It’s five minutes to six on a bitterly cold February evening and I’m waiting outside a bar near Carnaby Street. There are about eight people in the queue, rubbing their hands, stomping their feet and puffing cold air….
The wrong end of Rupert Street amongst the sex shops, there is something very cool going on. It’s so cool that you can’t make reservations. It’s so cool that it doesn’t even have a phone number or website. It’s so cool I walked past it twice before I read the tiny ‘Spuntino’ lettering on the edgy, metal warehouse frontage of the building….