Adam Robinson

People are not the only customers to dine at the Brackenbury. As twilight gathers over the terraces of Brackenbury Road in West London, chimney stacks like a row of broken teeth silhouetted against the evening sky, a black cat pauses beneath the awning where animated tables spill on to the pavement. The cat purrs, its nostrils wet with expectation and, like a regular, strides confidently into the restaurant. Moments later, Gaby appears with the remains of a black bream. Expertly, she serves her feline guest in a discreet corner beyond the honeysuckle and jasmine trellises enclosing the street tables.