I don’t have to go to Funderland to know that I hate it. Maybe there was a time in my life when Funderland would have been heaven on earth, but now, as I approach the ripe old age of 20, I can’t think of many things worse than spinning around in a Waltzer to the sound of pumping techno music and belligerent youths.

I’m sure at one stage or another I would have jumped at the opportunity to go to Funderland — then again, I also used to hanker to go to Butlins when I was younger. I remember thinking, wistfully, how I wish my parents were the cool sort, the ones who’d let their sons watch ‘Candyman’ and eat candy floss till they’re teeth hurt. I felt as if I was missing out on a rite-of-passage every young Dubliner was supposed to experience. Fortunately, that’s a sentiment I no longer have.

It’s the human element that puts me off Funderland these days. To be honest, the promise of Bumper Cars gets me just as excited as it did when I was ten. No, it’s the throng of people that would get to me; people on all sorts — booze, pills, clouds of candy floss. I don’t want to come across as a complete snob, but Funderland does tend to attract the worst elements of Dublin. I remember a friend of mine telling me in the playground the following day how he’d seen a couple of boozed-up blokes going at one another hammer and tongs in front of the ferris wheel. That’s not I want to see — if I did I’d just head to Harcourt St. on a Saturday night. I bet the A&E units across the city are jam-packed the weekend Funderland comes to town.

Funderland’s rides might all be in disrepair and run by a bunch of inbred Cyclops and I wouldn’t care so long as the people there were there to enjoy the rides and keep to themselves. But alas, people just go and have to ruin it for everyone!  Maybe I should have saved this rant until I arrive at the letter P. Maybe I don’t hate Funderland? Maybe I hate people?