Whilst I’m not a great art fan, the opportunity to visit Dismaland was not to be missed. In the long queue to get in, the buzz of expectation came from an enthused arty crowd and a younger, more rebellious visitor. There were very few children, and none of the usual theme park visitors here.

It wasn’t dismal. Frayed and run down, but well put together with no signage needed. I spent two hours, but I could have spent four. Dismaland was an art installation like nothing you’ll see again. The setting in a slightly worn English seaside resort and an abandoned building was perfect.

The art complemented the setting, and it was challenging in terms of the subject matter. The staff were something else, and they really did looked bored.

You went in with interest but expecting little and you came out, well, enlightened! Funny, entertaining and frankly unique: impossible to duplicate and a one-off experience in the right place at the right time.

Banksy’s dystopian park is about inequality. It’s the anti-Disneyland. The art is highly politicised. Dismaland is asking us (or asking young people) not to become immune and desensitised to the suffering that happens – we don’t live in a happy-ever-after Disney-type world.

The world of Disney had to be parodied. Mickey Mouse was eaten by a snake. The Little Mermaid was distorted and disfigured. Cinderella was killed when her carriage overturned – to the paparazzi’s delight.

In a traditional gallery, it might be too dark. But the “bemusement park” setting brought levity, and the humour – albeit the blackest humour I’ve encountered – stopped it being overwhelming.

Using click-bait installations, attention-grabbing Disney references and a “theme park” as a vehicle, the art – 56 artists’ works were on show – reached a global audience on an unprecedented scale. And what art museum wouldn’t love to do that?

While the anti-corporate, anti establishment message of the park isn’t exactly breaking new ground, there were installations that I found genuinely throught-provoking.

The Museum of Cruel Objects, curated by Gavin Grindon, is a series of exhibits inside a caravan. It tells the story of the role of design in keeping people in line on behalf of the state, from stun tongs to anti homeless spikes. I found the timeline explaining the history of CCTV enlightening – it made me think about how we blindly accept an increasing lack of privacy without questioning where it might be leading us.

Not all of the exhibits worked for me – some felt one-dimensional; as though they were trying to be clever without any genuine meaning behind them. The oil caliphate-themed crazy golf course Mini Gulf fell into this category. All in all, it was dark and unsettling, at times thought-provoking, and a lot more fun than I’d expected.

I’m not sure why I wanted to visit Dismaland. Was it because I had an interest in Banksy’s dystopian world vision? Or because it was a parody of a theme park?

Either way, it was the most thought-provoking thing I’ve done this year. From a theme park perspective it shared the queues. Queues to get in, queues for the rides – but no queues for the toilets.

In his foreword in Dismaland’s brochure, Banksy suggests that in the face of “global injustice”, “climate catastrophe” and a lack of jobs, today’s children should be taught that “maybe escapism will have to wait”.

That’s where Dismaland makes its comment on our industry. Is riding out your day on theme park rides the equivalent of riding to hell in a handcart? Fiddling while Western civilisation burns?

What was your job title?
We never had an official title, but came to be known as Dismal Stewards or, more affectionately, the Dismals.

How did you apply?
I saw it advertised on reed.co.uk as a runner for a movie being filmed in Weston. It was also in the local paper, a tiny ad that barely anyone noticed.

What did you know about the job?
“Training” began a local hotel on 17 August, but when we started having improvisation training and developing characters, it all seemed a bit odd.
At the end of the third day we got more details about the job – only because a tabloid had leaked something.

There were a few people who hadn’t heard of Banksy, but others were avid fans and couldn’t believe we were going to be part of something like this.

What was the brief for your job?
Be Dismal! It sounds simple but there was a fine line between what we could and couldn’t do. We couldn’t laugh, smile or give any customer service to the public, which is hard when you’ve got a seventy-year-old begging you to direct them to the loos. It was a team effort building up the Dismal environment and hard work to maintain a Dismal persona all day, but I’m glad I did – the feedback has been amazing.

How hard was it to look so dejected?
I found it quite easy being Dismal – but then I do want to be an actor. The hardest part was not smiling or laughing. There’s a position at Bill Barminksi’s security installation where stewards hand out maps as the public enters Dismaland. I’d drop the maps before the punters had a grasp of them, provoking laughter from the visitors. But if I’d broken character and laughed it would have diluted the entire encounter. The improvisation training did help us each find our own unique Dismal approach.

How did visitors react to Dismaland?
It was mixed. Most people loved our Dismalness and the more miserable we were the better. There were others who thought we were rude and bad at our jobs and got quite upset with the concept.

What did you think of Dismaland?
It’s one of the best art exhibitions I’ve seen. I think it was brave and ambitious and visitors were very lucky to pay £3 for world-class art and the experience. I also got to go in the Tropicana again, a favourite childhood memory, so I’m grateful to Banksy for dreaming this up.

Was there a moment that stood out?
At the masked ball – the final gig night – we all wore bandanas so Banksy could roam around and not be spotted.

That, and the very last night when the staff had the park to themselves, a free bar and the giant supermoon eclipsed – that was a pretty special night.