There’s a place near us called Bloomers. It sells flowers. It’s also a cafe. It’s run by a smiley couple who don’t speak much English but who wave hello at me when I walk past. It’s a pretty typical London deli-type cafe, aside from being in a florist. Plus, it’s small; there’s not a vast amount of choice; it’s the sort of place you’d stop for a sandwich if you happened to be hungry rather than seek out for lunch. We used to go there with the pram when the wee one was even more wee than he is now, as an excuse to go out, for a coffee and a chat amongst the flowers. The coffee is pretty standard. The hot chocolate warms you up but it’s regular hot chocolate. A jacket potato is a reason not to cook lunch but I could make a nicer one myself. I’ve included Bloomers here for something else. It stands out because of the bacon rolls. It’s possible – and having been a vegetarian until I got pregnant I’m a terrible judge – that they make the best bacon sandwich in North London. Darn it, the whole of London. They’re not posh. They’re not cordon bleu. The bacon is reheated to order: it has previously been cooked until crinkly and odd-looking, and there are, most likely, people in existence who would not be able to identify it as a food stuff. The bread isn’t artisan; it’s not even particularly interesting: but they do use thick white puffy rolls. It’s just something about the combination of the crinkly reheated bacon, the puffy roll and the brown sauce that makes them amazing. There’s something so London-ish about them. We got into the habit of calling in there for bacon rolls, taking the brown paper bag to Priory Park and finding a bench and having a picnic breakfast, which seems like such a London-ish thing to do.