The only thing that I've ever won was a family pass to Pleasurewood Hills, at the 1987 Spixworth Village Hall raffle. Put this on my tombstone – life will never get sweeter. For a child living in East Anglia in the 1980s, it was the equivalent of a golden ticket to the Chocolate Factory. For anyone who isn't au fait with the charms of Pleasurewood Hills, it's a few scrappy acres on the fringes of Lowestoft that is, forever, a homage to an idealised version of Midwestern America – with miniature Amtrak trains, barbecues, and a rotund bear mascot called Woody. Reminiscing about Pleasurewood Hills makes me think of childhood, of picnics and rain and excitement tinged with apprehension.
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