Morning:
12°c
The big football matches this week reminded me - I'd always thought that when it came to London's points of the compass, the clash was between north and west, like some epic Arsenal v Chelsea grudge match, not north and south - despite cabbies' reluctance to go sarf of the river after midnight (I developed this theory entirely on the basis of doing a scratchy school run from W11 to NW3 a few years ago).
Then I went to Brick Lane at the weekend and realised that my previous notion of the capital's chief geographic rivalry was way out. I was killing time while my teenage daughter tried things on, scoured vintage shops, tried things on, etc, when I saw a bookshop and dived in.
It was totally Richard Curtis in there - sofas, Penguin classics, posters, hip jazz playing softly, and acute shaggy-haired guy behind the till.
"Can I help you?" he asked. I was kneeling and looking at a selection of Ordnance Survey maps of different parts of the East End from the Forties. "Yes, do you have any of these for Kensington and Chelsea or Notting Hill?"
It was as if I'd poked him with a cattle prod. "Of course we don't," he snapped. "We are Eastside Books. We don't stock anything about west London. And we don't even talk to people from," he closed his eyes as if in pain, "Notting Hill."
This was thrilling! My theory about Arsenal and Chelsea/north v west, was shapeshifting into a titanic struggle between east and west as he spoke.
"So you don't have a book called, um, Notting Hell?" I asked. "No," he said. "And if the author ever darkened our doors, we would have to eject her on principle." Reader, I almost kissed him.
• I am a total coffee snob and bore. If anyone makes the mistake of offering me "a coffee" they tend to regret it - I'm worse than Mariah Carey and the hot milk rider is completely non-negotiable. But this means I'm always on the lookout for the best places to have coffee in London.
One, The Grocer on Elgin. Two, Cyrano on Holland Park Avenue. And now three - the Imperial War Museum caff, where I also had the best rock cake in London as elevenses. I really must get out of Notting Hill more.
• Can't seem to find the time to watch Running in Heels, the Marie Claire reality TV show. Joanna Coles, below, the editor of the mag and chief on-screen vixen, accused me in print (aged then 23) of publishing a book purely to fluff up my CV. I knew she would go far!
