At 1.15pm on Baker Street I’m running between platforms. The Metroplitan line is saying 10 minutes to King’s Cross, the circle line isn’t giving any information away. There’s a load of kids in my way, all suitcases and rucksacks. When I eventually board the train a few of them get onto the same carriage.
They are talking about Paris. Show offs. Who are they to talk of Paris when I’m gripped so firmly in the jaws of commerce? They are talking of the hotel excitedly and then talk turns to alcohol:
“You’re only 17,” one of the girls says.
I’m looking at them. They look so young; all long hair and innocent expressions, excited and naive about the holiday ahead.
“Yeah but I’m sure we could get served,” one lad replies.
I want to go to Paris with these people. No hang on, that would make me a pervert or worse, the teacher. The teacher can be heard but is dwarfed by the kids surrounding her. She’s telling them about the need to behave as it’s a school trip.
“Maybe we could have a couple of drinks.”
I like the way they say it so gingerly. These kids couldn’t cause any trouble if they tried. One guy, who looks like Euros Childs, is looking shyly at the teacher trying to gauge her reaction.
The teacher relents a little saying no-one will begrudge them a couple of drinks of beer or a glass of wine. She’s having a glass of wine when she reaches the hotel. She does tell them that she doubts they’ll be able to afford it anyway, as Mr Hendricks bought a pint of Guiness in Montmatre and it cost him 14 euros. She adds that it was a nice pint of Guiness, by all accounts.
The train stops at King’s Cross and I get off and on my way while they group together to head for the Eurostar. Have a drink for me schooltrip people and enjoy a world free of work while it lasts.
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