An image that coaxed itself out of my imagination yesterday, looks like its on the money today when I think about it.

During a light-hearted conversation with someone about the oddities of the areas we live in - me, the inner city, and her, a dormitory village on the outskirts of London - I found myself saying that there's a total difference between where I spend most of my time, the tough, edgy end of Notting Hill (you read that right, there is one. I live there) and Chiswick, another part of London where I stay for long periods.

So fine grained a contrast is it that it extends even as far as the local dog population, or so I flippantly remarked. The dogs du jour where I live are pit bulls, Staffordshires, Dobermans; things that strain at the leash and if there are steroids for dogs they're on them. Bull-necked, twitching, eyes popping. Whereas Chiswick it's chic women walking around with pint sized dogs snuffled in expensive handbags and every mutt lovingly hand fed on something organic.

All said lightly and nearly forgotten. Yet I realised this evening walking home, it's actually true: the social world is utterly different between these two parts of London, and so is the corresponding Dog world.