Fun on the cheap - that's my boy!

For the past few years it's been a tradition in our household to take the children along to this festive jamboree in central London over the holidays. I have mixed memories of it being quite fun but always freezing cold, with terrible food and candyfloss-induced tantrums.

So this year when our eight-year-old and his seven-year-old sister started their usual warring en route in the back of the car, I said: "Look, we are doing this for you. Frankly, we'd rather be at home with our feet up having a cup of tea. One more word and we're turning back." (I have finally turned into my mother.)

Yet the next two hours ensued without further need of threats. This was the Miele version of the winter fair - because it was German it cost more but everything was well organised and worked.

Four-year-old Joe sang Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer throughout his 90-second ride on the Reindeer Express (£4), fearless Alice doggedly stood in line for 20 minutes waiting for a five-minute £7 turn on the Snowball Bungee Dome, which had her bouncing 30 feet into the air, while the boys went in search of coffee, candyfloss and more brutish excitement.

At one stage there must have been 200 people queuing for the Giant Wheel in this corner of Hyde Park that has yet to be touched by the credit crunch. We avoided this and the Haunted Mansion - one of last year's mistakes that involved several sleepless nights full of scary dreams - and instead piled into the Ice Palace Mirror Maze, which was all revolving floors, two-way mirrors and seriously original sensory fun.

After our final splurge of the year on the giant slide, we were heading back home when Joe piped up: "I didn't like the scary house."

"But you didn't even go on it, Joe."

"But I saw his red eyes."

"Think of something else - look how lovely London looks at night!" I said, winding down his window.

He leant his head out and squealed: "I've got windy hair!" Between Notting Hill Gate and our house, he gurgled with laughter at his "windy hair". It was the most fun he'd had all night.

Satisfied with such simple pleasures, he'll be fine in next year's recession. With my vow to embark on some serious domestic cost-cutting come January, it's those pesky seven- and eight-year olds who won't know what's hit them.