Carol is spinning around, dark pony tail flying and he, the Billy Fury look-a-like, is holding her close. He smells of leather, his black, leather jacket soft against her cheek. Now the spinning lessens to a slow rotation until the Twister stops.

Next he leads her over to the Dive Bomber. She's afraid of heights. But he cajoles her and they sit in the bullet shaped car, she clinging onto his waist. Up they soar to hang close to a Harvest Moon, suspended for interminable seconds above gaping, upturned faces glowing white like ghosts. Burying her head into soft leather, her stomach lifts as they plunge downwards. She screams into his chest.

Finally, they stop. He's laughing, cupping her chin in his hand and the scent of toffee brushes her forehead like a caramel kiss. They climb out and he suppports her, his arm going around her waist. Wallowing in his good looks, she's guided past candy floss stalls, coconut shies to The Around The World ride where small boats bob on a narrrow canel, the width of her mother's hips.

He knows the lad in the booth who lets them pass without paying. Helping her into a boat, they putter off on a manufactured current into a musty tunnel, passing countries and dummies wearing traditional clothing.

Approaching Hawaii, he leans out, grabbing a Palm Tree's slender trunk and the boat comes to a gentle, rocking stop. Jumping out, with one hand holding the boat steady, he reaches out his other hand, urging her to join him and when she clambers up beside him, their small boat bobs away, around a bend, heading for America.