There is something deliciously old-fashioned about travelling on a train. I just love it. Today, I am writing you from the Eurostar. I am going to Paris on my own for a few hours of freedom (and shopping fix, but don’t tell me husband, he doesn’t know). No kids, no friend, no husband, just me and my iPad.
There is also something cutting-edge about travelling under the Channel, the sacrosanct boundary between France and England. That’s what the Eurostar is about: good, old-fashioned service and cutting-edge technology (that fails when it’s snowing, I have had to cancel my trips to France two Christmases in a row because of a silly technical glitch on the trains).
Anyway, today, nothing is going to deter my good mood. I love train stations and their huge structures. No fancy decorations there, just metal and bricks. A cathedral dedicated to the departure and arrival of trains.
It is early morning and I am slowly waking up, helped by loads of coffee. Life was good until I had to go to the toilets (all this coffee, you see). In order to lock the loo’s door you need to press a button (with a key on it, if you must know) on the Eurostar. There are no old metallic locks any more on this train. Times have changed.
Well, suffice to say that the gentleman in the toilet didn’t push the “lock” button and I opened the toilet door to see him standing, holding his, well, thing in both hands, and, to cut a long story short, in the middle of his wee.
How embarrassing. But I am proud to say that I acted completely normal, stayed perfectly composed and just said “hello!”. I politely closed the door and went to the loo in the next vehicle, as if nothing had happened. I can’t help thinking that before moving to London I wouldn’t have reacted in such a calm manner- I would have vented my surprise.
I think that this unexpected display of what I can only describe as British phlegm proves that I am ready to get a British passport. I even pretended that I didn’t know the guy when I came back to my seat.
Apart from this incident all went really well. Paris, here I come!
Nb: if you take the Eurostar, don’t forget to press the “lock” button. Do it for me.
Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London