Last Tuesday on my way to work I was waiting to cross a road when a middle-aged woman next to me dropped some coins on to the pavement. Six people bent down to retrieve them for her. A man in a smart navy suit fumbled in the gutter to find a 1p piece, which he proceeded to hand over. The only person nearby who didn’t help was me — but that was because I was holding on to my bicycle.
Instead, I found myself telling the group that what I’d witnessed made me pleased to be a Londoner. Everyone was in a hurry to get to work. Yet everyone instinctively paused to be nice to a stranger who had lost less than a quid in small change. The good Samaritans looked at me doubtfully. Being kind was one thing; talking to strangers quite another. As soon as the lights changed they bustled off to their City offices. I bustled off to mine.
When I arrived I walked to my desk straight past various colleagues staring at screens, some of whom were wearing headphones. I didn’t greet any of them. I dumped the previous day’s dirty tea cup in the communal sink and took a clean one from the cupboard. I sat down, looked at my emails and resolved not to reply to any of them. I went up to the canteen, bought myself a greasy pastry, which I ate at my desk, scattering crumbs all round me.