As Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen's festive fun park re-opens, JANE FRYER calls in By Jane Fryer for the Daily Mail Something still doesnâ€™t feel quite right at The Magical Journey Christmas Experience. Maybe itâ€™s the tattooed fairy queen, twirling on stilts in the reception tent and stifling bored yawns.Â Or perhaps the thick white paint that rubs off the festive polar bear fountain and all over our clothes. Or the rictus-like grins of the shivering elves in their cheap velour outfits. Or could it be the myriad security personnel in black, barking into headsets and muttering darkly in corners? It's up his sleeve: Jane Fryer and three-year-old son Freddy have their Christmas magic spoiled as they're waved at by an elf covered in tattoos When The Magical Journey Christmas Experience launched last week complaints flooded in about badly behaved staff, sub-par presents, and an elf who crashed the train into a tree Inside the Christmas Market (a big cold marquee), things are jollier. It is freezing and rather dingy, but there are mini hot chocolates Whatever, two things are certain. One, itâ€™s not very magical and, two, it will make interior designer Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen weep. Or at least it should. Last Saturday, amid much pomp and puffery, the â€˜Magical Journeyâ€™ (to which Llewelyn-Bowen was special artistic consultant) was launched in the grounds of The Belfry Golf Club in Sutton Coldfield. The website promised â€˜the most amazing Christmas experience the planet earth has ever seenâ€™, a â€˜snow-covered winter wonderlandâ€™ and assured us that â€˜a visit to Father Christmas will never be the same againâ€™. One elf reportedly told a guest to â€˜have a s*** Christmasâ€™. The presents they gave out were cheap, plastic and unwrapped It did not deliver. Instead, it was a spectacular disaster of smoking elves, sweary Santas, smelly mud, crashed trains, piles of rubbish and sacks of fake snow dumped on wooden pallets by the main entrance. The multiple Father Christmases (five were spotted by some confused children) were alternately too gruff, too skinny or smelt of booze.Â The presents they gave out were cheap, plastic and unwrapped. Twenty-four hours and hundreds of complaints later, The Magical Journey had stalled. Llewelyn-Bowen himself coined it â€˜Elfgateâ€™ in a flippant tweet on Monday morning. â€˜Sorry for Radio Silence, just got back from a charity weekend in Scotland to find Elfgate @TMagicalJourney. Meanwhile, the organisers spent the next three days hammering, drilling, spreading snow and woodchips, and providing extreme Santa coaching and Elf remedial classes to â€˜bring it closer to Llewelyn-Bowenâ€™s original ravishing visionâ€™. Yesterday, it reopened â€" so I go along with my three-year-old son Freddy to sample the magic. It doesnâ€™t start well. Before the launchÂ Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen lauded the attraction as 'unadulterated Christmas' to be enjoyed by adults and children, but has since distanced himself from the project as much as possible Criticisms of the site included smoking elves, sweary Santas, smelly mud, crashed trains, piles of rubbish and sacks of fake snow. Things have improved, but not much â€˜Mummy, this isnâ€™t snow. Itâ€™s strange,â€™ he says, pointing at what looks like dirty papier-mache spread greyly across the mud outside the front entrance. â€˜It looks like paper. I think itâ€™s litter. It looks like litter. Itâ€™s stuck to my boot. Mummy, get it off!â€™ He should be grateful. It might look like litter, but at least theyâ€™ve opened the sacks and spread it out a bit. It is freezing and rather dingy, but there are mini hot chocolates being handed round and a handful of Christmas stalls with staff still frantically laying out merchandise. We are booked on the 10.30am â€˜magical journeyâ€™ and make sure weâ€™re in place promptly, because the website made clear stragglers would left behind. Last week: The fake snow may look like litter, but at least staff have had the decency to take it out of the sacks and spread it around a little But by 10.45am, the 10am and 10.20am groups are still waiting for the festive signal. Which leaves plenty of time to admire the tattooed twirling fairy and watch the security guards growl things like â€˜Iâ€™m on himâ€™ and â€˜Heâ€™s mineâ€™ into their walkie-talkies. Spirits are not high among the other parents. â€˜We read all the bad press, but Iâ€™d already booked our tickets and they wonâ€™t refund them, so we had to come,â€™ says Susan, 29, from Birmingham, here with her sister, niece and three children.