Are we doing the right thing? Suddenly everyone is giving me advice, wanting to see me before I go, telling me I am being rash, struggling to understand how we can give up on Blighty, asking me if I have done this, checked that, made sure of the next thing.....

People ask if I have gone on sentimental visits to look at the house I sold in July, looked at my old school, said goodbye to all and sundry.  I have done some of these things and yet I do not see the point.  I heard a poem on BBC Radio 4 recently which struck a chord.  It's by Felix Dennis.

This struck me as highly pertinent.  It's so true.  One can't keep looking back.  Life moves on and memories are deceptive.  I must remember that as I set out on my new life.

My next posting will be written in the USA.

And there they were!  The crowds of tourists standing around me on the corner, as we all waited to step off the pavement opposite Next, looked perplexed.  I grabbed my camera and clicked as an exuberant and colourfully robed trio got close.  Only in New York have I ever seen anything approaching this sort of craziness.  I will miss them.   

Politically, socially, culturally, America is - as we watch transfixed and, in spite of ourselves, impressed - being born again. Suddenly we are reminded of why 55 million people have chosen to come to America in the roughly 400 years since that journey became possible. We are reminded of why Americans are so deeply, annoyingly, attached to their nation and their system. We are reminded of how vibrant that system can be.

As someone on the verge of joining the ranks of those 55 million, I am thrilled to know that, despite all the loathing heaped on the Yanks by most Europeans I meet, there is someone out there who agrees with me that there is much to be said in favour of America.

I agree with Mr Webb that Americans are hard working and adaptable. Far more so than the Brits. He writes

One of the emerging features of American life at the moment - perhaps a political driver in years to come - is the desire for modernisation. In the world's economic powerhouse there is a fear of falling behind. In fact there is an awareness that America is falling behind.

As I prepare to leave Blighty in four days’ time, I am thankful for what I am heading towards.

Americans hunger for mobile phone networks that work. For rapid transport that whizzes. For bridges that don't fall down. They do not hunger for government but they do hunger for efficiency, for a governing infrastructure that serves a modern economy; for a health system that delivers medicine without bankrupting companies and individuals. Both John McCain and Barack Obama know this. Each is under pressure to deliver. America is imperfect. It has no divine right to be the world's leading nation. And yet - in this glorious political year - something about it sings.

Yes! Spot on. I agree Justin. You’ve got it right. Thank you!

Spotted on a neat suburban street - in Ealing no less!

Perhaps this is a sign that the credit crunch has forced the middle classes to take on second jobs - selling cars. 

Clearly the local borough big wigs are not amused and are putting a very firm stop to this bit of individual initiative. 

I have never seen anything like this before.  

What does it all mean?  Can a person not show initiative in these hard times and raise a little extra on the side?  

The crimes recorded involve cars, burglary and robbery but further categories including anti-social behaviour will be added.

Is every country now bedevilled with street crime or is it unique to the UK? 

But my morning's encounter with crime had only just begun. Walking round Cavendish Square there was a sudden flurry of police activity.  It transpired that, spotting a lorry delivering computers and various bits of IT equipment to one of the offices on the square, a young man had climbed into the cab and attempted to drive it off.  Unknown to him, the delivery men had been inside the lorry attempting to shift its contents! Realising that someone was trying to steal their lorry, the men had managed to grab the villain and call the cops.  I saw the boys in blue handcuff the thief and march him off to a waiting police car.

It seems that I am surrounded by crime wherever I go!

Then along came a man with a labrador.  He too stopped momentarily to glance at the house - but thought better of checking out the problem and strolled on by.  

Standing on the pavement, on the opposite side of the road, your correspondent (sometimes nicknamed by friends "The Daily Right to Know") didn't budge. 

And then it happened!  A head popped up from below the wall by the steps leading to the basement door of the house.  The young, white, male with dark brown hair and a beige jacket spotted me and quickly ducked back down again.  He knew I had seen him.  I stood my ground.  For the next five minutes he would periodically pop up to see if I was still there and then duck right down again when he saw that I was. 

I pulled out my cell phone and dialled 999. 

An ultra calm woman asked me which service I wanted.  "Police".  I was put through.  Quiet efficiency followed. 

"Where are you"?  "What have you seen?"  "Describe the suspect".  "What's he wearing?" "How old is he roughly?" 

I said I would stay put otherwise the young man would do a runner.  I was warned not to do anything which might put me at personal physical risk.

Within three minutes, at most, the first of three police cars were on the scene.  The officers jumped out, ran into the front garden of the house and nabbed the man who was still hiding behind the wall.  They were brilliant.   "What are you doing down there mate?" was the first question one of them asked.  He didn't have much of an answer.  "Let's have a little chat in the police car shall we?"  

I whipped out my camera and took a photo - but just in case there's an entirely innocent explanation for what that young man was doing, I'm not going to post it, as he would be identifiable and that wouldn't be fair.

Suffice to say that the boys in blue were brilliant.  When it comes to nicking suspects the process worked, on this occasion at least, like clockwork.

Lunch at The Bell Inn was a delight. Someone held the door open for me to enter, locals sat at the bar holding forth at the iniquities of the world, there was a real sense of "community". It was old fashioned, courteous, quiet, under-stated Englande.

Something about him struck me as different.  He had an elegant stick next to him.  We rushed over and my strapping, fit, six foot tall, rugby playing son picked him up. 

This was no drunk. The young man had dreadful cerebral palsy. He had been trying to cross the road to go to the Burger King opposite the station when he had fallen.

What country is this where a disabled person is left splayed on the pavement and no one, repeat no one, bothers to help them up? What have we become? A nation of cruel, callous, selfish beings who assume, utterly wrongly in this case, that everyone on the ground late at night is a drunk who deserves to be left there.

Shaming!