Chelsea Green

Splats of calves’ liver in a puddle of blood; rabbits, headless, stretched and stripped of fur; and plucked poussins, nestling together in plastic trays. All garnished with sprigs of parsley. Welcome to Jago’s butcher, Chelsea Green, where the liver is ‘as tender as a butcher’s kiss’, as Rob the butcher tells me as I consider raw flesh through the glass.

A few doors down, the cobbler runs what was previously his father’s shop. He has worked on the green since he was a child, and returns your shoes in a bag made of thick white paper. Then there’s Sign of the Times, a dress agency, selling secondhand designer clothing at reasonable prices. It is clean, clear and well laid out under bright, white and unflattering lighting. Here I once bought a pair of lurid-green tweed trousers by Burberry for under £100.

There’s the grocer, Andreas, where I like to play ‘guess the price of…’ An apple can set you back £3.50.