The bar Peckham Springs takes its name from the tap water scam Del Boy cooked up in Only Fools… It’s only open on Friday and Saturday nights and punters dribble over from Bar Story around 10pm, to refresh themselves foolish on six quid cocktails.

The crowd is barbarically hipster. Origami denim turn ups, funereal palette mandatory, coats with more arms than strictly required, dudes looking mournfully to the stars, in leggings, holding a daffodil, wearing  a boxing glove. You know the sort of place.

I drank the Rhubarb Bastard. I got so bongoed, I doorstepped a couple of dudes, complimented them on their steeze and convinced them to let me capture their likeness with my electronic strugglephone. These guys are both great examples of how a bit of self confidence, mixing things up and some natural personal style always blows up.