She started with the small pre-schooler rides but quickly graduated to the big kids' attractions without a second thought.

I was a little concerned about this latest development, not because I was worried for her safety (she's a real daredevil when it comes to adventure), but for my own welfare, since she was too young to ride the attractions without an adult.

The first ride was the pirate ship, which moved in big circles, a bit like a Ferris wheel only much scarier (for me anyway). It looked quite slow from the bottom but when I was actually on it, it seemed to grow in stature and speed, and while I screamed in horror my daughter whooped with joy.

For the next week we were all cajoled into going on such delights as the bumpy slide, racing cars and mini-roller-coaster. The person I felt most sorry for was my dad, who has long been sworn off rides, ever since an experience involving a Waltzer and an enthusiastic fairground worker, back when my parents were courting.

Of course, my daughter could sniff out his fear at 1,000 paces, so as soon as she had discovered yet another delight, the first person she insisted on going with was my dad.

Every day the routine was the same: My daughter would go on a scary ride with my husband, my mum or myself, and then she would call granda to join her for the next voyage of terror. Every day my dad would say no, then promise he would definitely go on tomorrow. Of course, the next day would come and my daughter (who has the memory of an elephant), would drag him, kicking and screaming, onto the ride, while we all stood at the bottom, laughing hysterically.

My daughter thought the whole thing was fantastic of course, and when they went on the mini-roller coaster, she took great delight in telling us all that every time they reached the small dip, my dad would shout: "Oh no, not the dip," while the little caterpillar carriage headed down the rails at one mile-an-hour.

Poor Granda. I don't think he will be taking up invitations to visit Alton Towers or Drayton Manor Park.