THE other evening, while staying overnight in London, I found myself taking Barney the Beagle out for a run round Battersea Park – a change from our usual route over Laverstock Down.

Whereas Barney and I usually have the Downs to ourselves (I guess that might change as the mud river that purports to be a path begins to dry out), Battersea was packed. Half of London, it seemed, had chosen that particular evening to keep fit.

As I lumbered along in my 10-year old shorts and T-shirt that had seen better days, I felt decidedly bumpkin compared to the stylish array of fashion lycra with matching trainers that clung to the svelte, well-toned bodies of those around me, most of whom had clearly just come from a catwalk or Olympic training session. But London is nothing if not eclectic. Shapes I had at first mistaken for tramps sleeping rough on benches were, on closer inspection, runners whose night before or misspent youth had clearly taken its toll and who were resting for a minute or two before heaving their protesting frames a few more yards.

One of the things I enjoy the most about running over the downs is that I get to see, feel and appreciate the changing seasons – pheasants scuttling into the undergrowth in autumn, howling gales and the smell of damp earth in winter, new birdsong in spring and kestrels wheeling overhead in summer. Even the sound of the train clattering past in the distance (or if I’m lucky, one of the steam specials puffing and snorting its way from London) adds to the experience of connection with the world.

In the park there are birds singing, children playing on the grass, fountains spraying, a lone busker practising in the bandstand, the swish of boats on the river. A different world with its own opportunities of connection. However, those around me were all wearing earphones and were either deep in phone conversations or listening to music. Runners World (a magazine for those that take this sort of stuff seriously) publishes a monthly playlist ‘chock full of songs with enough of a beat to keep you moving’.

In the age of the headphone, we each carry around the opportunity to be in our own world, lock ourselves away from our relationships with nature and with each other. Most of us now seem to prefer to place ourselves in solitary confinement, surrounding our senses with what we control; the familiar, rather than risk the unfamiliarity of bumping into others.

Small wonder that London is a lonely city. There is more conversation and connection to be found with the occasional stranger encountered wandering the downs than in a whole city at play on a spring evening.