"Cor blimey, mister, that’ll be two quid. Cheap at half the price and no mistake," the cloth-capped urchin pattered cheerfully to an admiring American snapping away with an accessory-bedecked portacam. Chestnuts, huh! Extruded fungal residues, matey, and that’s if you’re lucky. As for the jacket potatoes served with a plastic beaker of real Lancashire hot pot, she didn’t think the rat meat in it came from Lancashire. With the slightest shake of her head, Rani crossed over and cut through Old Montague Street, heading for Brick Lane.