At 7am the sun begins to rise between the commercial towers of Canary Wharf in London's East End, casting an inky glow over Billingsgate Fish Market that rests just beneath. The market porters have been here for five hours already. In white overcoats and boots they look like ghosts in the gloom, unloading fish and setting up stalls. Here the inner workings of a capital city whir, a part of history otherwise ignored. Early morning gears turn beneath working-class camaraderie and the bottom...