Up sharpish this morning as Eurostar seemed divided about how early we should present ourselves at check-in, anywhere between 45 and 120 minutes before departure on the various bits of paper/emails. We skipped breakfast and left for Gare du Nord just after 8 o’clock. ‘down the road and turn left’ had been the advice the evening before from the hotel reception so we did and found it very easily. No sign of the Paralympic marathon either.

It had looked like a bright and dry day outside so it was pleasant walking despite the luggage. Inside the station we followed the signs and ascended the escalator to where we were sent down marked aisles to passport control. Machine checking so it was a tad complicated as I tried to get my passport the right way round (I chose the wrong photo page and didn’t suss straight away that there was a screen I had to look into before I could be released the other end. Mr McGregor had even more attempts before he managed. Oldies holding things up! French passport control was easier and I knew we had to proffer our carte de sejours as well. Then came the screening bit. I kept reminding himself watch, belt, phone but somehow he ended up with his watch still on. He made several attempts to go through the scanner as I attempted to collect his trays (why three?) as well as my own plus backpacks and suitcases to prevent further delays for the people behind us. New knees? the security chap finally asked in desperation as the beeps continued. Just about to frisk him when someone in front of a computer waved to let my beeping husband through!

As we headed down the concourse to the gates to the platforms I passed a news stand with a very aptly titled magazine!

The signs were saying B coaches 1-10, we were 15, so I asked a chap guarding the gate where should we be, please? Back up the far end, he told me, sign A. So back we trudged and sank, thankfully, into spare seats opposite our gate. Around then, Mr McGregor remembered his house keys were in his jeans pocket!! Count to ten, I told myself!

On the departures board the the earlier train was still showing with increasingly curt warnings that the gate was about to close. So much for closing half an hour before, it was bang on its departure time by now.

The emptied concourse slowed filled up with the passengers for our train but still we sat waiting for the order to board. Finally, with about twenty minutes to go, the gate was opened and we got ourselves organised and joined the throng. All very orderly as there was only one door to each wagon with copious luggage space to left and right. Our seats were the first two so we were quickly settled.

The train is smooth and fast and whizzed under the channel without any announcement, unless it was on the overhead running timer that I couldn’t see from my seat. I went and got coffees before then and something to eat to make up for the lack of breakfast.

We belted through Kent, the river Medway looked lovely from the rail bridge, yachts lying at anchor on a falling (?) tide and weak sunshine reflected in the shallows. Then it was underground for a bit before the Dartford bridge reared up, scene of many a traffic jam we now know about with son and grandson living north of the Thames. People began to close their laptops and get suitcases from the racks above their seats. We agreed to sit tight and let everyone get off so we could stagger about for our stuff without making people wait. We were only going to stroll to the hotel after all.

Our hotel. I’ve been telling anyone who asked we were in an hotel opposite the British library but when we presented ourselves at the reception I was firmly told we were in the wrong one! ‘Our’ hotel was the sister one three minutes walk away, this one was called St Pancras, ours Euston. So the stroll became a cross stomp as we set off to find it. No distance away, just annoyed with myself for a silly mistake.

Checked in early…for a few, we dumped our luggage and went to find a pub. No bitter for himself so he ordered Guinness, it seemed appropriate! I asked for a strongbow cider but got something pink and fizzy sweet. It was swapped for a Magners, also Irish brewed, so we’re getting into the Irish mood.

A light lunch then back to the hotel for himself to rest his eyelids and for me to write this…it has just rained hard and thundered but when it stops I’m off to the British library as I’ve never visited it before…