I type with white freckled hands on a white keyboard. After assisting Ben with painting a little of his flat, numerous police sirens blur past the window, a story below. Ben is in South Africa now, a nine-hour flight that results in a one-hour time difference. With a whole flat to myself, I prepare to spend the night with some other friends – a friendly family with a frenetic pace that will be slightly calmed down now that the father and the son have left for New York to take part in a marathon (yes, a marathon).

Polesden Lacey in the snow

At the beginning of my stay, I had a chance to visit an Edwardian House with Mike Breckon in Fetcham called Polesden Lacey, which was donated to the National Trust in 1824 by a wealthy socialite, an illegitimate daughter of a successful brewer. With exceptional furniture, eastern porcelain and numerous paintings, the house and the 30 acres of immaculately tailored gardens, lawns, and terraces, I felt as if I were stepping into the set of a Jane Austin movie. Perhaps the comparison came so quickly to mind because during my languishing in Toronto under the spell of a running nose and thundering coughs, I watched five hours of Pride and Prejudice straight!

Alas, I have had too much time to read, waiting for twenty-minute late trains, and delayed long tube rides from North to South London. My Phillip Pullman trilogy, I had hoped would last me a little longer. I’m looking forward to a weekend in Sussex with more relatives, away from the expense of and time spent traveling.

While walking in Balham down a narrow street lined with parked mini cars on both sides, I saw many drivers pull over into drive ways and other free areas to let oncoming traffic pass. I thought that my evaluation of the underground in my previous update was based on a desire to find a connection to strangers and people you half recognise. That connection is an unconditional kindness: and here it was on a road in south London. Cars pull over to let you pass! What a great gesture! I admit the idea is not very stunning and perhaps only the frequency of the gesture made my experience noteworthy. However, I soon realized that it’s not kindness at all. It is simply practicality: You give way so that you can get by yourself. I wonder if all kindness in big city life is simply a form of practicality, a means to a desired end: letting cars by (to move ahead, yourself); picking up trash (so that you can walk down clean streets) and giving change to beggars (to avoid feeling guilty).

Tags: travel