I am being all serious about writing this new book full time. Seriously. I’ve hired a desk in a shared office space in Brixton. I have a nice little commute (aka a walk through the park), a fancy desk and colleagues-who-aren’t-colleagues. It is great. It gives me all the fun of having workmates - gossiping in the kitchen and going ‘ooh haircut’ when someone visits the barber’s - without the irritating bits like all-day meetings and budget forecasts. Also there are free biscuits.

But the true and distracting bonus of working here is very close proximity to Brixton Market. I lived in Brixton for years and years and during that time Brixton Market mostly sold racks of unidentifiable meat, exotic vegetables and worryingly synthetic clothing. It was a great place to buy cheap food and my first Christmas in London, when we had no money at all, I remember that we decorated our Christmas tree entirely with chillies we’d bought on special offer there. 

Now I’ve moved a few miles away, of course it’s turned into the sort of foodie paradise that gets written up in the New York Times, which means there’s a disconcerting number of hipsters clogging the place up at the weekends. In the week, though, it’s perfect. Great little independent food retailers doing their thing, and no queues.

So, because I’m very serious about writing my new book, very serious indeed, and not at all looking for excuses to write other stuff, here are my favourite places in Brixton Market. Try them!

Federation Coffee. I get my coffee here every morning and it’s every bit the equal of Monmouth or Fernandez & Wells. Brixton-roasted beans, and lovely people in charge. A piccolo or a flat white, if you’re offering.

Casa Morita. God, it’s hard to find decent Mexican food in London. The new wave of Mexican restaurants are (with the notable exception of Wahaca) often very ropey and disappointing. Hurrah for Casa Morita’s authentic and delicious menu, not to mention last time I was there I also managed to pick up a pair of rather nice earrings from Oaxaca, too. And if you’re skint, a quesadilla is under three pounds. Bargain.

Seven. Cocktails. They do food here too, but for me it’s all about the cocktails, made by very beautiful, very young bar staff. I felt incredibly ancient standing at the bar, but one sip of a Cinnamon Manhattan sorted me out. Warning: they do serve some cocktails in glass jars, which always makes me shudder - so faux-homey. But I think we can just about let this pass.

Honest Burger. There’s one in Soho now, so even if you can’t face trekking to Brixton you don’t have to miss out. Obviously the burgers are great. It’s their thing. But I have to admit that, for me, it’s all about the triple-fried rosemary chips. And I’m not even a particularly big fan of chips. But these! Oh my gad. Order double.

Brixton Cornercopia. I know - the name’s put you off. You need to get over it for two reasons. One is that this is one of the few places in the market that you can actually BOOK. So you needn’t freeze your arse off waiting for a table (although the market’s under cover, it’s still pretty cold in winter). Second the food is sublime - fresh, seasonal and sufficiently local that I once saw the ginger beer man turn up to collect his empties on the back of his bike.

Rosie’s Deli. Cosy and welcoming, it’s the perfect spot to stop off for a bowl of soup, or some mackerel pate on toast, or even one of their homemade cakes.

Franco Manca. I am putting this in not because it’s a personal favourite - whisper it, I do not like pizza all that much - but because everyone I know loves it and they make their own sourdough and if you like that sort of thing, this is very much the sort of thing you will like.

The best part of the market is that, despite all this ritzy gentrification, lots of the old shops still survive, so if you’re in need of some pig lungs and hair extensions you can pick those up at the same time. Result.

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