Time to decide. Is this really the future I want and need? Can I really do this alone? Or am I doing it for no reason other than being fiercely independent and stubborn? Perhaps more like my mother – who, along with my sister, has refused to have anything to do with me since I told her I was moving – than I thought.

I tune back in to the buzz of the station, to everything that it represents for me, and my answer is clear. This is not me – I don’t ruminate and second-guess myself. I find solutions and I get things done. It might not be the future I would have chosen, but it’s the best one for me now – and I’m going to damn well make the most of it. Decision made, I push the button to open the carriage door and climb on board.

By the time I’ve settled into my spacious first-class seat (a little indulgent perhaps, but it’s not like I up and move hundreds of miles away every day) and engrossed myself in a gritty crime novel, my floundering on the platform back at Glasgow Central is long forgotten. The beautiful Scottish countryside flashes past me outside the window, accentuated by the early autumn sunshine. The contrast between the racing images of the outdoors and the quiet calm of the carriage adds an extra layer of relaxation to my experience.

I’ve chosen a two-seater table so I can enjoy a real sense of comfort, which is enhanced by the seat opposite me not being reserved until Oxenholme in the Lake District. Checking the journey on my phone, I’m pleased to note that I have nearly two hours of not having to share the space with a stranger.

About twenty minutes into my journey, the train crew begin serving food and refreshments. They gradually make their way up the carriage towards me.

‘Tea or coffee?’ a man with a Yorkshire accent, armed with two large metal jugs, asks me.

‘Coffee, please.’

‘Right you are.’ He serves me at record speed, then moves to the next table.

I add milk to my drink and give it a stir, before enjoying a satisfying slurp. It’s not the best coffee I’ve had, but it tastes good because of what it represents: my return to freedom, independence and a fulfilling career. I return to my reading but within minutes I’m interrupted again as my lunch is served and the drinks cart arrives at my spot. The woman in charge of it is very cheery, with a thick accent from somewhere in Europe. I smile warmly at her as she jokes animatedly with the people across the aisle from me.

Having an advance nosey at what’s available, I see a range of soft and alcoholic drinks on her trolley. My eyes land on the miniature spirits, conjuring up memories of many enjoyable holidays (with both Dom and Sasha), where these Lilliputian bottles have been a symbol of celebration on board our outbound flights. A clear marker for the beginning of endless sunshine, exotic landscapes and architectural delights.