NUC: Hop Scotch, Honor Oak Park

A regular, this one. Or, at least, once upon a time, a snaking trip from my door through Brockley into the gentrified pleasantries of Honor Oak. At the time of writing I am in the garden, for the first time. Colourful walls and benches are the images to picture, in an area 3 metres squared, with a ground made of stones. Pub-esque benches, no less - not to detract from the café-ness though. No gawping Heineken umbrellas protruding from the woodwork, which we can be thankful for.

And today, we give thanks with Green tea and the company of James and Chris. The prices have clawed their way up faster that the shrubbery that scales the fence in this garden, and justifying the frequent visits here has become trickier. It must be the friendly staff, because, for me, it's not the best coffee in town. But the staff are indeed friendly, if plucked from the local workforce rather selectively. Early twenties, female, and smiley, appears to be the criteria. (That's me on weekends).

Hop Scotch has tapped in to a fairly specific local market, that of the army of middle-class mums who group together for extended lunchtime panini-parties every single day, with kids crying and falling over and other such delights. Come 12:15 you can hear them in droves coming over the horizon from Telegraph Hill and other local semi-detached areas. 12:20 and the doors fling open, and mums reverse themselves into the café, hoisting their prams up the little step at the entrance. Animated movies play in silence on the TV, so as not to impede the pleasure of those like myself, reading Virilio or Calvino, and listening to Air or Portishead or one of those slow melancholic groups that fit so well in cafés.

At weekends, come the evenings, they have small civilised musical performances, with candles on the tables, hot chocolates and good-looking meals that I can't afford. The alcohol is pricey, which is usually the way for cafés, isn't it? It must be all about licences and bulk-purchasing and other business factors.

So long, Hop Scotch, you served us well, but now we are not in walking distance and we might not see you again.