Until fairly recently, and through a particular series of circumstances (none of them related to being a squillionaire) I spent years living in a rabbit hutch in Kensington. It was very, very odd living somewhere so ludicrously rich. Before children it was fab, but once I had kids - when you experience community in a different way, I think, and have more need of it - it felt very alienating and lonely. I lived in a block of flats with a very transient community, lots of short term lets, very few people who were British or intended to be. The few friends I did make - more acquaintances - were Euro bankers' wives, in London for a few years to make shedloads of money but fully intending to go home in a few years so they could educate their children in their country of origin.
At the risk of sounding xenophobic (which I'm not) it pissed me off no end that I effectively felt like a stranger in my own city, as someone who was clinging on to being there by my fingernails. I'm not talking about being surrounded by people of different origins, I'm talking about one of very few people in the community with any investment other than financial. I'm talking about the selling off of large tracts of our city to profiteers.