The pie and mash wanderers found themselves in the western postcodes once more, under leaden skies and the severely pollarded groves of Ladbrook. The rovers were returning to a familiar and much-loved haunt, Cockney's, at the northern end of Portobello Road. It is now the last surviving example of a traditional pie and mash shop in West London.

Several of the company were chastened by an utter lack of eels, and the concise explanation from lady-in-charge Ruth Phillips; 'They're too expensive.'

The much sought-after delicacy has been scotched from Cockney's menu board; it may no longer be possible to sit down and eat stewed or jellied eels anywhere west of 0°,11'W. I shall be glad to hear to the contrary.

Otherwise all was as we'd left it in January 2015, with a decent Friday lunchtime crowd, and a steady flow of freshly baked pies from furnace to foyer. This latter thanks to the tireless work of Billy Phillips in the back room.

Ed Mosse's expansive - and expensive - contribution was 4 different bottles of hot sauce from Garcia's Spanish grocery store further down Portobello - a reminder that this an Iberian quarter with Portuguese food shops around the corner on Golborne Road, and a Spanish state school just south of the junction.

But with no eels on which to splash the dash, we tried Ed's red stuff out on the undersides of these fat-bottomed pies.

In truth Cockney's deliver up a full-bodied and flavousome vehicle that requires little or no secondary seasoning.

These hungry lads were keen to tuck in after their sightseeing trip around the market.

The view through Mike's magic mash-cro lens.

Reigning champion Nick Everton was filling out a handsome grey tweed whistle, but not for the sake of this most casual of dinner clubs; it was to honour the funeral of a friend that afternoon.

In the spirit of casual camaraderie, Doug Benford popped over from Brentford on his cycle. For enthusiasts of that town left high and dry by the recession of Pie Shops from points west, there is now a pie and mash van parked up outside Griffin Park on match days.

A steamy close-up of someone's 'seconds' – desserts are also unavailable at Cockney's.

Kitty Lam joined in with considerable gusto after an absence of some months. Armed with a hi-fi dictaphone, I think she was hoping to catch some conversational gems. I can't vouch for the quality of Benford's anecdote, but it was about that long.

Under the bright white lights in Cockney's canteen.

Superior grit could well secure silver for Goldwater for a second consecutive year.

Demolition in progress.

It must have been a twinkle in the eye that alerted me to the presence of fellow enthusiasts in the refectory. Lynne [left] is a former Ladbroke Grover who travelled in from High Wycombe with her husband to meet an old school friend for a platter and a natter. Lynne's pal still lives in W10; 'How quickly it's changing,' I remarked. Her reply: 'It's still a s**t hole'.

Lynne was also on a mission to bring home a family-size take out for her nearest and dearest back in Bucks.

I was enjoined by New England correspondent and former Paddington resident Mary Madsen-Davies to strike a pose with shop owner Ruth. Here it is.

As the hour hand edged past two, Ed Mosse's drinking arm started to twitch.

Tiles.

Polite notices.

They came in search of the Portobello Mash Room.

Verdict: enjoy this authentic – and tasty – slice of traditional London while you still can.

Opposite there is a reputable and long-established chipper called 'George's' – 'Gorg's' if you drop two E's.

And that is where normality ends, for a smart new complex of apartments has arisen immediately north of this humble but handy shopping parade.

Or just beyond the pail.

We found succour once more at the Eagle, a few steps further on.

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