We have three hours to kill before the gig, and London is full of geed up Tommy Robinson supporters draped in England flag-capes, and for the first time, really, I am not particularly comfortable just “being” in London. It’s not a pleasant feeling. We seek refuge in the last place they’d go - a book store. I grab myself a book to occupy the time, and a peppermint tea to justify our time in the basement café.