'When I first moved to the East End in 1983, I was intrigued by a cafe next door to the Star of the East Pub on the Commercial Road. It was always open but no one ever seemed to enter. A small thin man with a white apron and neatly trimmed beard stood motionless behind the counter or sat eating at a Formica table. Very occasionally, a lone customer would drift in, order a plate a meal and sit reading a newspaper.

Eventually, one Saturday afternoon I gave into the temptation and went in taking a seat at a table. I simply ordered a coffee and when it arrived, I can honestly say that it was the worst coffee I have ever tasted. I am not and never have been a coffee snob, coming from the Midlands working class, I grew up in the 50s with bottled Camp coffee offered as a rare treat. This substance seemed to be made from chicory leaves and was bitter with a scummy residue, and the memory of it is heightened by the fact that it was January, a cold, foggy Saturday with the sun struggling to break through.

I never went back to the café, although I walked by regularly, and saw it gradually go even more downhill over the years. I was bemused as to how it managed to continue to operate. Then, in the early nineties I think, it ceased to operate and I watched the yucca and rubber plants in the window slowly disintegrate over time, the pale green walls growing ever paler; the Pepsi Cola stickers becoming dustier and dustier".