Beauty or none； there is much to be said for a London fog。 It gives us all that “change” which we are always needing。 When our world is all but invisible； and growing visible bit by bit looks utterly different from its accustomed1 self； the stupidest of us all can hardly fail to observe a change for our eyes at least as great as there would have been in going to Glasgow。 When； arriving at one’s house or one’s club； that monotonous2 diurnal incident seems an almost incredible feat； acplished with profound relief and gratitude for a safe deliverance； one has at least an unaccustomed sensation。 One is not a man going into his club； but a mariner saved from shipwreck3 at the last gasp； to be greeted with emotion by erst4 indifferent waiters。 Yes； a fog gives Londoners a more thorough change than going to the Riviera to avoid it。 Then it brings out the kindness and cheerfulness； which are their prime claim to honour； into strong relief。 True； it also throws into relief the inparable egoism of the prosperous among them。 People with no serious cares or worries in the world of course bemoan and upbraid this trifling inconvenience。 But the working； struggling Londoners； cabmen and busmen； you and I； display our indomitable5 good…humour to advantage。 I stayed on top of a bus for half an hour in the block on Monday at Hyde Park Corner and talked with the driver。 People are often disappointed in a bus…driver because they expect a wit and a pretty swearer。 They find neither； but they