Cheshire Street is right off Brick Lane. For some reason, I walked down it many times whilst living in London. This shop always stood out to me.
The location is perfect. Tucked away on a quiet street.
I never went inside the store. It felt more like an artist's studio. Like I would have been intruding on someone's private space. Someone's home. Most days there was a metal rack stationed outside with vintage paper and notebooks. I loved the entire atheistic of the place, but I never looked at any of the prices so I'm not sure if it was affordable or inconceivably outrageous.
Paper and maps and trunks and fabrics and prints. I loved passing by this minuscule little shop. I still daydream of living across the street. With a row of books and a cat on the windowsill.