On a November morning in 1981 the Queen Mother poured concrete into a column form on Lime Street. It was the sort of ceremony that earns a photograph and a paragraph in the trade press. It was also the start of the strangest office building in London, and the start of an argument that has still not been settled forty years after the underwriters moved in. Lloyd’s had run out of room.

Some scenes linger long after you’ve walked away, and this one feels like that sort of memory — warm, smoky, and slightly chaotic in the best possible way. The air looks thick with the smell of grilling bratwurst, the kind that makes you suddenly hungrier than you intended to be, even if you already had dinner. The giant circular grill hangs like a medieval fire pit, chains pulling it upward while rows of sausages sizzle and blister.