Taking the Mickey at Disneyland Paris

But hey, you can't have everything, although with cute-as-mom's-apple- pie Mickey running the show, the Disney machine makes a damned good effort to see that you do.

Nevertheless, prior to entering the Channel Tunnel, every synapse in your brain keeps reminding you that the Disney dream is nothing shy of clever shorthand for corporate gluttony.

Except of course, only the truly sad and cynical can hold on to that crutch for long.

Disney may be just another Microsoft or Starbucks (albeit with ears) but it's a Microsoft or Starbucks that still knows how to touch the Baloo, or Belle, or Bambi in all of us.

Not that it's difficult: how long can anyone remain bemused and superiorily detached from Disney's infantile 'zealousness' when your very own bathroom boasts an assortment of Mickey Mouse grooming products ('Everybody neat and pretty? Then on with the show!' the shower gel bottle reads).

I arrived at my hotel - the gaudily themed Hotel New York - at about 12.30pm, and to the best of my knowledge remained cool, urbane and casually sophisticated. By 3.30pm however, I'd been fully converted (how religious sects which attract teeth-capped movie stars must envy Disney's secret...).

Not that it was plain-sailing at first. Taking the wrong turn out of the lobby as I set out to track down Donald and Goofy - my childhood heroes - I etched a fine portrait of myself as 'Jerk For A Day' by mistaking a shopping mall for a theme park.

Fortunately, my dejection at being unable to spot any adult-sized furry animals signing autographs lasted just 45 minutes before a Disney aide, spotting me crying with a Big Mac in my hand, gently pointed me in the right direction (in fact, towards a huge sign that read 'Disneyland this way...').

Having threatened the woman I'd tell all about her poorly camouflaged moustache (Disney can be 'funny' about things like this...) if ever she breathed a word about my lack of orienteering skills, I ventured into the Wonderful World of Disney - true and proper.

And you know what? Despite the rain and the bitingly cold wind and the fact that almost all the staff were French, it was terrific.

I guess I managed to hold out for about 15 minutes, surrounded as I was by teenagers who surely wouldn't be seen dead anywhere else in the known universe sporting 'I Love Minnie' top hats, before succumbing to my first Disney 'seizure'.

It wasn't at all how I'd dreamt it would be - a tingling in the fingers followed by a throbbing pain in the arm that eventually becomes an excrutiating throb across your chest.

Not a bit of it - I simply queued to get Mary Poppin's autograph, and not even this dream-like state of euphoria could be wrestled from me when a colleague, taking me by the arm, suggested this perhaps wasn't 'such a good idea'.

Maybe, but Mary sure looked like a spoonful of sugar to me. As did Snow White and Cruella de Ville, with whom, I'm proud to say, I shared a brief 'dalliance'.

Donald was very tough to get close to, as was Goofy, but it's amazing how quickly one's thin veneer of charity can be jettisoned when it's clear that said Disney character is about to break for lunch and you're still three rows of kids from reaching him.

I'm not proud of what followed, but these goggle-eyed 'dahlings' were mainly French and as I saw it, they could come back anytime. For me, it involved a bloody expensive train journey.

So I boldly stepped OVER the nursery and forced myself on the poor, hapless hound with the retarded demeanour while parents around me erupted in Gallic fury.

In truth, I was in and out before either Goofy or the crowd could react, but for the rest of that weekend, feeling hunted, I kept watch over my shoulder... (Epilogue: I got the pic, I looked great, just what was the big deal?).

By late afternoon, I'd watched the daily parade; it's at 4.00pm, goes by the name of 'Disney's Once Upon A Dream Parade', and save for those recovering from any kind of personality bypass, is very impressive.

I'd also eaten a couple of ice creams, some candy floss, and a hot dog - not a particularly smart thing to do since, with a watery sun breaking through the clouds, I found myself waiting to board the Indiana Jones ride, a thrilling rollercoaster that happens to boast a 360 degree corkscrew.

"Ohhhhhhhhh...myyyyyyyyyyy" I yelled, but didn't dare scream 'Godddddddddd!' as the 'car' I was lashed into flipped over, leaving me to fight, somewhat gallantly I thought, whatever snacks I attacked that afternoon somewhere between my throat and my mouth.

But boy was it fantastic, and now forewarned and so forearmed (no more food, just cola), I jumped on every ride I could - Space Mountain, Aerosmith's Rock'n'Roller coaster, Star Tours etc, until I retired, exhausted, to one of the Disney restaurants for dinner.

Caf Mickey ('with characters!') in Disney Village could have been awful, what with its never-ending red carpet of visiting animated dignatories (Capt Hook, Smee, Tigger, Goofy, to name but a few), but like everything here, just when you think the word 'crass' is about to disembowel you, the Disney conveyor belt cranks yet again into action, delivering its package with such style and slick cheer you'll find you can't help but be: 1) surprised 2)excited 3)and charmed by it all.

Incidentally, the quality of food, all weekend, was exceptionally high, even though I did have to search out the 'better' eateries, but believe it or not, they do exist. Of course, I wasn't just there to play - I'd also been invited to attend the official opening of the park's latest ride - 'The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror'.

Doubtless you've since it advertised pretty much non-stop on TV since the beginning of the month. So is it worth all the hype?

Well, I rode it five times in a row, shrieking like a banshee (though that could also have been the Buzz Lightyear ride) if that's any recommendation ... In all, I stayed three days, which was just long enough to ride - and re-ride - every attraction, and by the end of it I was beaming from ear-to-ear, having very nearly spent £40 on an 'authentic' Indiana Jones hat, only to quash that ludicrous and unnecessary expenditure to spend £130 instead on a 18-inch-high figure of Jessica Rabbit (classic quote: "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way...").

Getting her through customs was fun.

So would I go again? Hell yeah (but only if I could pose this time with Snow White).

FACT FILE: EUROSTAR PACKAGE: FOR information about a family break to Disneyland Resort Paris, call direct on 08448 008 222 or visit www.disneylandparis.com Prices for a two-night three-day package including return travel with Eurostar in May 2008 start from £362 per adult, £169 per child (aged seven to 11) and £90 per child aged four to six (travel only).

Children under seven stay and play for free during the 15th birthday celebration (until March 2009). The price includes two nights' accommodation with continental breakfast at Disney's Hotel New York and three day hopper tickets for the Disneyland Park and Walt Disney Studios Park.