Welcome to Season 25.

As the wanderers of the Pie and Mash Club gathered on Deptford's station concourse in a recently created 'Market Plaza' my thought was 'welcome to the future'. Nine long years had elapsed since our last official visit – an age in the rampant development of inner London. Gone were the arch-based paint shops, car mechanics and sundry small enterprises; in their place, a carefully curated collection of diverse eateries, bars and coffee shops - a 'hangout hub', if you will.

By contrast the High Street looked slightly shabby as we proceeded north to destination #1 in our Deptford Double Header. Manze's premises at 204 proudly proclaimed the sturdy values and aesthetics of a bygone era in the early autumn sunshine.

We entered.

To our chagrin, eels were no longer available – 'not enough demand' – so we had to content ourselves with the traditional fare pictured.

West London was represented by Doug Benford, he of Brentford, and Vikki Cole-Richardson of Shepherd's Bush, whom regular readers will recall from this time last year.

At another of Manze's notable narrow marble tops were Terry Moore and Mike Goldwater – two of the finest minds ever brought to bear upon the data-rich annals of the Pie and Mash Club. Latest on their list of ambitious projects is the awesome automatically-updating all-time score table.

Unmistakable in his operation of the pie and mash levers is Edward James Mosse, now a Pie and Mash League veteran of 13 years. Here his technique served admirably for a crust sturdier than most.

Ray Goldstone made it look easy. Sitting next to Ray, Kitty Lam, enthusiastic student of food and society; we await her Pie and Mash Club documentary with interest.

Our pie-man and host George was both amiable and accommodating; friendly counter service was provided by Val.

In these pictures you can see the singular combination of white tile and buff pews which I believe is unique to this shop.

[Far right] Tea-time with Tom Leader.

George in his domain.

[Far-right:] Manze's potato rumbler.

Half-time at the meat-pie meeting.

With heavy hearts and stomachs only half-full, we crossed the road to 203 for the last time. A.J Goddard, a local business of 128 years, closes its doors for the last time on Sunday 7th October.

Dismayed were we to encounter drawn shutters, but determined hailing and hammering of the windows brought forth a weary figure from the gloomy recesses. An affirmative chorus of 'We're the Pie and Mash Club' seemed visibly to burden the shoulders of Simon the Pieman as he rolled up the shutters, ushered us in and informed us of a 30-minute wait. It was to be an unprecedented Pie and Mash lock-in.

Since the closure announcement there has been a drastic spike in demand at what is effectively a one-man shop, with old customers visiting from far and wide.

But there was a feast of interior detail to drink in while we waited in this marvellously unreformed establishment.

A discourse on the visibility – or not – of the Invisble Man's food was begun during the build up, but the arrival of a tray of black-topped vehicles put a merciful end to this line of enquiry.

Attesting to extreme oven temperatures, a scorched lid is for some the e-pie-tome of perfection.

The dish-up commenced and for Simon, the end of the day was finally in sight.

The serve and presentation was effortless and masterful. For me, this pie slightly shaded it over Manze's, but the unusual circumstances dictated no double portions, nor desserts neither. The shop's record of 14 pies in one session is heading for the history books.

The lock-in created a relaxed and convivial atmosphere for your club representatives.

An interior designer would have to curate pretty damned hard to conjure up a gallery as quirky as this one, with individual areas covering the age of sail, rail, local history, art, and a Millwall-themed washing up area.

Whistles were wetted in a miscellany of mugs, all furbished and filled by the tireless George, seen here taking his own well-deserved cuppa. I had a suspicion George was a willing, but unpaid volunteer.

This heartwarming portrait of the chaps brings to mind the dolorous tones of Ringo Starr:

What would you do if I run out pies?
Would you get up and go cross the street?
Toss me your coin and sit down at a pew,
And I'll make you a pie filled with meat:
Oh I get pies with a little help from my friends

The chances are we will never again see anything quite like this place in inner London, although Simon is considering transporting it lock, stock, barrel and floorboards to the south-eastern edge of the metropolis. We hope so.

Leaving Goddard's behind we headed north into the Twinkle Park neighbourhood for a farewell tipple at a cosy boozer called the Dog & Bell. A short walk further our road ended in steps leading down to Deptford's historic shoreline.

Mudlarks were had.
St@