Â â€˜Iâ€™m not exactly looking forward to it.â€™ Which is a shame, because at the outset, Llewelyn-Bowen had insisted heâ€™d wanted to reclaim some of the thrill of Christmas for adults, as well as children.Â â€˜You are basically paying me to give you two or three hours of unadulterated Christmas which you can just allow to get under your skin and revive some of that innocent anticipation,â€™ he had said â€" before the launch. Now, there is no sign of him anywhere. Both he and The Belfry have done their utmost to distance themselves from Elfgate, making it clear that it is absolutely not their responsibility (though The Belfry does have a stall selling very un-Christmassy golf merchandise). Indeed, the only reference to the flamboyant flouncer who once presented the BBCâ€™s Changing Rooms TV series is during a dire â€˜Simone Cowelfâ€™ sketch in which an elf holds up a doll of Llewelyn-Bowen (or was it Harry Styles? It was difficult to tell) and all the parents boo very loudly. It turns out the â€˜journeyâ€™ is not an extensive train ride through acres of wooded wonderland but, in fact, a couple of weak elf sketches, a lot of hanging around in the cold, and a two-minute wet-bottomed rumble through a very pretty wood with cars roaring past on a nearby road. There is no music on the train, so the elf at the back sings a couple of verses of Jingle Bells and then peters out when the driver elf refuses to join in. But small mercies â€" the train works and Freddy loves it. Last week it had to be pushed up a hill by a group of elves after one reckless elf drove into a tree, then a trailer and then, apparently, ran out of petrol. The climax of â€˜the magical journeyâ€™ is Father Christmas. He looks the part â€" fat and beardy. And the toy - a wooden domino set â€" passes muster.Â But he is awkward and stilted and it is a teeny bit of a surprise to see iPads and computers in his â€˜North Pole HQâ€™. The elves have come in for a lot of criticism, including from one mother who said 'it was as if they had never seen a child before - they didnâ€™t have a clue' The whole thing is a bit like a massive festive version of Changing Rooms, where Llewelyn-Bowen and his helpers redo three acres of wood into a dreadful festive scene and everybody cries and swears At least he tries â€" asking endlessly if weâ€™ve enjoyed it â€" and doesnâ€™t smoke, drink, burp, fart or, for that matter, wish us â€˜a s*** Christmasâ€™.Â Afterwards, parents congregate in the dingy marquee, waiting for their Â£10 photos. The elvesâ€™ smiles are so fixed now itâ€™s scary.Â Unlike last week, none is smoking or moaning about their long hours and working conditions. Everyone else looks a bit flat. A family from Solihull has spent Â£85 on tickets for three adults and two toddlers. â€˜It was better than I expected, but not much,â€™ says Karen, 32. â€˜It was as if the elves had never seen a child before â€" they didnâ€™t have a clue. But the woods looked pretty.Â Iâ€™d recommend it if it was Â£8.50. But not Â£85. Though at least the photo came in a frame. Trouble is, all my friends have booked already, so I might as well tell them itâ€™s good.â€™ Â This winter blunderland is no longer quite the worst thing in the world, but it is far from magical and grotesquely expensive Poor them. On weekends, adults cost Â£15 a head and children over a year old cost a staggering Â£22.50. It is not worth it. Not by a mile. After its emergency overhaul, this winter blunderland is no longer quite the worst thing in the world, but it is far from magical and grotesquely expensive.Â I canâ€™t help thinking that if Iâ€™d been given a second chance to salvage one of the worst Christmas experiences ever, Iâ€™d have tried a bit harder. The whole thing is a bit like a massive festive version of Changing Rooms, where Llewelyn-Bowen and his helpers this time redo three acres of wood into a dreadful festive scene and everybody cries and swears. After nearly three hours â€" a good half of it spent waiting about and looking vainly in the shops for something decent to buy â€" even Freddyâ€™s had enough.Â â€˜Can we go home now? I thought there was going to be snow. But there isnâ€™t â€" itâ€™s just that strange grey stuff.â€™ For me, the highlights were the two magicians who entertained us with card tricks and vanishing balls during the endless waiting, and the hot chocolate. And Freddy, what was the best bit of â€˜the most amazing Christmas experience planet earth has ever seenâ€™? Was it Father Christmas, or the train or the Fairy Queen, or even the four live reindeer? â€˜Splashing in puddles in the car park.â€™