False Start

So there we were.  

Miss Used-to-Bees snuggled up in the back of the car under a couple of quilts looking forward to picking big sister and boyfriend up from Brugge where they'd spent Christmas, me in the passenger seat trying to get forty winks after driving to the Eurotunnel so very early on Boxing Day, Mr Used-to-Bees standing outside the car as the train slowly moved off.

The movement of the train lulled me to sleep.  

I was dreaming of the mountains and the vin chaud, of whizzing down the slopes looking oh-so stylish (well, it was a dream!) and enjoying the convivial Alpine ambience.  I could smell the fresh mountain air and the woodsmoke of the roaring fires in the mountainside refuges: I could hear the tinkling of the bells worn by the horses pulling their sleighs and the swoosh of skis.

Then a voice broke into my reverie.

'I've forgotten the keys.'