If you like Cath Kidston or Orla Kiehly prints, own a Bugaboo and drive a Range Rover (Vogue model, never gone more than 5 miles from the Royal Borough) then Daylesford Organic is the Saturday pick-me-up post-shopping-at-Trotters brunch venue for you. Oh OK, I am being a bit mean. I actually totally support the whole happy meat, foodie market, farm to fork thing but it's just too easy to take a pop at somewhere so organically smug. To get to the cafe wade through the cheese-perusing crowds and head upstairs where (surprisingly democratic this) large, communal tables await you. You'll probably need to trip up a waitress to get some attention as they are fending off the demands of a hundred hungry Hugos but when you do order food and drinks come quickly enough. The menu is Ladies-Who-Lunch friendly (I mean actual Ladies. With titles.) with the likes of caesar salads and poached eggs: a bit dull but jolly healthy no doubt. I had excellent scrambled eggs which were served in a charming little frying pan thing (or are they just saving on washing up?) with the meanest slither of smoked salmon I've ever seen: is this because non-farmed animals are smaller? Is this to save my ever-expanding hips? Or because, as the only thing labelled “non-organic” on the menu, they didn't really want to serve it at all? Anyway, an incredibly sharp, but freshly pressed and therefore good for me, blood orange juice and a less diet-worthy caffe latte washed it down nicely. I have blocked the price from my mind as it felt a bit high for an upmarket brekkie, but as this place is the antithesis of the local greasy spoon, it was fair enough. I am so sorry, Lady Bamford, for my ungrateful words. It's lovely in here. Everyone is nice. People smile. I'm just not used to it and heading back out on to the recession-bitten streets of London is like being inside a giant bubble which has just burst leaving you covered in washing up liquid. Clean in theory but a bit icky in practice.