The Art Of The Brick

As he pays a visit to the birthplace of LEGO, Simon Button contemplates the meaning of our enduring love for the iconic plastic bricks

Making a pilgrimage to the Danish home of LEGO without children in tow might seem about as logical as going to Glastonbury without wellies. But after a three-day visit my opinion that I’m far from the only grown-up LEGO fan is proven to be as rock-solid as the brightly-coloured plastic bricks that form the basis of one of the world’s most iconic brands

Despite the amusement and sometimes bemusement of family and friends, I’ve known I’m not alone in my adult love of LEGO since I reconnected with the highly connectable building blocks a few years ago. I’m not the only 50-something kid-at-heart excitedly stocking up on construction kits and loose bricks at the company’s stores in London, New York and Paris, nor the only long-in-the-tooth fan posting brick pics on social media.

But to gleefully wander around the original Legoland in Billund, which opened in 1968, nearly three decades prior to the one in Windsor, is to feel truly vindicated. There are lots of families around but there are also plenty of big kids like me towering above the intricate “Miniland” installations, cramming onto the monorail and climbing aboard a boat to get a close-up view of the astonishingly detailed miniature Statue of Liberty.

I can’t stop smiling, but then I’ve been smiling ever since I checked into the new Castle Hotel, which has the cheeriest of staff, chirpy music piping through the corridors, painted minifigures peering at you from the bedroom walls, and buckets of bricks everywhere you look. A friend of mine sees my Facebook update and proclaims, “My daughter would combust if she saw that!”