THERE’S nothing quite like travelling on a train for sitting back, taking in the changing landscapes, dipping in and out of a book and indulging in a nap.

I enjoy train travel, especially on long distances, as (in theory) it’s more relaxing than driving and you see more of the country than you do on a soulless motorway. The rail journey to Edinburgh, along the Northumbria coast, is particularly delightful. And Settle to Carlisle by steam train is one of the loveliest journeys in the world.

There is something irresistibly romantic about railway stations - not the big, noisy urban ones but the old smalltown ones with hanging baskets and tearooms, where reunited couples embrace on the platform, or departing sweethearts lean tearfully out of train windows, waving goodbye. The kind of place you might find Perks the cheery porter, or Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard gazing at each other over their tea, bristling with unspoken passion and forbidden longing.

Of course modern train travel in this country is nothing like that. If you’re incredibly lucky, and the railway gods are smiling down, you might just get from A to B on time, in a seat, with no hiccups along the way.

That rarely happens to me. Nine times out of 10, when I travel by train, the railway gods are nowhere to be seen and there is inevitably some kind of delay, cancellation or hold-up en route. I have come to expect it.

Travelling by train in other European countries, I have marvelled at the efficiency, speed and comfort of the rail services. It is often a very different story here.Travelling to the south coast last week, the train I was booked onto was cancelled in Leeds. No explanation offered. When I enquired about the next train, the stony-faced woman at the information desk said it would be in half an hour and there would “probably” be seats available. Two of her colleagues walked by, swearing loudly at each other. Not quite Perks and his friendly banter...

I’d lost my seat reservation but there were spare seats, and the half-hour delay to London didn’t affect my journey too much. Coming back, a few days later, was a different story.

I arrived at London King’s Cross early, with time to buy a coffee. Keeping an eye on the screens, I noticed that all the Leeds trains were eventually cancelled. The one I’d booked was ‘on time’ then ‘delayed’ then, inevitably, ‘cancelled’. The next one was delayed but eventually set off, an hour after I was meant to go. Needless to say, it was packed, and I stood, miserably, for most of the journey. With all the standing around I’d done at Kings Cross, I’d been on my feet for five hours by the time I got home. My train ticket seemed over-priced as I reflected on an exhausting journey.

Now, I’m a modern, independent woman. I pay my own bills, do my own decorating, take the bins out, unblock drains and lift spiders out of the bath. But if any of the men sitting on that packed train - too engrossed in their ‘phones and laptops to notice anyone around them, including the women of various ages standing up for two hours - had offered me their seat, I might just have taken it.

Chivalry, it seems, is dead. Maybe it’s classed as sexual harassment to offer your seat to a woman these days. We’re so scared of offending each other that we ignore each other instead. I think it’s a shame. I quite like a man to open a door for me, or pull out a seat. It’s not offensive, it’s good manners. Just ask Trevor Howard.