Ask a townie, “What's the best thing about being a townie?” and they'll likely resort to the stock shtick. It goes something like this: “Well, there's just so much going on. Galleries, museums, gigs every night and so much theatre - have you seen Waiting for Godot yet? Wonderful, apparently. And then there are the restaurants...”

Don't be fooled. Yes, London is a city of unparalleled cultural richness but this makes it all the more obvious that so few of its inhabitants are habitual culture vultures. Take the West End, for instance: arguably the greatest concentration of theatrical talent on the planet, conveniently clustered in Zone 1. Yet only about a third of all bums warming West End seats belong to townies. The rest are an even split between foreign tourists and British out-of-townies, who travel in by coach, catch a show and then return home to locales low on street crime, generically branded fried chicken shacks and hideously disfigured pigeons. The closest many townies come to a regular hit of the cosmopolitan culture that surrounds us is a fleeting glimpse of Time Out as we recharge our Oyster cards.

Of course, nobody is obliged to like theatre, dance, art or whatever. But we all have to eat. Here, again, the capital offers unrivalled opportunity for wanton promiscuity. And here, shamefully, I increasingly can't whip up enough enthusiasm for wantonness.

Within minutes of my doorstep is one of the city's best Szechuan restaurants, plus excellent sources of South Indian, Italian, Pakistani, Nigerian, English, Ghanaian, Czech (really), Thai, Korean and Brazilian cuisines. We've tried them all, but return only intermittently. There's this Turkish place, you see. It does spectacular grilled meats, zingy salads, moreish stews - and it's closest. I nip in to pick up supper so regularly now that I've started to feel a little awkward about it. It's pathetically unadventurous to visit the same takeaway three times a week. And allowing London's great cultural events to pass you by - Waiting for Godot is wonderful, apparently - feels like an act of philistinism. But all that choice is exhausting. Perhaps it's time to move to the country.

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