Clapton.

No, not Eric but Clapton – London, E5 where my son has just moved. It’s an area I’ve never known much about. Except that until recently it was considered rough and undesirable. Now it’s the acme of East London hip. With a mix of indigenous Londoners – both black and white – plus a healthy percentage of gentrifying pioneers, Clapton reminds me of Notting Hill in the 80s, when I was my son’s age and this was the music you’d hear wafting out of Dub Vendor on Ladbroke Grove. I’ve never had an envious desire to be young but today, in E5 I did want to stop that temporal train and push it back thirty years, so I too could live in a cool flat in E5. Because, like Notting Hill before it, Clapton could may one day be overrun with bankers whose music of choice won’t be reggae. Ironically, it’ll be Clapton.