I forgot when I re-awoke (with a stiff back) in Kings Cross hotel , I was whacked on the head with a pair of socks, managed to get up, I forgot what else occurred before the hotel was left at 5.53am: smells weren’t very nice, a massive pile of bin bags was outside McDonald’s, a small black Labradoodle sort of dog was having a lead clipped to his or her harness and getting excited, and inside St. Pancras Station a long wiggly queue was already by departures.
A small girl had a pair of Mickey Mouse ears on a headband, La Pain De Quotienne wasn’t very occupied, we zapped our tickets on barriers, and then luggage was scanned, some more wiggly queues led to passport control and my passport was stamped; and never ending queues for shops selling coffee were revealed (in front of The Station Pantry and Pret A Manger).
Tobacco and massive bottles of alcohol were on sale, along with various different shapes and sizes of Paddington Bear, The Station Pantry had things called ‘Hells’ and ‘Pale’ among things on the drinks menu behind the counter, and Mum had just made it out of the queue with food when boarding began and I squidged myself out of the corner I’d sat down in. A packed flat escalator was the next thing, followed by a packed upwards escalator, a packed platform, and we eventually got on the train and found our seats: almost everyone I could see was poking their phone, an announcement told people very firmly to make sure they were in the correct seat on the correct train, Mum ate some sort of granola-y yoghurt-y compote-y thing, and a slightly squashed croissant was given to me.
It was 7.05am when the train set off, a lot of cranes were visible, big silos that said Hansen on them weren’t far away when a very, very long dark tunnel was gone along, a small boy was eating crisps, Google Maps didn’t want to tell me where we were; and due to the speed and security of the Wi-Fi being pathetic, I turned it off. Sun was very bright, a man across the aisle had an eye mask on and a cushion wedged between his head and the window; a board on the ceiling said the train was going at 156 km/h, that the record breaking speed is 334.7 km/h and 50.45km is the length of the tunnel; and cartoon figures were demonstrating how to step off the train. A toddler was making squeaking noises, we emerged from the tunnel just before 8am (and I’d forgotten when we went in) (and then I remembered to change my watch and camera clock – so it was 9am). Everything looked very very green (with different shaped power pylons to England’s), 272 km/h was the speed at 9.10am, I could smell weird very strong coffee smells, announcements were rapidly made in three languages by the same lady; and we got moving, stood behind someone who started feeling the grey head of the person in front of her (presumably a relative), and we disembarked in Lille at 9.30am.
Cosmetique Bio, a place called ‘Paul’, and several cafes I forgot were in the hall that came next; an extremely long escalator was taken, and out in bright sunshine was a sculpture of massive tulips, Brioche Doree, a Westfield Euralille shopping centre sort of place with an Intersport gym at the top (and a man doing exercises on a cross trainer); and in the station Mum wanted coffee – and at a SO!! COFFEE stall were a lot of cookies, and muffin pomme speculoos, muffin myrtilles, and muffin fourne-cacahuet; and when we sat down on a bench with our very early elevenses visible were a Donuts and Donuts stall, a big McDonald’s, and an ‘Artisan Boulanger Paris’ called Eric Kayser, and a pigeon was trying to flirt with another pigeon. Sirens of some sort were audible outside, a boy (6→7years ish) started chasing pigeons and his sister joined in, a 3 legged Labrador was bouncing along and looking very experienced at doing it, a little girl was holding a plastic doll and a similar aged boy was putting a small torch in his mouth. A pigeon found an abandoned croissant to peck, the very small ‘piano en gare’ was being played very well by someone (and was just about audible amidst the train noises); a double decker ‘picardie’ train was on a platform at 11am; and a very traditionally bearded, moustached, and beret wearing man (early 70’s) was by a bench.
A lady whose eyebrows appeared to have been painted on with black paint and a paint brush was poking her phone; and we moved at 11.16am, made it through the ticket barriers, and went backwards and forwards along a train about to leave for Paris with no carriage numbers a couple of times, boarded, and ended up stood in a corner with a very tall thin man (mid 30s) who spoke English and mentioned strikes a while ago and staff trying to confuse passengers, I mentioned the strikes in Britain causing chaos, and then we moved again and found what appeared to be the right seats.
A couple of people with arrow-word puzzle books were visible, a man was watching a violent film on his MacBook Pro with French subtitles (I was wondering if the film was in English); there were a lot of wind turbines that didn’t appear to be moving much; I was trying not to doze off (and felt rather dehydrated) by 12.10pm, 5 minutes later a man in a suit and official looking hat came along zapping tickets (and most people had them on their phones), land that looked very green was alongside the train, my head was intermittently drooping forwards and I was fading in and out of consciousness; and at 12.45pm I was told that the time of arrival in Paris had altered by 30 minutes and she didn’t know why…….
