Legoland

OK, so the Lego Guys (as Aidan calls them) did all right.  I base this largely on his assessment of the day as being, quote, "one of the best days of my life".   We were pretty pleased to hear that, given that the whole UK leg of the trip, brief as it might be, was predicated around precisely that particular principle.


Against all logical expectations, we successfully met a childhood friend of Justine's from Washington, plus her husband and three boys, at the entrance to Legoland at opening time.  I presume they now live in the UK, though this was never fully confirmed. 

Legoland, for the uninitiated, is (in loose terms) any other theme park, but with as little lego reference as can possibly be got away with and not lose custom.  Coming as it did just a few hours post our 33-hour travel extravaganza, it was impossible not to notice just how similar the two experiences are.  Both are essentially glorified survival tests, where the absence of a negative is its own reward.  20 minutes after opening time I saw a mum in full rain gear chasing her boys away from the Viking water ride with a look on her face that suggested it was only going to get a lot worse from that point, and I knew exactly what she meant.

But survive we did.  Aidan bought a huge Lego kit that will tax the logistical aspects of our planning to get back in several hundred pieces.  The highlights of his day were, in his most convincing ordering, the Pharoh laser ride, the Dragon roller coaster, having fanta AND a chocolate milkshake for lunch, getting two lego mini-figures key chains, and not getting anywhere near as wet a behind as Justine on the aforementioned Viking water ride (see picture).

Lauren also scored a mini-figure keychain (princess rather than Star Wars) and some lego, and loved the carousel swing and the Atlantis submarine. 

To say that they were both totally wrecked at the end of that day would be to place one of your upper digits right on the sharp end of the story.  As I write this I can hear stereo snoring from both girls, and Aidan talking in his sleep about school. I couldn't make out everything he was saying, but I didn't get the impression that he wished he was there.

Tomorrow it's back into travel mode, as we hopefully negotiate the multi-layered public transport defences of St Pancras, from where we Eurostar it to Paris, for an awe-inspiring romantic 1 hour getaway.  From there we put our faith and marriage on the line as we attempt to navigate a hire car from the train station to St Aignan, guided only by untested GPS tools.

Assuming success, or even serendipitous failure, the day after that will feature the start of what I believe the United Nations are recognising as Chocolate Croissant Week.  Pictures at 11. And again at 2. And 4.30 with a bit of luck.