It feels fitting, somehow, that the final bit of flight-free travelling I managed to squeeze in before the full coronavirus lockdown went precisely nowhere.

Well, to be fair, it did go somewhere – but I set off from London and arrived back in London hours later, without setting so much as a toe anywhere else.

Let me explain. My last hurrah (although I didn’t know that at the time) was onboard the Northern Belle – a service akin to the Orient Express, where you board a tarted-up Thirties-style train, complete with armchairs and curtains and tables with little lamps, and they ply you with food and drink until you fear you may have to be rolled out of the carriage like a giant wheel of cheese.

We rode the rails through Kent down to the coast, passing through Canterbury, Dover, Folkestone and West Malling, but without stopping anywhere during the five-and-a-half-hour round-trip.

It’s a decadent experience all told, and not just because of the five courses (plus aperitif to start and coffee to finish) – something about hopping on a train when you don’t need to go anywhere, when you are merely doing so to experience the novelty of a restaurant accompanied by changing views, feels the height of frivolity. Especially with hindsight.

The landscape has changed so quickly that the idea of getting on a packed train now, albeit one where the well-heeled passengers are well-spaced amid the natty décor, is enough to bring me out in hives. It was only a few weeks ago – but my, weren’t we living in a different world then.

It’s also fitting that I spent that final journey with my significant other, taking some cherished quality time together to celebrate my birthday, before he became, oh yes – the only person I will really be allowed to see for several months. Thankfully we didn’t use up all our best conversation, mainly because we were too busy knocking back a bottle of rosé and stuffing smoked salmon, cod with saffron sauce and the biggest cheese plate I have ever seen, let alone eaten, into our gaping mouths.

Oh, and then there’s the entertainment to distract you. First up, a close-hand magician came by doing card tricks. I am a sucker for any and all illusions and am still reeling that he managed to move a card out of the deck without touching it (a particularly useful skill in the time of Covid-19). Less welcome was the constant stream of jokes but, in fairness, everyone else in our carriage seemed to be having the time of their lives, so perhaps I simply hadn’t drunk enough by that stage.

Then there was the band. Oh yes! There was a band… A guitarist/vocalist and a trombone player did the rounds, playing a range of classics and even taking requests with good grace (thanks for the rendition of Brazil, lads).

All in all, my companion and I had to speak to each other very little, for which I am now incredibly grateful.

Of course, I could feel frustrated that I wasted my last precious travel opportunity on not really travelling. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy every second of it. I got to see the sea, probably for the last time in months. I got to feast my eyes upon the white cliffs of Dover (a little grubby but majestic all the same). I got to watch the sun dipping low over wide open fields of green I can only dream of now. And I got to eat my final meal “out”, spread over a relaxing five hours and all from the comfort of an actual armchair. No, I don’t think it was a waste.

Now, of course, we shall all have to learn to be literal armchair travellers for the time-being. But I’m glad I managed to fit in one last real travel memory to keep me going – even if it was on the road to nowhere.

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