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The Channel Tunnel pic2

 

  1. Go To The Toilet With Your 5-Year-Old Son While He Has A ‘Mega-poo’, And Close The Door.

The toilets on the Eurostar really are things of beauty. Small, perfectly formed and crammed with every essential item for the person in need while travelling at speed. The key word in that description is ‘small’. So, when your son lures you in with the promise of just going ‘number one’, only to upgrade it to ‘number two’ – after you’ve closed the door – there’s no escape.

The reek hits me, as I blindly fumble for the door lock, feeling sympathy for all those girls who are caught by the bad guy in films when they can’t open a simple door lock. I usually laugh at them. Who’s laughing now eh? My son, for one.

He looks at me with a huge smile on his face, his small, five-year-old body almost swallowed up by the comparitively huge toilet bowl. How can something so cute make such a hideous smell, I wonder to myself as I finally manage to open the door and stumble, eyes streaming, into the train compartment. It’s oily, it’s full of cars and it looks grim, but it’s nirvana compared to what I’ve just endured.

Don’t worry, I went back in to get him.

Thirty minutes later.

 

2.  Change Your Daughter’s Nappy As The Train Arrives In The UK.

Bit of a no-brainer this one. If you can, do try and tell your 2-year-old daughter to have a dirty nappy ready at a more convenient time. Say two hours ago, when you had stopped for lunch. Or maybe just wait for another hour when you have another stop in the UK. This may not always bear fruit though, as 2-year-olds are not famous for their ability to fill their nappies at-your-convenience. Which is a shame.

So yes, here I am, with the French and English advice blaring away informing us that we will soon be entering the UK and blah-di-blah-di-blah. But I can’t concentrate on that as I’m struggling to wipe up a very messy nappy, on the front seat of the car. The clean nappy hides itself, the wipes come out in multiples of five, there’s faeces EVERYWHERE. Oh what joy. I hastily bundle darling daughter up and stuff her back in her seat.

 

I am beginning to suspect that my son and daughter are starting to co-ordinate their attacks…

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