go on such a scary ride?”
“Yes,” you shout. “I made a promise.”
Your parents shrug and keep driving, right up to the gates of the Royal Easter Show. They stand a hundred feet tall and depict HM Queen Victoria riding on top of the Easter Bunny, and then just the word SHOW underneath. They are made of solid gold and glitter tastefully in the morning light.
Usually they fill you with joy, but today they are a strangely ominous sight.
“Where should we go first?” asks your mum.
The Ghost Train? Go to page 7.
The Showbag Pavilion? Go to page 8.
Or the Agricultural District Exhibits? Go to page 9.