[The wheel slows to a stop and the doors open as Louise throws Jim a wry, self-deprecating expression as they step out and back onto pavement.]

Believe it or not, the answer to that question isn't as esoteric, or, for that matter, as profound as you'd perhaps like to think.

[She sighs a beat, and continues.]

The Spread Eagle, down Croydon. Near my flat. Quiet, riff-raff kept to a minimum, just good, working class clientele. No chavvy yobs on the dole.