I was introduced to the concept of a fun house during my visit to the fabulous location of Spirit Lake, Iowa. It was erratically constructed (they had obviously employed the same builders I had used in Britain for my kitchen extension) and had the added bonus of being free - so I bowed down reverentially and ventured in through the rhombus shaped door.
I instantly found myself groping and stumbling my way around the angular undulating floors, like a crew member lurching on the bridge of the USS Enterprise in an old Star Trek episode - after being hit with a particularly large photon torpedo. I have actually lived in English houses built in the mid to late 19th century that actually conform to this concept – where you start on one side of the bed and find yourself slowly slipping down to the other side during the course of the night. Where peas decide to migrate across the table from your plate and sheets of Velcro are required to stop kiwi fruits doing the same.
Using all available handrails and posts (like a trained gymnast) I clawed and grappled my way through the madness; they had the patina of stickiness from the years of candy covered children’s fingers that had gripped them before me - everything was tacky except the floor, which was actually required to be sticky. As children sped around me (they had obviously not cut their toenails in several months) I struggled to gain the necessary purchase needed on the mountainously steep wooden floors to make any progress.
I came out dazed and confused and with a green complexion (not unlike the flight that brought me here from Heathrow) – this was in part due to the fried cheese curds I consumed just moments before I entered; there must be a lesson here somewhere, but I can’t find it!