A full update on the horrors of EuroDisney will follow tomorrow, when Blogger is marginally more stable than an elephant on a traffic cone and I'm not on a link so uptight that it blocks the Teletubby website because 'tubby' rhymes with 'chubby' and so sounds a bit rude.
But, for now, a preview.
First-born was traumatised today. A 'cast only' door had been left open, and she'd seen one of the characters with its head off, and the human inside reading a newspaper while smoking a cigarette. She obviously knows not to peer through doors marked 'Private' and that the furry monstrosities all contain people who lie to their friends about what they do for a living (in France at least - I mean, saying "I dress up as Mickey Mouse" is the verbal equivalent of tossing a hand grenade into a crowded room as far as the French are concerned) but to be confronted with the grim reality was a shock.
I can only assume that the adult equivalent would be catching the Queen indulging in an act of intamcy with a shetland pony. It would explain Princess Anne though, and I'll refrain from commenting on what Charles has been doing with a buffalo for the last 30 years.
