There must be an elderly relative up there who frets about whether you're eating properly in London, who would love to see you and feed you, and whom you worry that you neglect. Unusable, unrefundable train ticket available to take you to York for 10:00, escaping back to civilisation at 16:00, stuffed with whatever it is you people eat. Gravy, I expect. And cakes. Probably concurrently.