It’s like a foreign language to me. A whole tent for decorated sheaves? How do you decorate a sheaf, anyway? And what’s “clogging”? And what on earth is a pig scramble? Let alone mutton bustin’?

“Luke, what do you think mutton bustin’ is?” I say, looking up from the laptop.

“No idea,” he says, putting on his watch. “A mutton-eating competition?”

“Mutton-eating?” I make a face.

“There’s an Oreo-stacking contest, in case you’re interested,” he adds. “Saw it on the website last night.”

Now, that sounds good. I think I might be rather brilliant at stacking Oreos. I can already see myself presiding over a ten-foot stack, beaming at the audience as I receive first prize, which is probably a packet of Oreos.

Not that we’re going to enter the competitions, I hastily remind myself. We’re here for business. We’ll probably only stay for half an hour.

“Ready?” I say to Luke, as he reaches for his wallet. “Ready, Minnie? Ready for the fair?”

“Fair!” shouts Minnie joyously. “See Winnie-the-Pooh!”

Hmm. This is the trouble with taking your child to Disneyland. They then think all other fairs are Disneyland too, and it’s no use trying to explain to a two-year-old about branding and copyright, like Luke did last night.

“We might see Winnie-the-Pooh,” I say, just as Luke says, “We won’t see Winnie-the-Pooh.”

Minnie looks from Luke to me, confused.

“We won’t see Winnie-the-Pooh,” I amend quickly, just as Luke says, “We might see Winnie-the-Pooh.”

Argh. Every parenting book says the most important thing you can do is present a united front, otherwise your child gets confused and starts to exploit the differences between you. Which I do totally believe in, but it can be a challenge. There was one time when Luke said, “Mummy’s just going out now, Minnie,” when I’d changed my plans, and rather than contradict him, I went out of the front door, shouting, “Byee!” then climbed back in through a window.

(Mum said I was totally mad and that parenting books cause more harm than good, and she and Dad never bothered with all that nonsense, and, “Look how you turned out, Becky.” Whereupon Luke made this stifled noise and then said, “No, nothing,” when we all turned to look at him.)

I’ve dressed Minnie up in her little blue jeans and a new fringed suede vest, which Luke bought her yesterday, and she looks absolutely delicious: a proper Western girl. I’m wearing shorts and a sleeveless top and I’ve glanced at myself in the mirror and…I look fine. I’ll do.

Somehow I can’t get excited about what I look like anymore. I’m waiting for some bit of my brain to click in—the bit that would normally go: Woo-hoo! County fair! What’s the perfect outfit for that? But it doesn’t. It’s silent.

“Ready?” says Luke, at the door.

“Yup.” I force a smile. “Let’s go.”

It’s fine. Whatever. Maybe I’m just finally growing up.

As we arrive down in the lobby, everyone is assembled and there’s an air of anticipation.