There’s a cinema in south-east London called Peckhamplex, which is one of my favourite places in the world. Set on the bottom floor of a car park, it’s a kind of faded 1990s dreamworld. The colour scheme is lurid, the typography can only be described as “funky”. At first glance, the aesthetic looks like it could be an affectation, marketed to affluent Time Out readers as a “retro-style cinema” selling gourmet popcorn and themed £13 cocktails with names like “The Mia Wallace”. But in fact it’s looked this way since it opened in 1994.