Cab Hut Cafe

One happy consequence of the closing of my bridge is that an arcane mystery of London life has been revealed to me. I have always been intriuged and frustrated by the green cab huts that nestle darkly on street corners, all wooden boards and closed doors, shut up to the public eye. Tardis-like, they are unremarkable from the outside, but who knows what complexities and delights may be hidden within. Only members of the black cab fraternity have access - they must know the secret combination, the well-concealed open hours. The refreshments allegedly provided within are more closely guarded than any speakeasy.

So it was with surprise, a couple of days after the men in hard hats arrived, that I saw the green hut on the Embankment side of the bridge opened up. Folding chairs and tables spread out and a sign advertising tea, coffee and bacon butties. The hut's windows are opened at a jaunty angle and it welcomes casual passersby in as never before.

But who am I kidding? These doors haven't opened for the curious eyes of the likes of me. The menu is incongruous with its chic location - solid, filling food and strong tea in mugs. It has revealed itself in recognition of a workforce close to its native cabbies in need of nourishment, not the commuters in their polished leather shoes, not the mothers with their brightly uniformed children or the idle ladies walking across the river to exercise their tiny dogs on the square of green on the other side. And therein lies the charm. It's a rebellious act, to sit with a white bread sandwich, dripping bacon fat on your chin and slurping dark, dark tea from a big white mug as the fashionable set clip clop past.