It is all about the being there not the getting there; otherwise you’d never bloody go anywhere would you? You’d just mooch about aimlessly, having all the fun without having to go to the trouble of applying false eyelashes.Anyway, now I’ve established that journeys are shit, I will regale you with... The Journey Back To Paris.
On Sunday morning, I woke up discover my black vest top that I wear as a casual dress was covered in mud. I had meant to take it off when we went out to keep it clean for the journey home, but it was so cold I’d kept in on all night apart from one moment of madness when I decided to take nearly all my layers off for No Reason other than to give my black bandeau an airing, seeing as I’d bothered to put it on. I’d tied my black vest to my bag and inevitably it fell off and was lost forever. But then miracle of miracles, Kat found it on the floor and it was only apparent on Sunday morning that whilst on the floor it had enjoyed much stomping and rubbing from Big Dirty Boots.
It looked awful. I looked awful. My other top was wet and stank of alcohol, my bag and coat stank of damp and cold, my hair stank of smoke and my boots and dress were covered in mud. I looked like I’d been gang raped, yet I smelt like someone who was in no danger of being sexually accosted, ever, by anyone with a sense of smell. Curiously I decided against having a shower.
As I was still on 'Paris time' (being able to say that makes washing a stranger's boxers and feeding their kids cordon bleu almost worth it) I woke everyone up at eleven instead of the pre-agreed noon, but it turned out to be a Good Job, even though my train wasn't until 15:02. We didn't leave until about half twelve and it was a bit of the walk to the tube station or whatever the over ground tube thing is called. On the way we stopped off at a cheapy pound shop where I bought pens and a skipping rope for the girls Christmas presents (I know, I know but I'm already Shit Au Pair, so why bother?) and also M&S where I bought tea bags and mince pies. Thankfully I rang up the RBS Credit Card people and they said my card wasn't blocked, I was just a bad mong and that's why it hadn't been working.
We decided to get a drink somewhere before going to St Pancras, but then we changed our minds THANK FUCK. I don't know what we were thinking. When we got to St Pancras we had about twenty five minutes to get a hazelnut chocolate before check-in opened. I sat there, having a good chat with Kat and reminiscing about the excellent night we'd just had and I remember thinking these exact words 'I've actually gotten away with it.'
Now. I am a very superstitious person. I can never bring myself to believe good things or forget about possible bad things, because it’s the moment you let your guard down that Everything Kicks Off. It was so unlike me not to interrupt my thoughts with a shuddup shuddup shuddup just act like everything’s going to go wrong shuddup shuddup don’t jinx it and I’m not exaggerating, the SECOND I thought that stupid sentence, my head turned itself towards the concourse and I registered the ridiculously long queue of people.
The stupid thing is that the queue had been there the whole time, right next to us, but me and Kat only had eyes for Starbucks and we’d sat with our backs to all the angry waiting people.
Once we realised that the queue was for the Eurostar, we made our way over sharpish, although there was still a minute until check-in opened so I didn’t feel panicky at this point. We got in the queue and it soon became apparent that it hadn’t been moving and wasn’t about to. But still, I wasn’t late, I had my ticket, people in the queue around me where supposed to be on the same train as me, so it didn’t seem too terrible. There was a little nagging feeling in the back of my mind though, a horrible little voice whispering ‘see see see you thought you were going to be ok and now everything’s about to kick off.'
I kept glancing at the Departures Screen. It was 14:15 and my train wasn’t until 15:02. Everything seemed fine.