I have a bone to pick with L P Hartley. Famously, the opening line of his novel The Go-Between reads “The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there”. He is emphasising what separates us from abroad and us from the past.

Consider these, however.

When Jean-Jacques Rousseau wrote Confessions in the late 18th century he introduced the public to a new kind of subject; himself, his thoughts, his feelings. Hundreds of readers, reclining on their chaises longues, showered him with fan mail.

Marcel Proust, the famous novelist and hypochondriac, loved music but hated going out. He resorted to inviting a string quartet to his house to play for him while he reclined on his green couch.

Gustave Flaubert was torn between his desire to travel and the comforting cocoon of his home. His friend Maxime du Camp complained that his friend would have liked to travel stretched out on a sofa, watching landscapes pass before him like the screen of a panorama mechanically unwinding.

What fun they would have had with modern technology. Flaubert with Google Street, Proust with Spotify, Rousseau’s public with Facebook. Surely they weren’t that different from us, were they?

The phrase “ mi casa es su casa” refers to a generosity of spirit that wants to share with other people. Sorry L P Hartley but I like the idea that people of the past shared similar needs and feelings with us today. As I recline at home with my smartphone I imagine myself reaching out with the words “ mi sofá es su sofá “.