And the heat is on

It has been so very hot.

Of course, I might just be applying Lake District standards, so let me clarify. I have become pink in the face even when I have not been drinking, although I don’t get many opportunities to notice that.

Also it is not raining, unless you go into the Disney Studios bit and stand under the umbrella on the lamp post and take a photograph. Some pretend rain turns on when you do that. I watched a little girl get completely soaked today, which made her mother grumpy.

Anyway, there is no real rain at all. The sky is a vivid blue, straight off the Disney colour palette, cloudless and beautiful. Mark and I sat on the hotel balcony with our aperitifs today, and watched the swarming millions coming and going to and from the park, and felt very smug about life. We will continue in this frame of mind right up until the credit card bill arrives.

I think the most stunning thing about the park at the moment is the overwhelming scent of the blossom. They have very sensibly decided to plant shrubs and trees which flower profusely at this time of year, and the air is heavy with the glorious fragrance, with petals drifting in every wafting breeze. We wandered across the park all together this morning to have another go on the Small World ride, and every breath was an appreciation.

I like the Small World ride, it is exactly the sort of mawkish sentimentality that I enjoy most. I came off feeling that we are all just people together and should be loving and not go to war with one another. I forgot about that feeling as soon as I almost tripped over a bunch of milling Spaniards who were being noisy and smoking cigarettes in the wrong place.

The children buzzed off doing their own things again after that, whatever they might have been, and we wandered in delightful aimlessness through the parks, eating peanut butter flavoured ice cream and feeling contented.

We all met up at the hotel after cocktail hour. We have a small ritual whenever we get in a lift that Mark kisses me. Once upon a time this was a romantic gesture, now it is done with lots of slurpy noises to make the children make sick noises and bellow in embarrassed horror as we jump apart just before the lift doors open. We think this is very amusing, and this afternoon we decided that we would go on a ride in the park that is a pretend lift, by way of contrition.

This is called The Tower of Terror and pretends to be a malfunctioning lift in a derelict hotel. You can imagine what happens.

There are some pictures of Mark and the children laughing and cheering with their hands in the air as we plummet to certain doom. I am next to them with my eyes shut tight, hanging on to the railing with a ghastly expression of nausea recognisable even though the lobster sunburn. It was a rubbish idea after sticky cocktails, I can tell you.

Mark and Lucy did it again. I took Oliver off to amble around the park until I felt recovered. This took a while.

After that there was only one ride left unridden, so we decided that we would do it so that we would know we had finished. It is called Crush’s Coaster, and is a roller coaster in which the carriage spins around at the same time as hurtling along the track in the semi-darkness, occasionally being attacked by sharks and jellyfish. I missed them because of having my eyes shut, and only heard about them afterwards.

I felt every minute of my advanced years when I got off. I am not quite sure why such an activity might be considered entertainment.

I refused all of the children’s entreaties to do it again.

Instead we ambled back to the hotel and went for dinner.

If I win the lottery I am going to come and live here.