We used to live near Bermondsey when it was still half Dickensian, a run-down area of trade warehouses.   Romilly worked in Zaehnsdorf, the trade binder, in a back yard off Bermondsey Street, we tried to buy 92, Bermondsey Street, and I once played tennis in courts nearby, but the smell of the local vinegar factory was overpowering.   Now it’s become a consumer paradise, full of chichi boutiques and posh Spanish restaurants (we ate in Pizarro) alongside White Cube, the greatest art warehouse of them all:






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