Welcome to the Eurostar. This is a fabulous train. You get on at Waterloo station in London, and get off in Paris. Or in this case, EuroDisney.
First class, of course. Heck, the booking was my last hurrah on the joint accounts back in March.
First-born was singularly unimpressed as I enthused about the size of the seats, the niceness of the staff and the bar in the carriage along. When we go to Florida next year we're flying coach. That'll teach her. Oh yes.
I've also decided that champagne is the way to go. Not as fattening as beer and no hang-over this morning. However, I did have a cleaner related moment last night. Shortly after I'd finished off the meal there was a sharp rap on the door. My first thought was naughty: "Man, this is some hotel - free champagne, nice food and they've obviously clocked me as a single bloke, so perhaps a beautiful blonde, brunette or red-head (or even all three) is coming to tuck me in."
No such luck. A large woman of eastern european extraction (possibly an ex-Bulgarian shotputter) was waiting on the other side of the door. She wordlessly wheeled out the table and thrust two small packages in my hand.
"Chocolate" she said simply.
And then she was gone.
2 hours more on the train, and then we're in Disney. Yay!
(Yeah, I've got the magic red card going. My inner geek is showing again)
