It still intrigues me how different parts of this vast city feel differently, so that different areas seem like entirely different places. Lyn and I ere just in Bexleyheath doing the weekly shop. Marta kindly drove us there as my powerchair is currently out of action. It’s quite a distance, and o get thee you have to go down shooters hill road. A certain stretch of that road hasa wood on one side and a golf couse on another, so you can forget you’re in a city. It’s strange – it feel like you’re entering a totally separate place, not London, but another, smaller town. Bexley is, of course, officially part of kent, although I still see anything within the M25 as London. Yet strangely it feels like a small market town, much like Congleton, where I grew up. I’ve experienced this all over the capital, and I’m fascinated by places so close can feel so different, unique and separated. I suppose this is part of the magic of the metropolis; this vast microcosm where so many places are also just one.