You could get to Aberdeen from Oxford in a day on the train.  Bicycle to from Summertown House to Gloucester Green before even the electric milk wagon made its rounds.  From there the intercity bus to Kings Cross, London, and onwards to Newcastle.  And then the language and scenery changed utterly as you got into Princes Street, Edinburgh. On the train to London, sleepy eyed commuters, two sitting side by side on each side and these two facing each other across the path of an undescended table in cabins secured by a sliding door.  Newspapers were up for protection--it is doubtful that much new was read behind them--and these were unfolded, shaken and crumpled (no self-respecting business man or public servant would dare to handle a tabloid on the train--and when the conductor opened the door to punch your stub, or make you a ticket, no words were exchanged, or eye contact made as the deals were done. It was assumed that people had ate their breakfasts, so there w...