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Of course, not for us the hardships of a mediaeval pilgrim. Trains all the way, baby, because my husband loves a train. He speaks actual Railway like a pro.

Perhaps we should have joined the Archbishop of Canterbury Dame Sarah Mullally at Canterbury Cathedral on her 87-mile pilgrimage from London

Mr Chaucer would have hated the faultless trip down. Swift, efficient and First Class comfort. Nary time for a tale from a Millars Wife. The homeward odyssey would have worn Geoff’s quills to the nub.

The trouble started in Canterbury. We were on the train to London, to catch an LNER back to Edinburgh. There was an announcement. A signal had failed. The train we were actually sitting on was cancelled. A gently morose chap from South Eastern Trains said no-one could predict when the signal would function again.

First class tickets were at stake here. A decision was made to try to go by taxi, even if the cost meant selling one of the children to settle the bill when we got home.

Turned out to be a pointless decision, because Jorgi the Taxi Driver did not want to go to London. In a strong accent from somewhere on the shores of the Med, he said he didn't like London. Fair enough. But, he said, he could take us to another station to catch a train from there. Agreed.

We headed for the motorway. Did we live in London, he asked? No, I said, Edinburgh. Much delight in Jorgi’s voice. Why, he once lived in Glasgow. He worked for Mr Larry, delivering vegetables. Did I know Mr Larry? I regretfully admitted that I didn’t. I should look him up, he said. I promised I would.

At that point, my time-table obsessed husband announced there was a train at 11.50. Sadly, though, he said, we won’t make that.

Jorgi heard this challenge and rose to it. His Skoda may have seen better days, but fire still burned beneath the bonnet. Jorgi engaged the warp drive and it was full metal to the pedal straight into Smokey and the Bandit territory, with Jorgi standing in for Burt Reynolds.

My life flashed before my eyes, which actually was quite pleasant. The kids were very cute when they were young. Jorgi , in the meantime, entertained us with the Taxi Drivers Tale about his life delivering Mr Larry's vegetables. Brussels sprouts were a particular favourite, but only if they were strong. The strength test was to stand on the sprout, which I thought would render said green veg inedible, but what do I know?

Despite Jorgi’s heroic efforts, we missed the 11.50. This gave my husband the opportunity to converse in fluent Railway with the ticket booth man. There was talk of failing signals and missed connections. A letter was produced asking LNER to aid these travellers. This, he said, would get us onto the next available train home.

At Kings Cross my husband again engaged his ability to talk Railway. No worries, said the nice man at LNER, booking us onto the 13.30. What a relief.

Of course, that was before we found out about Northallerton.

I always wanted to see Canterbury. So last week, we did.