It was as clear as day. There I was, sitting on the wooden stool on the stoop of Wright Brothers at Borough Markets.
There’s an oversized oak barrel for a table in front of me and a rosy glass of pink wine to my right.
The hustle and bustle of the markets is starting to pick up. There’s some Ticklemore cheese from Neal’s Yard Dairy in my navy canvass bag and some pork sausages from Ginger Pig nestled next to it. To my left is a pint of prawns. It’s squat glass crammed with cold cooked shellfish. There’s a gloss of mayonnaise and some dangerously sweet soda bread and a pat of …
