Mugs who spent money in Lapland New Forest deserve no sympathy. For a start, the naming formula for the place is the same as that given by yuppie flat developers to unfashionable parts of London to make their concrete dorm boxes seem somehow an essential part of London's funky fabric despite the fact that, by dint of being thrown up at the end of City airport's runway they have a shorter commuting time to Frankfurt than the West End and all the local bus routes start with a letter, they are about as far removed from beating-heart-of-the-metropolis cool as Alperton is from Mont Blanc. You know there's a weak product behind a place where the syntax is the only thing they can mangle to make the place sound attractive.

Also, let us not forget that these families will now have anecdotes that will last them Christmases to come. As Shakespeare would have written had he set Henry V on an estate of two or three bedroom starter homes with easy access to out-of-town supermarkets and tansport links,

This day is call'd Saturday, 29th of November.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Lapland New Forest.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is 29th November.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had when Dad headbutted an elf and security kicked off.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall the attractions,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Lapland Snow Scene, the emaciated huskies,
Sheds and tents, snow spray and Fake Santa-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And a Christmas shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that shells out thirty sheets with me plus an extra tenner to get a photo with Santa
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now at Alton Towers
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their crackers cheap whiles any speaks
That fought the elves in trainers with us upon 29th November.

Nobody wants to hear about perfect Christmases. However, who would not want to hear about the year we saw a plastic polar bear in the attack position, paid £5 to go into a tent masquerading as a Christmas market but only sold £1 rolls of wrapping paper, saw elves smoking and texting their mates and saw Mummy run over an elf with a pram when the elf tried to charge her extra for a photo after a four hour queue to get into Santa's shed? Lapland New Forest wasn't a rip-off, it was a thirty pound investment in years worth of comedy gold to be recounted at every Christmas from now until eternity. Frankly, you can keep your "Gavin and Stacey" DVD gift packs.

As such, I will be running my own Easter Fair here in London. In the interests of transport access, I will be using the railway arches underneath Peckham Rye station. Although they may look like dodgy cut-and-shut mechanic workshops, they are in fact, the enchanted warren of the Easter Bunny. Your mewling horde will marvel as they see real live rabbits dressed in ballerina costumes suspended from the ceiling, I mean, flying as if by magic, throughout the warren. There will be a traditional Easter Market selling traditional spoiled goods from the Netto on Rye Lane (entry costs extra), "classic" Easter music (Oasis, Kaiser Chiefs, Ne-Yo) will sound throughout the mystical warren and finally, guided by local children (all armed to the teeth, with criminal records longer than an Emerson, Lake and Palmer live recording and wearing traditional South London Easter costumes - Nike tracksuits) visitors will be able to meet the Easter Bunny himself. Visitors should not be discouraged by the smell of marijuana or doner kebab on the Easter Bunny's costume, nor should his notoriously short temper deter children from queueing overnight for the chance to spend an extra £20 on a low resolution photo with our magical furry friend and a dented creme egg. Come one, come all.