"Leave London? 'Stow that idea" by Mick Hume

To judge by Doctor Johnson's famous dictum, you could be forgiven for thinking that a lot of modern Londoners are tired of life. People, especially parents, are forever talking about how badly they want to move out of London, and how the grass is greener on the other side of the M25. No doubt the July bomb attacks will have many more dreaming of following the relocation trail blazed by all those TV shows.

A couple of years ago, my wife Virginia and I thought about joining the exodus. We investigated the housing market in seaside towns now apparently booming with refugees from London, dreamt about cycling alongside seafronts with our two young daughters. And then we decided to stay in shabby old Walthamstow. Those seeking asylum from London will tell you that money isn't everything, there are quality of life issues. And of course, they're right. Which is an even better reason for bringing your children up in London, where there is a better quality - and quantity - of life than anywhere else.

Quality of life is about more than fresh air and trees (but note that London's air is now cleaner than it has been since Shakespeare's day, and there is no shortage of green spaces in Walthamstow, perched between the city and Epping Forest's 6000 acres of protected public space). It is also about more than culture and the arts, although it is good to live in Britain's uncontested cultural capital. Some people seem to think that the only reason to live in London must be the West End shows. But like us, most Londoners rarely go to the theatre. We live in one.

Above all quality of life is about how you live, not how big your back garden might be. It is about how you interact with other people, not how far you can get away from them. People say that they want to move away from London in search of a different pace of life. They are welcome to it. Research shows that people who live in big cities walk faster and work faster. They usually think faster too. My wife recently suggested as much to some old friends who had moved from an urban environment to a hilltop coastal town. The male partner conceded that she may have a point, since he (an intelligent businessman) had just lost track of time in a local shop whilst debating with himself which of two brands of tinned tomatoes to buy.

The difference in the pace of life and attitudes is well illustrated by the public transport problem. In London we complain endlessly about the decrepit Underground. To many from outside town, however, who live in places where this is little or no public transport at all, it is a mysterious wonder of the modern world that millions of people can travel thousands of miles underground every day. In Walthamstow we have not one but two Tube stations, and three on the overground line to Liverpool Street. Compared to other parts of the country, that is the equivalent of space travel.

In the end, the children were the reason we decided to stay. We want them to grow up near to the centre of things, to learn to live with all kinds of people, to know the meaning of a free society. We want them to be streetwise and nobody's victim. That may also mean a battle to stop them going "street" altogether, but such is life.

Of course, living in Walthamstow means accepting it warts and all. The image makers might talk about it as "the new Islington", but somehow I cannot see Blair and Brown sealing a secret pact in Manze's pie and mash shop. Never mind new Islington - the continual delays in the multi-million pound regeneration schemes mean that we are still waiting for signs of the "new Walthamstow" to emerge. Some of us remain unconvinced that even the 2012 Olympics will turn the London Borough of Waltham Forest into Barcelona.

(Speaking of sport, one thing that might make me think again about moving would be if the countless rumours about selling off Walthamstow greyhound stadium proved to be true. The 'Stow is the best dog track known to man or beast, with top racing three times a week and a fine restaurant. If the dogs ever left Walthamstow, it would be like the ravens leaving the Tower - the end of civilisation as we know it.)

But the old Walthamstow has a residual sense of community worth preserving. When somebody died in our street, with no family living nearby, his friends and neighbours organised an outdoor wake next door to us. Our daughters' posse of little girls are forever charging in and out of one another's houses and gardens (yes, you get those here, too). "One is led to believe," said a surprised country-living friend, "that kind of thing doesn't happen in London". I don't know about Islington, but it still does out Walthamstow way.