On a bright winter's day at the end of November, the Pie and Mash Crew traversed the Elephant on their quest to locate the beating heart of South London. Just off that pulsating thoroughfare, the Walworth Road, is Westmoreland Road, home to Arments and last visited in its centenary year, 2014.

Despite the strident changes being wrought at the top of Walworth Road, not much has altered here. But all looked to be spick and span and in good working order – testament, I suspect, to the tight and tidy ship that Roy and Cheryl like to keep.

As you queue counter side, what strikes you is the number of staff busy at their various tasks; there's a clear view into the inner workings of the factory-kitchen which occupies the west wing of this double-fronted shop.

Cheryl spends a lot of time on the administrative side of the business these days; however we found Roy Arment fully engaged at the customer-pie interface.

The strip lights, cream tiles and yellow lino create a utilitarian ambience difficult to ascribe to a particular period in history, but there's no doubting the high standard of repair and hygiene to which this shop is maintained.

Nick Everton talked his daughter Charlotte into joining us. She may have been bemused by the chequered company of chaps chowing down, but she tucked away a 2-1 with consummate ease.

As a partially sighted 'customer' of the metropolitan transport system, Terry Moore [above, centre] must negotiate obstacles and complexities unknown to most of us on his commute to Pie and Mash. As a pie-eater with a keen palate, he's a hard man to please. I think I detected a hint of praise in his verdict of the grub – 'it's alright'.

[Right] One of the longest counters on the pie and mash circuit.

My quiet contemplation of the tasty task before me was shattered by the arrival of two burly chaps who inserted themselves into the narrow formica-topped booth. The salt-and-pepper physogs of Riley and Pead will be familiar to regular followers of this column; unknown to me was the formative influence of Arments on the infant Riley. Hither was he conveyed in 1964 by Grandmother Riley to have his tender tastebuds indelibly stamped with the memory of ambrosia.

Incision, awaiting medication.

Eels in aquatic habitat. Originally your herbiage would have been plucked from the river bank while you waited for a tickle on your line.

The booth club.

There was a restrained festive flourish to the framed photographic moments from the shop's 105-year history.

The spacious L-shaped dining room easily accommodated other more normal diners including three generations of this local family [below] clearly enjoying good dental health.

I managed to elicit a Mona Lisa – if not a smile – from Kim, who was up to her elbows in dirty dishes. We also met Cheryl's sister, Lorraine.

Towards the end of the rush-hour, Gary and Wayne obliged me with a micro-pause in their ceaseless industry on the pie factory-floor. Wayne [right] is Arments' seasoned mash specialist, having shovelled the spuds here for 27 years.

Our counter ladies were Becky and Pam.

The blue and white livery extends throughout the shop. From menu board to staff apparel, Arments has its brand nailed.

Here is Jason, the Pie Man.

Another longstanding member of staff is the soft drinks robot, 'Max'.

Tasteful tinsel.

Arment's hours:
Tuesday: 10:30am–5pm
Wednesday: 10:30am–5pm
Thursday: 10:30am–4.30pm
Friday: 10:30am–5.30pm
Saturday: 10:30am–6pm
Closed on Sundays and Mondays

N.B. Arments offer vegan pies, but payment remains cash-only at the time of writing.

'I like Joe'

The sun hung bright and low on the celestial canvas as the pie hunters paused for their exit shot.

The final pleasure of the afternoon was had a short stroll away in another of those charming backstreet boozers we like to seek out, The Queen Elizabeth on Merrow Street. It offers a comfortable living room environment, complete with pub cat, for thinker and drinker alike.

St@