Stunning east coast views are lost on screen-engrossed Americans - Susan Morrison

Down to Newcastle last week on the train, and a jolly pleasant trip it was too. Busy carriage. Six elderly American tourists bustled on and sat around me, those unbelievably active and indomitable old folk that they seem to cultivate over there.

Possibly something to do with the sunshine. And they probably have good pensions.

They were cheery and hearty and exuded that sort of "Can Do” optimism Americans used to be known for. The sort of old folk you can comfortably leave in charge of small children or large countries.

Of course, not all elderly Americans are like this. Mr Trump has never exuded positivity in his life, although if reports from the New York courtroom he’s currently stuck in are to be believed he does emanate something. Audibly.

The east coast main line has got to rank as one of the most beautiful train journeys in the UK. (Picture: LNER)

I can report that our Americans had a favourable impression of the capital. They loved their hotel, bought a great deal of cashmere at what they thought was a bargain price (yes, I kept my face straight) and felt that it was far more "airy” than London, which makes it sound like someone in the city had left a window open somewhere.

In my defence, I should point out I was not deliberately ear-wigging into the conversation. Yes, I did have headphones in, but Martha, it seems, is slightly hard of hearing and so the conversation was lively and loud, even, I suspect, by American standards. I didn’t mind, they were a lovely bunch.

They settled down and pulled out all manner of devices to read from and listen to. I can’t complain, I was watching some guff on my own screen, but I wasn’t paying that much attention. Well, you can’t on the East Coast Line, can you? Stunning doesn’t even cover it. It’s got to rank as one of the most beautiful train journeys in the UK, especially on a day when the sun had come out to play.

As we swooped into Berwick-upon-Tweed I rested back in my chair, and took in that magnificent view. It was glorious. The Tweed was glittering in the sun. You could see white waves cresting at sea. The sky was Saltire blue. I stole a quick glance at the Americans, who I was sure would just go nuts.

They did not. They did not even look up from the Kindles, iPads and phones.

I was outraged. This is one of the greatest views you can get from a train, and they were ignoring it? Not on my watch. I tried a cough, but of course, that was no good. Martha couldn’t hear me and the rest were wired. I tried a bit of a sudden-movement-arm-wave but again, they were too engrossed in what looked like downloaded re-runs of Murder She Wrote.

Berwick slid away, unnoticed.

Don’t tell me it’s just teens who miss the finer things in life because they are glued to their screens. Mind you, for the life of me, I can’t quite figure out why I was so annoyed. It was as if the Borders had put on a show, only to get bad reviews.

Fair put a damper on my admiration for elderly American tourists. As I left the train at Newcastle I nearly leaned over to tell them where they could have got that cashmere at a real bargain price.