Fiona Duff: Train can take strain for me

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HELLO! I’m on the train. Don’t worry, I’m not behaving like a plonker with a mobile phone because there’s wi-fi. No-one can hear me typing.

It’s a while since I’ve travelled to London on a choo-choo and I’m wondering why this is the case. I’m sitting here all webbed up, although I doubt that is the technical term. I have my handbag beside me within which I have a pair of nail scissors and a tube of hand cream that is more than 100ml.

To be honest, I could have brought 20 cases, a bike and a gallon of petrol and no-one would have batted an eyelid, shoved them into a cage to check their size or put them through a scanner. I didn’t have to wait in a queue with hundreds of other over-heating bodies, remove my shoes and have some sour-faced woman frisk me because that infernal machine beeped when I walked through.

I could have bought a coffee from one of the many kiosks at Waverley and carried that on with me as well. However, I didn’t because being a right smarty pants I got my tickets well in advance, booked first class so refreshments are free. I might have a gin and tonic on the way back, and I’ll definitely have a sandwich on the way there. Probably a bag of crisps as well.

I do understand why security has at be so tight at airports, what with terrorists putting bombs into their shoes and whatever, but there is just something intrinsically degrading about flying. It’s all that waiting around, queuing for ages and the feeling that it is so much time wasted that I’ll never get back.

Whereas today I can do what I want even if it is looking out of the window and seeing the countryside rather than the top of some clouds. I can work, I could even catch up on some episodes of Coronation Street and perhaps even have a nap.

Whatever I decide, there is one thing that is certain – when I arrive in London I’ll be nicer person than if I had come by plane.