writer's moll

It’s 2.30 in the afternoon in Vienna and we’re whisked onto the train, feeling lively, a little pinched in the waistband department after 5 days holiday but, having had a very early, meagre breakfast, hungry. Hooray, it’s lunchtime and as the train scythes its way through the Austrian countryside, we scythe ours through a pastry & vegetable thingy, fish, quail’s egg on spinach, caramel pudding and a bottle of wine. 5.30 and we’re about to see München and be munchin’ afternoon tea – we know we’re going to eat dinner so we really shouldn’t but … 9 o’clock and though the train zips on at a cracking pace, my skirt zip's well and truly stuck – I’ll have to keep my jacket on for dinner despite the heat, although on the positive side the heat has made my feet swell, which means my matching shoes, which normally fall off, stay firmly put. 9.30 and we’re eating smoked salmon, veal, potatoes, veg, cheese, peaches in liqueur, coffee, and drinking another bottle of wine. An image pops into my mind from that Roald Dahl film Matilda, where the wicked headmistress catches a boy stealing chocolate cake and orders him to eat the whole thing and every time he thinks he can’t manage another slice, the rest of the kids in the school gather round and chant “Come on, you can do it” and he does and so do we, but now I can’t wait to get back to the compartment where some wonderful elasticated-waist trousers await me. The train carries on towards Paris but we must pause for a light sleep until 7.30 when it’s time for breakfast - fresh fruit, rolls, croissants, and pastries – no damn it, I can’t, I won’t. But of course I do, but it’s OK because elasticated-waist trousers are fine today and with a loose shirt over the top, no one will ever know. 12.30 and Arras and brunch approach with more smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, lobster, whirly potatoes, tarte tartin and more wine. Another image pops into my head – ducks and geese being force-fed with funnels to make foie gras. 3.30 and we’ve crossed the Channel and it’s time for champagne, strawberries and cream, warm scones with more cream, sandwiches and delicious little cakes. It’s 5 o’clock in the afternoon and we’re disgorged from the train - they’ve done their job, we’re nicely fattened for Christmas, need no more care and can pick up our own luggage now. God, it’s Murder on the Orient Express.