I tried. I held out for weeks, despite the desperate pleas of my daughter:
MILLIE: Please Mummy, but Hannah and Ava have seen it. And Hannah has completely fallen in love with Choy.
MILLIE: Yes. Choy. I want to fall in love with Choy.
ME: Troy. You are too young for love.
MILLIE: I am five. I will love Choy.
But eventually, I gave in. It wasn’t the whining. Although that was annoying. It was the memory of my own deprived childhood. Not in the financial sense, but cultural deprivation – the memory of being banned from Dallas and Grease (too American), Eastenders (common), and Coronation Street (Northern and common). And thus spending my playtimes doing hopscotch on my own while Theresa Fraser led the rest of Year 3 in a re-enactment of Sue Ellen drunkedly fighting Pamela, or Rizzo stubbing out her cigarette under her stilettos.
So I did it. I bought High School Musical on DVD. And settled down for two hours of hideousness while Millie cheerled her way around the living room.
But something weird happened. It’s like Pringles – I think they put subliminal drugs in there. Because, once I’d popped, I couldn’t stop. After ten minutes, I was singing along. Then I was crying. Then I was telling Millie to shush because I was missing all the good bits.
Disney got me. And they got me good. I’m going to see HSM3 tomorrow! I’ll take Millie as an excuse. But she’s gone off Choy. She only really wants the pick and mix sweets in the foyer. It’s me who’s looking for the happy ending.