Michael Heath's diary: I've fallen among hipsters (and I have the T-shirt to prove it)

I now live in the hippest part of London, Shoreditch. It must be Tony Blair’s idea of heaven, a multicultural mix of hugely rich and up-and-coming young things of every nationality, huge high-rise blocks of £5 million duplexes, old Victorian buildings ripped apart to make way for young men with beards working on searing new technology, hordes of young beautiful women striding around looking very much in charge. But amazingly something has escaped developers. The pubs, of which there are many. There is a wonderful example on the corner of my alley, the Eagle, a finer example of a Victorian pub than you’ll ever see. It was once the locale of music hall artist Marie Lloyd, famous for singing ‘She sits among the cabbages and peas’. You can often see me running around singing ‘Up and down the City Road in and out of the Eagle…’ It’s chock full of salt-of-the-earth Cockneys shouting ‘Hello, me old china!’ Oh, and young men with beards.

City Road. Wow! Coming out of my flat first thing in the morning with my dachshund, Charlie, is quite an ordeal. My dear, the people, the noise! Heads down, we make our way to Moorgate tube. We’re against the tide of thousands of city workers coming the other way. Nobody speaks to anyone else except on their phones. No ‘Hello, me old china’ here. We could be in Fritz Lang’s great silent movie Metropolis. Just the sound of blind architects (©Barry Humphries) directing the construction of some boring sacrifice to Mammon. If ever you meet an architect, hit him smack in the face, said Auberon Waugh. Greed dot com.