The story
On Wellington Street, Covent Garden runs in one long, glorious line. From Oree’s blue bakery to BananaTree’s orange awnings, the long row holds a corner of London where every cuisine speaks its mother tongue. With a milkman delivering by electric float, a corgi trotting beside its owner, and three classic British cars threading the curb, this stretch captures Covent Garden’s quiet magic — every block its own small country. The flag flies, the brasseries fill, and Wellington Street keeps right on being Wellington Street.
