Cllr Ellie Cox is a councillor in Merton and a former 2024 parliamentary and London Assembly candidate.
In this article, I’ve chosen to tell the story of London’s family-run cafés from a different angle — through the voice of a fictional long-standing East End greasy spoon. Speaking as if it has a life and spirit, the café reveals the real struggles these traditional British local spots face in today’s tough economic climate. It’s a reminder that these cafés are more than just places to eat — they’re part of the community, offering comfort, familiarity, and a sense of belonging in a city that’s always evolving. We must consider how our policies can better protect British culture and tradition, from supporting small businesses, to preserving our shared heritage, ensuring that they can survive and thrive for generations to come.
I’ve been ‘ere since the 1950s — tucked down a side street in the East End, next to the dry cleaners and opposite the corner shop. I’ve seen this little patch of London shift and shuffle over the years. New faces come, old ones drift back like clockwork. But me? I’ve always been here — fry-ups on the griddle, tea in the pot, door open early. I’m your local caff — no frills, no fuss, just builders’ breakfasts, mugs o’ tea and the same black-and-white photo of our late Queen that’s hung on the back wall since 1953. What sets us apart is our value — proper meals that fill you up, served with a smile and a bit of chat. That’s our way.
Over the years, I’ve had all sorts through my door. The Krays used to sit in the back — Ronnie liked his eggs soft, Reggie wanted extra toast. They weren’t ones to queue, mind. Had a few footballers over the years, cabbies on their break, mums grabbing ten minutes’ peace, lads in hi-vis off to site — they’ve all pulled up a chair here.
Boris popped in once when he was Mayor for a bacon sarnie. He was in the area promoting social supermarkets — places that sell surplus food cheaply to help families struggling to make ends meet. He didn’t stay long but seemed to understand what this place means to people.
But I won’t lie — lately it’s been rough. Really rough.
It ain’t just one thing. It’s the lot. Eggs cost nearly double, oil’s sky-high, gas bills make me wince. I used to dish up a proper breakfast for a few quid. Now it’s more than double that and I’m still barely breaking even.
Customers are counting every penny. They still pop in — bless them — but they’re cutting back. “No hash browns today, love.” “Just toast and tea.”
“Turn off the bleedin’ news!” shouts one of my regulars, Babs. “Rachel Reeves is on again — she can sling her hook”.
I’m not surprised. Babs came in every day last winter just to keep warm. She was £2 over the threshold and missed out on the winter fuel payment — she was freezing at home in five pairs of socks. Madness, this Labour government — those who scrimp and save a modest pension get nothing, while those who don’t bother get the help.
Then there’s Bettie, a night-shift nurse. She used to come in for the full works and a laugh with the girls. Now, with Mayor Sadiq Khan slashing night bus routes to St Mary’s Hospital, her journey’s a nightmare — long waits, expensive cabs — leaving her drained before she even starts. So, it’s toast and a quiet word these days.
John, a mechanic, still pops in every morning — but just for a cuppa now. Sadiq Khan’s ULEZ charges are £12.50 a day just to drive to work so it forced him to retire early.
Sadiq tried to come in once, but my owner Freddie wasn’t having it. He bellowed, “That man’s not welcome in my caff —out you go!” The place erupted — proper round of applause from the regulars. His ULEZ charges have driven away good customers, with loads forced to flog their work vans.
Behind the counter, it’s no easier. My staff have been with me for years — proper loyal grafters — but wages are up and Rachel Reeves is just pilin’ on the pressure.
The National Insurance hike hit me hard — for small employers like me, it’s another £180 a month out the door just to keep a few staff on. I want to pay my team fairly — they’re like family — but every extra pound means cuttin’ somewhere else. My business rates have jumped £300 a month since Labour took office. That’s money that should be going on wages or supplies. I had to let Sally go. Single mum. She cried when I told her. I’ve been coverin’ her shifts myself ever since, just to balance the books.
And then there’s Labour’s proposed Employment Bill. It’ll be a minefield for little businesses like me. Take their proposed new rota rules — fix shifts weeks in advance or get fined? That ain’t how we work. One of the girls’ kids is sick, a delivery’s late — you adapt. That’s how we’ve always run.
And just when you think it can’t get any worse, in stroll a couple of Labour councillors — all smiles and talk of “Get Britain Building Again.” Sounds all right at first, till they let slip they want to bulldoze the whole parade and concrete over the little patch of green land out front where the kids play. Shops, cafés, green space, everything — gone. All to cram in a block of high rise flats. No plan for where businesses like mine would go, no promise we’d come back. When the fella from the fish and chippy across the road heard, he said he’d be calling it a day — reckons it’s not worth the ‘assle anymore. It’s like we don’t matter.
But we do matter. We’re not just frying eggs and making tea — we’re part of the fabric round ‘ere. People don’t want every high street turned into a row of soulless chains. Places like this count. Always have. Feels local. Feels like home. British, like me. We ain’t stuck in the past, mind — we’re doing a bit of delivery through the apps, freshening up the menu ‘ere and there, keeping with the times while holding on to what makes us, us.
I remember the Thatcher days, when entrepreneurship and hard work really counted. She got it — knew businesses were the heartbeat of the country. Red tape got cut back, taxes reduced and family-run cafés like mine had a fairer chance to get by.
That’s the kind of common-sense thinking we need again. Business rates that reflect what we actually bring in. Employment rules that work in the real world — clear, simple and fair. And a bit of targeted support where it’s needed most: proper relief on National Insurance, help with the energy bills, and a say in what happens to our local streets. Do that — and Bob’s your uncle, we’ll still be here. Kettle on. Doors open. Always.
