We went to my grandmother’s house in Harlesden yesterday for Easter Sunday. Just like at Christmas, it felt wonderful to see everyone; although the place wasn’t quite as full as then, I always relish seeing my family. My cousin Cyril was there, whom I hadn’t seen in quite some time, and it was interesting to hear that he’s thinking about developing things for people with disabilities using his background in neuroscience.

We al had a great time, and it was good to see Lyn fast becoming a member of the family. An odd thought occurred to me though: I was struck by the contrast between the type of conversation held by my family and the type of conversation people hold down here in south London. It’s like my family live on a totally different sphere of existence to where I now live. They were talking about stuff like the housing market and the value of modern art, things which would, by and large, probably be of absolutely no consequence to most of the people I meet around Charlton. I guess this is hard to explain without sounding patronising or judgemental: I’m not trying to imply quality or worth here; it just struck me how vast the social, cultural and economic differences between some people are. I need to think this through before I write more about it, but I must say the contrast really did hit me yesterday.