Ilford Minicab

The journey usually begins at the curb. The air smells of damp pavement and takeaway curries from the high street. You step into the backseat—a space that feels oddly like a time capsule. There is the faint, comforting scent of pine air freshener wrestling with the remnants of the driver’s last coffee.Then, the ritual begins."Where to?" the Ilf

read more