A decrepit red shopping centre (that used to be pink), grey tower blocks “after Le Corbusier” and underpasses that make you want to take your chances on a dash across four lanes of traffic: my inner-London neighbourhood is known for its obvious charms. But Winnebagos and a sense of community are the last things you might expect to find around Elephant and Castle. Yet, after Notting Hill, we are the destination of choice for film crews. Especially if they're after a touch of je ne sais quoi in the grit department.

I am desperately proud of this. Who else can boast that they have the original concrete monoliths featured in Channel 4's lauded idents on their doorstep? You know the ones - we're the advert that has litter for tumbleweed and washing flapping in the wind. And last summer our neighbour's house was commandeered for two weeks while film crews shot a murder scene for The Commander. There was fake blood all over the walls. The thrill of it.

The Bill, Spooks, Hustle, The Fixer, Ashes to Ashes; we've had all the biggies. It is a tragedy that we're spending billions pulling down some of London's best film locations to build shiny new blocks. How is the Elephant supposed to stand out from the crowd once it has been pulverised, modernised and homogenised? Anyone can do that. Just look at city centres across the land.

In stark contrast to the urban decay, day-to-day life is refreshing. There is a sense of community more often associated with the chocolate-box idyll of the country (but without the village busybodies).

To the horror of our urbane North London friends, we gave a set of house keys to our new neighbours within a day of moving in. Since then a stream of cups of tea and gins and tonic has passed over the fence (well, mostly gins and tonic and mostly in our direction).

When our son was born we were overwhelmed by the collective excitement. Now our biggest problem is getting anywhere on time; cooing and catching up adds 40 minutes to the two-minute walk to the end of the street. And there's always a knock on the door alerting us to traffic wardens if we're parked where we shouldn't be. I bet you don't get all that in Kensington and Chelsea.

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