Losing my head in Paris


This is Lucien and me on the Paris Roule, otherwise known as Paris Copying London. I’m not mad on the London Eye, and I’m not mad on this one either. Both areterrifying. “This one is smaller but faster” I say to Lucien, who is very keen on knowing that we were First with the London Eye. Smaller and faster. Rather like French men, ha ha. Not that I told that gag to Lucien. He and me and his older sister had such a lovely time in the City of Light. We went to the Zoo, we went to the Centre Pompidou, we went to a little bar and sang Hey Jude (well I did, to the horror of my children).
In fact we had SUCH a lovely time we missed the Eurostar back to London by a whopping TWO HOURS. I managed to read the Arrival time as our Departure time, and thus when we turned up at the Gare du Nord it was long, long gone.

“This is a bit of a problem, Mummy,” observed Lucien. I’ll say. OMG. How to get back from Paris when you really need to, with no tickets for anything? This was not a moment to think of my bank manager. Air? Very expensive and no guarantees. Coach?Cheap but arrived at 0700 the next morning. In the end I took a Zen-like view of the situation and bought wildly expensive tickets on the Eurostar where we were alongside Jarvis Cocker.
“I like travelling First Class” said my daughter as I brought myself round from a coma induced by the eye watering price,  with a nifty glass of bubble. Don’t make a habit of it, sweetie. And ALWAYS, always check the times on the tickets.

I blame it on the magic of the City of Light.

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