Abandoned church.
Smallman gawping over the top of the DJ booth with his crane-like neck.
Sasha momentarily reminding of the magic we once heard from him by dropping one decent track an hour in the midst of a Mills-like sludge.
Grant fully checked out and playing dominoes at the back with Rosemary, his buxom black carer who coincidentally happens to be Flares’ missus.
Walk out to get a ‘minicab, Sir?’ and get stabbed in the throat because Hackney still rides that precipitous wave between gentrification and horrifying inner city ghetto anarchy.
Grim doesn’t even begin to describe the scenes.
