First, forget everything you know about logical navigation. Alton Towers exists in a special pocket dimension where mobile phone signal goes to die. You’ll be driving along a lovely A-road, humming along, and then your sat-nav will cheerfully announce, “You have arrived,” while pointing at a field of cows. That cow is not the queue for The Smiler. Don’t trust it.
Your best bet is to type in the postcode ST10 4DB about six times before you leave. Even then, prepare for the final leg. You’ll drive through a quaint little village called Alton where locals will stare at you like you’re a lost astronaut. “Yes, I am lost,” your face will say, as you try to execute a three-point turn in a pub car park. It’s a rite of passage.
