Answer: Really? You need to ask?
In my defence, Warwick Castle Halloween Weekend was pretty crowded and, in addition, speaking as someone who has been a consumer of what often passes for British customer service for many years now, I was a bit thrown by the friendly, helpful yooves I was encountering at every turn.
Not only friendly and helpful, these yooves were also well groomed, nicely spoken and were doing this odd thing with their mouths. Undeterred by my perfectly natural nervousness around these Teen-Crittures, I took a leaf out of David Attenborough’s ‘Get-Close-To-Gorillas’ handbook and sidled in, as close as I dare, in order to investigate.
What the whippersnapper was going on?
The Teen-Critture I had in my cross-hairs was, at that point, distracted by a queue of customers purchasing coffee from it, so I was confident that my approach would go unnoticed, however, I had my Warwick Castle guidebook rolled into a Fly-Basher just to be on the safe side.
Turns out it was smiling? Well; smack my arse and call me Judy?
Who’d a thunk it??
Utterly enchanted, and in the name of research, I began joining every queue going so that I could take full advantage of the ability to actually interact with these walking anomalies in their natural habitat.
Why isn’t this unique breeding programme in the guidebook?
Queen Elizabeth I’s saddle? Blah blah.
Famous paintings of dead people? Whatever!
Live jousts. Headless horsemen trotting about, medieval, interactive shows on Castle Green, the Kingmaker Experience, a proper haunted tower? Yeah, yeah.
The opportunity to engage in real live, two-way, twenty sentence conversation with a domesticated teenager was priceless.
I felt warm, I felt loved, I felt cared about.
I felt special.
Before I break into song I must confess, that my preoccupation with the gorgeous Teen-Crittures may have left my mother and her wheel chair momentarily unattended but, the Teen-Critture-Security-Team (after a brief stunned pause) swung into action and eventually tracked her down to the Courtyard Restaurant (yes, they also sell alcohol) where Annabelle had commandeered the wheel chair and was entertaining herself, Little Britain style, by wheeling into the middle of the crowd, waiting until she had gained maximum sympathetic attention, and then suddenly springing out of the chair shouting “I can walk, it’s a miracle”.
Turns out that some folk mistook this little skit for some kind of politically incorrect street performance and had started tossing coins into her empty Slushy cup.
So, a good day all round.
Annabelle can now afford Sims 4.
Mum finally had time to discover a previously untapped taste for copious jugs of Ye Olde Cidre.
And me, well my Teen Critture research cost me a small fortune, queues inevitably lead to the ringing of tills and money changing hands.
Would I go back?
Well educated, cheerful, approachable teenagers wearing name tags and dispensing customer service left, right and centre?
That’s a show I want to see again.