Relaxing, snoozing, reading a book, enjoying a glass of wine by the fire….but that’s just my husband. Me, I am on a train bound for Italy with the three children. As I write (after four and a half hours) they have finally lost the plot and are running up and down the train irritating everyone. It reminds me of the story of a friend of mine travelling up to the Lake District with her two children when they were aged four and five.
“When are you next taking this train?” asked another passenger. “I just want to know so I can avoid it.”
Actually they have been very good. We have played ‘Operation’ (Olivia was Dr McDreamy) about 100 times, Leo has watched Spiderman III (thanks Father Christmas) and we have gone through every interactive Christmas card I was sent this year.
We arrive in Nice in half an hour and then we have a two-hour wait before the night train to Rome. I am planning to take the children to an Asian fast food place I went to last time. There is no menu, all the food is laid out in a glass counter, everything from red Thai chicken curry to stir-fried rice and other unidentifiable dishes. So hopefully they will spend about an hour deciding what to eat and then we can get on our sleeper. I am still trying to decide which child is least likely to fall out of the top bunk.
My mother is meeting us at the station in Rome and then it’s back to her new house in the mountains and pasta and being looked after for ten days.
I am planning to take the children into central Rome, but maybe one at a time. “Are there any shops there?” was Olivia’s first question. I obviously need to introduce her to the joys of eating ice-cream in Piazza Navona, gazing at the Pantheon and walking up the Spanish Steps. And then maybe we’ll fit in some shopping.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007