I found fame because no-one knew who I was

HAVING spent my weekend dressed as Maisy Mouse and Kipper the Dog for the children’s festival, I’ve developed a profound respect for anyone whose full-time job is “Disney character”.

For starters, the giant animal suits really are as suffocatingly hot as you might think, and the weight of them doesn’t help — as if it wasn’t already warm enough, just standing underneath layers of padding and fur is a workout to leave you sweating.

Adjusting to your new dimensions is a further challenge, and it’s particularly disconcerting that not only do you now have an oversized head and feet, but you can’t even see them.



Being Maisy and Kipper was an experience in being blind, and I required a minder whose dual responsibility was to make sure I didn’t unknowingly walk into the path of an oncoming car — and that I avoided being swarmed by children.

Being unable to see anything more than about a foot in front of me became especially problematic when dealing with children — given that most are perfectly sized to dart beneath Maisy’s nose and right into the blind spot of doom.

I began to think that the costume designers had made it so on purpose, just for the spiteful hilarity.

Repeatedly, I was nearly thrown over backwards as I was rugby-tackled by an enthusiastic but entirely invisible child dashing to get the first hug. More concerning was the prospect that I might accidentally tread on one with my huge feet when navigating the tent.

That was assuming they hadn’t run away in tears just from looking at me, as some did; others were so excited they nearly pulled off my paw when shaking it, almost destroying the illusion entirely. Which would have been a shame as, regardless of these minor discomforts, it was fun.

For one, just by telling surrounding adults that yes, I was in fact the one in the giant dog costume, I felt a smug satisfaction as they regarded me with awe.

Even better, I got to feel like a superhero when going on to warn them: “Shhhh, don’t reveal my secret identity.”

Total strangers stopped me on the street — no, chased after me — just for a photo. I was practically a celebrity! Proud to say that I was the one in the suit.

For a sensitive fool like me, being told that meeting Maisy was the best day in a child’s life was enough to make it all worthwhile.

That, and the mayor of Henley and Gyles Brandreth attended my performances. So I must be famous now, or something.