I was wandering idly through my inbox the other day when a message caught my eye: ‘random question, but would you like to go to Disneyland Florida?’ What, as opposed to sitting here in Dulwich, watching smoochy couples wander hand-in-hand through the pink cherry-blossom in the park (so like confetti, sigh!) while Mr X has my children, leaving me with only repeats of ER for company?
Is there a smaller quantity of time than a nanosecond that I could pretend to think for?
The result is that I am off, as of Tuesday, for a five day fact-finding mission to the mother of all theme parks, in the company of a select group of (probably equally surprised) fellow blogstresses, all of us sans children.
We have an extremely packed itinerary and I, for one, have absolutely no intention of installing myself in the newly opened spa and refusing to move. It’s true that I am uniquely qualified to test scary rides, being phobic about almost everything, having no head for heights and being blessed with the sort of inner courage that makes Shaggy of Scooby-Doo fame look like St George himself.
Besides, didn’t I hear somewhere that Mickey Mouse is single? Sure, yes, Minnie does hang out with him – but has anyone actually seen a marriage certificate? Mmm, of interminate age, wearing horrid spotty shorts, tendency to grin like a loon, owner of a multi-million dollar movie empire … sounds like just my kind of guy!