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I’ve come to dread working in London. Maybe I’ve fallen in love with the real England -‘London is not England’, right? – or maybe I’ve gotten used to the Southwest trains packed with the high earners reading 50 Shades discreetly on their kindles, or maybe I’ve allowed comfort to be my deadlock of far too long.

Today I had some time to kill between two probation interviews. Apparently, there was a cafe just round the corner, but no one warned me what exactly I was going to find behind that corner…

Well, if you think you’re going to find a Costa, Starbucks or Cafe Nero in the grim heart of Willesden, you’re dreaming. If you think you’ll find a place to warm up and expect not to emerge reeking of garlic and fried goat, you’re dreaming again. And why would you bother with a hot beverage and a croissant when…

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