'OMG,' announced Catherine as she finished swallowing another gulp of French bubbly. 'Why didn't we just agree to stay here for four weeks?!'

We were sitting outside in what I like to call 'Business Class' - up-front on board Liberty in lovely warm sunshine. Not a breath of wind. Only swans and ducks to disturb the placid waters of Cergy marina. Bloody inconsiderate wildfowl.

'Because,' I said, having recovered from choking on my sip of Clairette de Die and thinking what an irony it would be to pass away from drinking such an aptly-named wine, 'At this time of the year we can't cruise anywhere. We would be spending a month just sitting here in the port.'

She would soon get bored, I was well aware of that. 'If we were later in the year, even the first week of May, then yes, we could easily spend four weeks on the boat. But we're going skiing.' I said this with an air of finality. Actually more of a thick fug of finality, since all the transport and accommodation was already booked and paid for.

'Yeah, no worries,' she announced majestically, squinting into the bright sun. 'OMG, I swear to God if that swan comes aboard I'm leaving.'

I refilled my glass, another nail in the coffin towards my Clairette de Death.

In a way I agreed with Catherine; the weather has been unseasonably lovely since she touched down early yesterday morning - two perfect sunny, warm days - and sitting on the sharp end of the bateau with rough French bread, cheese and salami for lunch, staring across the port packed with other pleasure craft, I too could have stayed for longer.

But dear reader, you will be relieved to know that Cergy and Paris get back to February-normal temperatures from tomorrow, which is fine by us as we will be taking the train from Paris to Oulx in northern Italy to begin (finally, I hear you say, get on with it) the skiing trip.

I like trains. I'm not a train spotter - not an anorak-wearing notebook-touting nerd who stands on platforms jotting down train numbers or anything - but I do like the sheer drama of hurtling along two steel rails at speed, in carriages that rock and sway, and with a buffet car you can get drinks and food in. Also you are allowed to take on heavy and strangely-shaped luggage without question, so trains trump budget airlines any day. Oops, sorry, did I just use the T word?

Plus, and this is a major bonus, here in France and in Italy, Catherine and I both qualify for discounts on rail fares; me because I am 'of a certain age' and her because at 25 she still qualifies as a 'youth.' Which explains the 'OMG, I swear to God if that swan comes aboard I'm leaving,' and other observations.

When we get to Austria however we are both penalised by the train bureaucrats - Catherine is regarded as an adult (OMG, I swear if that train conductor asks me how old I am I'll kill him) and I - bless the Austrians - am regarded as being too young to qualify for a senior discount. Yeah! Who knew?

I'll have another Clairette de Die and toast the Austrians. After all, we youth have got all the time in the world.