Come on, folks, it's just plane silly not to travel by train.

I don't know who runs the railways but if they don't start capitalising in a major way on the best chance they'll ever get to become the preferred mode of transport for the domestic traveller, then they deserve to get the boot.

The airport experience, if you have to bear it more than once a week, is miserable, frustrating, confusing and best to be avoided in the interests of your sanity.

Fine if you are heading off on a holiday break and can focus on a beckoning beach or a lazy lunch. But if you're heading where you've got to be rather than where you want to be then it's enough to send you over the edge.

There was a glimmer of hope a couple of weeks back that things were going to improve, get back to some semblance of normality - but all we've got is a different variety of lunacy.

Let me illustrate by asking you to ponder the difference between a tuna and sweet-corn sandwich and a Greek yoghurt with fruit compote and crunchy topping.

And try to think this one through not with the head of a hungry person but the head of an international terrorist. Is it at all obvious to you that a tuna and sweet-corn sandwich is rubbish for the purposes of blowing up an airliner whereas a Greek yoghurt with fruit compote and crunchy topping has real possibilities?

Well, apparently that is the case which is why half of my Boots - bought picnic was confiscated and the other half was not.

Maybe there are reasons for this distinction but the problem is I don't know what they are and the airport staff, understandably, don't have the time or energy to explain them. The result being you end up with a compulsion to smear Greek yogurt all over their X-ray machine while swinging on the frame of their security gate. There's more to it than that of course.

There's the off and on of your shoes, the dumping your toothpaste in the bin and then finding the airside shop permanently sold out of replacements, decanting of all your stuff from two small bags into one bigger plastic bag then back again (don't ask!). I shan't go on.

If I let myself think about it too much I morph into Michael Douglas' character in "Falling Down" and that's a dangerous leap to make.

Now, contrast this with my rail experience last week. I was travelling from Manchester to London on a Virgin train. I arrived at the clean and swish Piccadilly 15 minutes before departure, had a browse round the lovely shops then sauntered onto the train.

It left bang on time. I sat on a big, comfy armchair, charged up my mobile, chomped my way through free sandwiches and thought "this is a million times better than flying". I can't be the only one. So, where is the marketing campaign on behalf of the railways? Your time has to be now.

Spotted. A bunch of girls heading off on a hen weekend with the obligatory 'on tour' T-shirts. They'd put a bit of effort into them, copying the Stella Artois logo but changing the wording to "Fellas Are Tw*ts". It would be funny, love, if you weren't about to marry one of them.