Once the clocks go forward, a number of eventualities are guaranteed to play out. Your children, despite the world only shifting by a single hour/day, will be thrown into a fit of ongoing bewilderment and confusion that could last for years. Flowers will bloom, clouds will part. Caterpillars will become butterflies, birds will stop coughing, temperatures will slowly rise. And travelling funfairs will spring up at random all around you.

It starts innocuously enough, with the odd flier on a lamppost, or you might spot them in the corner of your peripheral vision setting up in the distance at a local park. Then they start gradually whispering in your ear, tugging at your sleeve, grabbing your shoulders, demanding eye contact. Then before you know it, you’re standing up on a rotating teacup wondering how the hell you got there. Your weekends are soundtracked by a shrieking wurlitzer, loose change cascades from your pockets like a fruit machine. You’re chucking balls at coconuts, corks at targets, you’re treating giant teddy bears like they’re the Wimbledon trophy. You’ve constantly got a stick in your hand, be it covered in candyfloss, or a toffee apple, or, God forbid, meat. But there is a twist in this tale and here it is – we love it. Every last minute of it.

They just want a cloud of candyfloss the size of their head, and something that swings them round and round (thanks Peppa!).

Funfairs are, unequivocally, marvellous.

The modern landscape might be bursting with lovingly curated child-friendly festivals dotted throughout the hotter months – your Latitudes, your Wildernesses, your Camp Bestivals – but why splash out through the nose (with money that floats), when you can invest in shorter hits of concentrated glee at the local funfair, and still get home for bedtime? Don’t fool yourself, it’s not the children that are being discerning here, they’re not muttering amongst themselves about the benefits of organic street food, nor ruminating on family camping, or how fun it is to wear flowery wellies and watch their parents attempting to slutdrop after five ciders.

They just want a cloud of candyfloss the size of their head, and something that swings them round and round (thanks Peppa!).

Not only can you get those at the funfair, you also get to see the whole circle of life playing out before your very eyes. The old man with his grandkids on the dodgems. Hardworking mums letting it all out on the swingboats. Shy kids who won’t speak up in class expressing joy unbound on chairoplanes, dads queasily navigating a panic attack on the walzers. You can go to Margate, to the souped-up Dreamland that boasts a Grade II listed rollercoaster, or visit the wooden one at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. You can play Crazy Golf in Hastings, ride ghost trains in different towns all around the country.

You can go to the Carter Steam Fair – as witnessed in movies like Paddington 2, and The Krays, or on TV in Midsomer Murders – and sample some of the most addictive fairground doughnuts you’ll ever have in your life, as you watch your little ones going round in perpetual motion in little pretend cars, waving cheerfully at you as they pass. Or riding the gallopers for the first time, or thinking you’re the world’s strongest man because you made mincemeat of the punchbag.

This is the stuff that memories are made of. Your children’s memories, your memories, your parent’s memories. You’ll know the best ones because they’re not churning out the hits, they’re playing timeless 50s rock ’n’ roll, basking in the nostalgia of it all.

Also, did we mention that you still get home in time for bed? Oh yeah, that’s right, we did. It’s true though.