No. You really do have to go on them. There is no way to get from one part of the factory to the other except by bizarre toyland tram-car through the disturbing dimensional rift that is Chuckleville.
Being an old hand at Cadbury World I knew there was a camera positioned halfway through the route that takes candid snaps of interlopers as they crawl their way through the alien landscape of chocolate bean land that you then feel morally obliged to buy and hide away in the loft (kidding yourself that this is the only copy and the good people of Cadbury World burn all the negatives).
Wouldn't it be a jolly jape, I thought, if I was gurning like a good 'un at the moment the flash went off and oh how we'd laugh when it came time to pick up the photos?
It having been a number of years since I last played the Comedy Club I was missing the uplifting shot in the arm that is reactive laughter so I thought, what the hell, I'd go for it. It might even cheer up some of the Cadbury staff who looked like they'd been injecting chocolate like a cheap form of botox.
We went on the Chockie Bean public transport system. The camera flash went off. The picture was taken. And we went to collect our photo.
To quote a Danielle Dax album: "Comatose Non-Reaction".
Nothing. Na-da. Not a titter.
"Hmm," I thought to myself, "Either the good staff at Cadbury World are one paracetamol away from suicide or I'm losing me touch."
I'd pulled my best blimmy and put my glasses on upside down and everything. That should have had them rolling in the aisles.
Instead there was not a dickie-bird.
When I got the photo back I could see why.
There was utterly no effing difference in my appearance from when I look "normal" to when I was pulling the face that Jim Carrey would have paid good money to be born with.
I looked exactly the same.
I'm not quite sure what that says about me but I have no doubt at all you'll all be queuing up to tell me.