I just can’t help myself.

Every time I walk past those spangling, festive window displays I just have to walk in.

The colours and smells draw me in, luring me on a chain of cherished and distant memories.

The shop smells like fun.  That special smell, reserved for theme parks, a smell that you can never describe and never recall, but you know it as soon as you smell it.

It’s exciting.  It makes you think of spinning around on the aerial swings… or whooshing around on the run away train… or of taking a shower on the log flume.

No two ways about it; with its volcano of colours, and its distinctive smell of fun, the Disney store is too good to walk past.

I never buy anything in there.  (I like to tell myself I’ve grown out of that habit.)  But I like to just walk around, browsing but never buying.  I probably resemble a shop lifter.  Wandering between the shelves, lovingly looking at the magnets, pausing in front of the giant TV screen to sing along to the Lion King.  Undoubtedly I look a little out of place.

The Disney store is my guilty pleasure -and we all have our vices.  Standing amongst the mountain of soft toys and watching the animated figurines move mechanically up near the ceiling, dancing in time to those feel good tunes we all love to sing along to -no matter our age.

It all conjures up memories. My memories of a small girl who couldn’t get enough fun.  Who couldn’t ride on the tea cups often enough, and who found King Kong utterly terrifying!