Arthur Spiegelman

In 1970 long before Arthur Spiegelman became a Reuter star and was among the foreigners and “colonials” dumped in London bureau from the World Desk and the North America Desk on the other side of Fleet Street, he suggested a bite to eat on my first night shift with him. He introduced me to the rat hole in Shoe Lane between the Daily Telegraph and Express buildings where printers and lorry drivers would eat their pies or a bowl of tasteless pasta. It was run by an Italian tyrantess with characteristics similar to Mrs Moon, one derogatory comment and you were out. Arthur swore by her pancakes, especially those with fresh lemon squeezed on sugar. When I said to him I had never eaten a sweet pancake, he said, “Are you a foreigner or something? I bet you’re from New Zealand”. ■