We spent the weekend in rural Sussex, a well-heeled swathe of countryside south of London. It allowed Anu to play her favourite game of ‘spot the brown face’. That used to be her principal pastime when visiting my family in North Yorkshire (my mother told the neighbours that my wife was an Indian princess, in a freewheeling translation of her caste status). In Sussex too, Britain’s cultural diversity is well hidden. Until, that is, you get to good old Brighton—a seaside resort with an old-fashioned pier, a gay scene, an ornately oriental pavilion, and a profusion of South Asian daytrippers. The cadences of Hindi and Gujarati could be heard among the ice cream stalls; snatches of Punjabi and Tamil echoed around the dodgem rides.