Skip to main content

The journey: stage one

Cosne to Paris Bercy : two hour train journey passed without incident despite having to get BB, pushchair, wheely bag and backpack off the train solo, my biggest concern. I needn't have worried; as it turns out French men are extremely chivalrous - three of them, including a surly looking teenager with multiple piercings, helped me at the crucial moment. Merci!

Paris Bercy to Charles De Gaulle airport: One surly taxi drive later and BB and I are at CDG, possibly the most uninspiring airport ever. BB is fabulous company despite her trying to run away at every available opportunity, so the boredom of the interminable wait is lightened. Need to have a word with her about going up to strange men and grabbing their backsides though, as even in France this is not regarded as civilized behavior. Also proving herself to be shameless thief of other people's crisps and sandwiches.

Next stage: 9+ hour flight to Washington DC, 2 hour wait at Dulles, then domestic flight to San Francisco... Damn last minute bookings, would happily trade my left buttock for a direct flight right now.

Next blog will be from US soil.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Boy - you're one brave Mama! Take care!
11:48 pm
Kate B. said…
No, not brave but possibly certifiably insane. :-)
8:33 am
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...
11 comments
gimme more...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...
13 comments
gimme more...