It was Friday morning and absolutely bucketing down with rain. 

“So then. Are you ready for later? Still wanna go?” I said.

“You don’t want to go, do you? I said to Joe, it’s raining, she won’t want to go.”

“It’s not that, but there is a severe weather warning over there. Like rain but with attitude. I don’t know if I have a brolly up to the job.”

“Look, it’s up to you. If you don’t want to go I won’t be annoyed. Either way, I’m fine.”

“Wow. So you don’t want to go then…” 

“That’s not what I said, is it. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I feel like this is a very first-world problem and I’m being a bit of a psycho about it. I mean, if I was flying I probably wouldn’t go.”

“Same. But since it’s the Eurostar..”

“Yeah. We’re going. We’re being ridiculous.”

The train to London was very quick and easy but the Eurostar waiting area was packed. Hundreds of people waiting to go to Paris, Brussels or Amsterdam. Still, since there’s a train every half an hour of course there were people a plenty. I didn’t let it deter me though because some say I’m very easily put off things.

“Last chance saloon. We could stay in London and go shopping and be home in time for tea…”

I was met with ‘one of those looks’ and deservedly so. I love adventures I just don’t like the getting to them part. If I could have any superpower it would be to be able to instantly transport myself anywhere.

The Eurostar was fast, comfortable and before I knew it we had arrived in Lille, France. 

A nice little French town that I had booked in an adventurous moment to celebrate the coming of spring. 

When we arrived the water was pouring from the sky and it was a bit on the cold side. My umbrella turned inside out and the wind whipped at my face as I hailed a taxi. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have come..”

Not to be ungrateful and hideously precious but when it’s raining at home at least you have all your home comforts around you: Netflix, transport, a range of suitable clothing. All I had now was a single bed, wet trainers, and French telly.  Still, here we were.

The first night saw us down the road at Chez Max, a bistro recommended by the nice chap behind the desk at the hotel.  What a find! I loved it deeply.  When I’m away I always try the local dish (unless it’s something hideous) so I had The Welsh, a popular dish in the Hauts-de-France. Bit like home from home really, a scoff down on a bit of cheese on toast with an egg on top. Proper comfort food. But this time bathing recklessly in cheddar melted with beer over ham and toasted bread. A nice Moscow Mule to shake off the blues and finishing with a rather zesty tarte au citron. Bonjour to that!

“Well, this is a splendid find. I’m really glad we came. Are you enjoying your creme brûlée ?”

“Hmmm. It’s the first time I’ve ever had it and to be honest, I think it’s a bit overrated. It’s basically burnt custard.”

I laughed very hard at that but not in front of the waiter. The French people in this part of France were very nice. 

The severe weather warning was a big lie. The occasional April shower licked at the buildings but nothing to write home about. We woke up to a rather pleasant day after a lovely long sleep. Breakfast was included with mini croissants, pain au chocolate, juice and cereal. Lovely. We spent the day walking all over the very walkable town, visiting little shops and stopping for a baguette because there’s nothing quite like a baguette at a rather nice boulangerie.

  The buildings were beautiful with a Flemish influence, the tulips were blossoming, and we finished up at a restaurant in the old town plaza eating burrata salad, rye bread, and a Belgian waffle smothered in speculoos. Before I died of heartburn and bloating it all got washed down with a rather nice Languedoc Reserve. Ooh-La-La – don’t mind if I do. 

“God, I’m so glad we booked this mini break. What a fantastic idea. How lucky we are just to be able to hop on a train and be in Europe. I’m going to be doing a lot more of this sort of thing,” I said. 

The following and final day we visited a local European market, an outdoor vintage poster and book market, and then The Palais Des Beaux Arts to do a bit of art philosophising at the second-largest collection of art in the country. 

I finished off in Paul’s Patisserie which is just out of this world with an edible piece of French art known as a mille-feuille.

We then hopped onto the Eurostar and were back in London by 7 pm. Glorious. All in all a sumptuous combination of culture, gastronomy, shopping and the history of French Flanders.  As if anyone wouldn’t want to do that, eh?!