No. Or maybe yes.

I am here to save you from wondering, Shall I go to Ocean Park? The enormous theme park in Hong Kong?

Of course not. It is just another retail experience. But with this one, you have to pay to enter, then must stare gloomily at a sleeping panda, two sturgeon, and a man dressed as a jellyfish.

Here. Have pictures of the retail experience. Now you can say you've visited.




See? I saved you from being elbowed to death by two million Chinese.

You can thank me, then spend your thousand dollars on a slap-up tea at the Peninsula. You could even invite me along, to show your gratitude, if you like.

(But of course this advice only works if you have NO KIDS.)

If you have kids, you will be foolish! You will stupidly say to the creatoids, What do you want to do in Hong Kong? To which they almost certainly answer, Visit Ocean Park.

Then this must be your plan.

Lie.
My darling children. I have grave news. Ocean Park has CLOSED. Yes, it is TRUE. The entire area is infected with ebola. It is one giant hospital filled with zombies. And monsters. They have those too.

(Fail. Kids these days can use a website.)

Have an injury.
Oh no! I have fallen down the stairs and cannot walk!

(Fail. Shark tricks me by declaring she has uncovered two chocolate eclairs sans fluff down the back of the sofa and will give them to the first person who can reach them.)

Claim to have become a monk.
Yes. I have given away all my belongings. I have taken a vow of poverty and cannot pay the entrance fee. Sorry about that.

(Fail. They can smell the desperation and taste the fear. Only one route left.)

Give in. With bad grace.
ALRIGHT THEN. I will GO. But don't expect me to enjoy myself. You can look at some pandas then SEE ME SUFFER.

(Fail. They don't care, quite frankly.)

Sublimate your resistance by smuggling lunch past the bag checkers.
Ha! That beat you, you bastards! You only want to confiscate my nosh so I am forced to pay for your overpriced, E-numbered meat crap in the food outlets. And squid? You're selling fried squid at the aquarium? Well, mateys, today in my handbag without your consent I have one loaf of bread, three bananas, a giant pack of roasted peanuts and a bottle of wine. See? Proper food.

(Success! Now you can begin to enjoy yourself, having triumphed in one small but significant moment.)

Don't say anything about the cable car.
Yes, I admit it is good. Go early so you don't have to queue, and go on a sunny day so you can actually see the damn mountains.


Don't smile at the sight of the creatoid faces when they come off the roller coaster.
Otherwise they will think their choice of Ocean Park is endorsed, then they will want to visit a theme park again. That will never do.


And don't say anything about the jellyfish, either.
But they are fun, dammit! Shark says they have no brains, so they cannot spend their hours wondering why they are lit up in colours. Then you can spend your time wondering about their brains, which must mean that you must have one. This obviously leads you to existentialist thoughts. Ocean Park is sounding like a bargain now isn't it? Jellyfish and Jean Paul Sartre.