Sweet and sour, but never a dull moment: the colourful career of Hassan … err, Sir Hassan Hajjaj
If you ever happen to be sauntering about Mister Hajjaj’s neighbourhood looking for a good time, do pay the man a visit – if he’s in, of course (and, if it isn’t pissing down like there’s no tomorrow. Don’t ask me why, but whenever I get out of the tube in Shoreditch, there’s hell to pay.). At Larache, the little shop of wonders named after his hometown in Morocco, there will be sights and sounds to delight your eyes and ears. You will sip on freshly brewed mint tea, recline on technicolour poufs, chat with someone you feel you’ve known for twenty-odd years, and tap your feet to hip-hop straight outta the ‘Kesh, while passersby pop in and out shouting, ‘Ey, ‘Assan!’ Well, maybe I’m exaggerating, but that’s what comes to mind at the moment.