Funny to return from Lebanon, Syria and Turkey - where women go unveiled - and return to Britain, the land of the full hijab. I see more women with their faces covered in Tower Hamlets than I did in Damascus.

I used to think that covering the whole face except for the eyes was the normal Islamic custom (in a week in Afghanistan I hardly saw a woman's face) and so was surprised to find that even in Syria, the most culturally conservative of the Middle Eastern countries I've just visited, not a tenth of the women seem to cover their faces. Most (by no means all) cover their heads, but you don't get that closed, turning-away feeling you sense along the Whitechapel Road in the East End of London. In the Damascus streets, women in all-women groups, and women with men, chat and laugh; and I saw to be true (what some Muslims have already told me) that the full hijab cannot be considered a religious duty, but is simply a cultural feature of some societies that are Muslim, but not others.

If so, how far should we tolerate it? Spitting is a cultural feature in China but we discourage it here. In Syria I took my shoes off to enter mosques, though that is not in my culture; and wouldn't have worn clothing like skimpy shorts or vests, or drunk alcohol in the streets: practices offensive not to me but to the mainstream culture where I was.

Knowingly to disturb people's feelings is to be offensive. In Western European society, to go out in public with your face masked is (unless done for comic effect) disturbing. Hiding the face is felt to be threatening, and slightly scary, and subliminally this goes way back, and quite deep I think: it certainly frightens children.

Would it be wrong to try to convey to communities in Britain who adopt the full hijab that, though it is a woman's legal right to dress as she chooses, she should recognise that she's in a country where many people will find a masked face disturbing, and that (without meaning to) she is acting in a culturally inappropriate manner, which may offend? Do the masked women I see in the street in Whitechapel actually know this? I cannot say, because I've never spoken to them: or, rather, when I do, they look away and walk away.

This too, in Britain, is rude. Do they know? Shouldn't they?

Seat of learning

Oh dear. Somewhere along the road to Damascus (perhaps while walking there down the street called Straight) I seem to have slipped into a St Pauline mood, and have started upbraiding women for their habits. But please - young woman who was sitting next to me on the train from Birmingham on Monday - how, how, in a carriage so crowded that people were standing in the aisles and sitting by the doors for a journey of more than an hour could you place that bag and coat on the seat next to you, to put people off sitting there? She yielded the seat pleasantly when I called her bluff, and my irritation melted as we travelled and I glanced at the sweet holiday pictures of husband and baby she was lovingly reviewing on her laptop.

But (and I'm sure any ticket inspector would confirm this) dog-in-a-manger seat-hogging women are much more frequent offenders than men. Women jump bus queues and push on to Tube trains more, too.

I think it's genetic. My theory is that this territoriality is not because women are more selfish than men but because they define territory in a more narrow and familial way. A man would feel some sense of belonging to the whole carriage, while a woman would tend to stake out a private nest. It's the same with my llamas. The male, Knapp, strides the whole field, meets dogs and horses, and keeps an eye out over the others. He would be interested to invite other beasts in; but is equally ready, I fear, to fight with them. The females, meanwhile, flatten their ears and prepare to spit when there's any incursion; and graze their chosen patches intently, with an eye always and only on their offspring, to which they stay very close.

Diverting experience

News of my recently installed water butt, from Thames Water. It's brilliant, and the drainpipe diverter device a miracle of ingenuity.

After years of irrigation with calcifying tapwater, my plant pots had succumbed to the “Dead Sea” effect,

but now the white encrustations of salts have melted away. A simple-minded fellow, I've spent hours in the recent wet weather just watching the rain falling, the spout spouting, the butt filling and all my plants perking up.

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