Rrecent study undertaken by Experian Business Strategies - a body of men and women I'd never heard of before but have since come to admire hugely - concluded that the London borough of Wandsworth has a greater proportion of people "whose lifestyle, views and trends shape the zeitgeist more than anywhere else in the UK." In other words, Wandsworth is officially the coolest place in Great Britain.

As a longtime resident of Clapham South, which is located within Wandsworth's boundaries, it was with considerable glee that I read these findings which confirmed - officially, remember - that I am a member of the UK's elite. Yes me, along with other local zeitgeist shapers you may or may not have heard of such as So Solid Crew, bolshie stand-up comedian Mark Thomas and the aggressive wino with the odd shoes who spends all day every day shouting abuse at the television screens in my local branch of William Hill.
The extensive research undertaken by the fine people at Experian Business Strategies confirmed almost word for word what I have long suspected: that residents of Wandsworth "tend to be professionals united by a diverse range of attributes including an interest in current affairs, fashion and ideas, an international outlook, a desire to try new experiences, a tolerance of opinion and a belief in knowledge accumulation."
It's almost as if they know me, such is their apparent familiarity with my daily routine of intensive latte-drinking, Guardian-reading, origami, yoga, sophism studies and abseiling. And that's just on Mondays.
Of course it goes without saying that the revelation that Wandsworth is the epicentre of urbane sophistication in the United Kingdom will come as an enormous shock to the obnoxious pretenders to the throne who call loft apartments in districts such as Notting Hill and Hoxton home.
Having paid staggering amounts of money to live in what they mistakenly believed to be Zeitgeist HQ, they will be horrified to learn that despite their abundance of minimalist wine bars, modern art galleries and experimental theatre and dance workshops, they are in fact cultural and intellectual paupers compared to the sweaty Turkish bloke with the amusing patter who sells fake Rolex watches out of a suitcase in Tooting Broadway market.
The pressure has already got too much for one of my co-habitants. Having been whisked away recently by his girlfriend in order to start a new life in a cosy love-nest, my remaining flatmate and I have spent recent times trying to find a replacement for him with whom to share our home, our friendship, our fungal foot infections and - most importantly - our rent.
As the locale's recently elevated status remains something of a well-kept secret, the search is a tedious process. Word has yet to spread that previously unfashionable Wandsworth is now a byword for finesse and savoir faire, so our first dilemma involved the wording of the advert for Loot, the small ads paper and first port of call for those looking for somewhere to live in London. Lying isn't really feasible, as you're bound to be found out when interested parties realise that the "elegant mid-terraced five-bedroom Georgian town house in Knightsbridge" they've come to view is actually a squalid, over-priced hovel overlooking the main thoroughfare in Clapham South.
The truth, on the other hand, puts paid to that hoary old chestnut about honesty being the best policy - while I'd definitely be interested to meet anyone who was still interested in moving into our home after reading an accurate description of it, there's absolutely no way on God's green earth I'd consider living with them. These are the problems one faces when everything about your abode is low-rent apart from the actual rent.
Having pondered the matter at considerable length, my friend and flatmate - a short bloke from Cambridge with a girl's name (Lindsay) - and I finally concluded that while it would be most amusing to advertise for a jock ("Englishman and Irishman seek Scotsman to complete houseshare and joke."), it would probably be best to gloss over the myriad structural shortcomings of our domicile and stick to the usual blandishments about mod cons and the fact that it's a stone's throw from the shops, the Tube station, the bookies, the off-license, the pub, the 24-hour garage and the park. That done, we waited for the deluge of telephone calls that has always been prompted by similar ads in the four years I've spent living here. Two days and not so much as a flicker of interest later we placed the ad again, taking particular care second time round to place the digits of our telephone number in the correct order.
Even then, the response was less than overwhelming. The first candidate left a message and was immediately rejected by Lindsay on the grounds that "he didn't sound like he'd be much of a laugh."
Next up was a young lady, who didn't particularly sound like she'd be much of a laugh either, but was invited around for a look at the place anyway, on the off-chance that she might be good looking. She didn't deign to turn up.
And so the search continues. In the coming days we fully expect to escort an array of poets, artists, thespians, bohemians and assorted other mung bean-munchers around our home as the news spreads that there is a vacancy for a new zeitgest-former in Clapham South. It'll be fun to watch them as they struggle to reconcile our official intellectual and cultural superiority with our rickety three-legged living room coffee table that's held together with gaffer tape. A few days ago, it was a piece of junk fit only for the rubbish-tip, but thanks to the good people at Experian Business Strategies, soon everyone will want one.