Don't get me wrong: I love my mother and my daughter dearly. It was great to get the chance to spend four days in Disneyland Paris with them and (mostly) a magical time was had by all.

But, boy, you sure need to queue a lot. And it was hot. And they don't sell juice boxes. I'm glad to be home, watching snooker on the telly with my feet up.


My feet hurt, I'm sunburned and feeling ragged around the edges. My muscles hurt from carrying a four-year-old when it all got too tiring/boring/ intense.



DD tells me the princesses are not the actual ones from the movies, just people dressed up in costumes.




I don't believe her, after all we stood for an hour and a half to meet them whilst wearing stupid headgear.


(Belle was an absolute sweetheart and generous despite clearly roasting alive, and Sleeping Beauty was completely unfazed by being asked to sign a picture of the tellytubbies)








As well as being surly enough for whiplash, this was also a good bit of experimentation to get posable limbs for my Back Tack kitty.