Last night, I saw the new Pride & Prejudice film at the cinema. I enjoyed it. I will buy the soundtrack.

This morning, as I was walking to the station, I imagined that Elizabeth Bennett was walking beside me and that I was going to show her what it is like being a young woman in 2006.

Elizabeth had a lot of questions, as you can imagine.

“Where are we going today, Joan?”

“I’m going to work. Most people nowadays go to work or go to school. I work as an engineer.”

“What do engineers do?”

“Engineers use science to solve problems. For example…” I tried to think of an example that would be understood readily. “There isn’t enough water for everyone so engineers help find ways to share water around or make more water.”

“Not enough water! How?”

“There are a lot more people these days, Elizabeth.”

I live in a typical suburb, another house every 30 metres. I explained that in Melbourne, most people lived in suburbs.

“These areas are always quiet in the day time. People live here but during the day, they travel somewhere else for work or school. We’re going to the city.” As I said this, I imagined the waves of people flowing between the suburbs and the city, then back again, day after day. I shook my head. It must seem strange and unnecessary to someone who lives on an estate that generates its own employment.

She marvelled at the cars but remarked how noisy they were.

“There’s not much grass, Joan,” she said. “I suppose the space is needed for roads.”

“We do have have beautiful places still — parks and forests and mountains. I hope I can show you some of the nice places today.”

It was difficult to explain the overhead power lines. The way I explained electricity to her, it must seem like magic. “People make electricity elsewhere, far away. The electricity travels through the lines to each house. We can then use it to make light, make things move, to heat things up or cool them down. I guess the lines do spoil the sky a little. In some places, we put the lines underground but you get used to seeing overhead lines.”

We caught the train. The train, to her, was like a giant car where strangers would pour in and take seats beside each other. She didn’t mention it but I could see her curiosity and surprise at the sight of men sitting down while women stood up.

She found the variety in clothing and fashion fascinating. “All the women wear pants!” she exclaimed.

“We find it more comfortable.”

“I wish I could do that at home.”

“Many girls still wear skirts. The skirts can get quite short.” I nodded at a group of school girls, whose skirts were hiked up above their knees. “Don’t worry. You are dressed more unusually than most but no one will say anything. People dress however they like.”

We arrived in the city and looking at it anew, I noticed that the city isn’t all that much different to the suburbs. The buildings are taller, there are more people, but it’s the same concrete around, pavement and bitumen, piped music and announcements, shops selling food (I had a go at explaining parking signs to her). I was a little embarrassed by the sameness of it because I had wanted to show Elizabeth something different.

I’m not sure what she made of my office. I meant take her to one of the parks at lunch time but I was caught up talking to workmates. By the time I left work this evening, I realized that I hadn’t left the concrete jungle all day.

Even with all our impressive technology, I felt apologetic. I had shown my visitor from the 19th century nothing beautiful today. I get the feeling she might have concluded that 2005 wasn’t much of an improvement on 1813 (except for the pants). And it really should have been.

Maybe I could have done a better job of being a tour guide if I had a few more days.

Having an imaginary visitor made me look at my daily routine and surroundings with fresh eyes. The outcome was unexpectedly unfavourable. I really am surprised.