Rosa, vinyl on Berwick Street and bread worth sharing

Rosa smells faintly of cinnamon and looks like a Sunday afternoon: warm, unhurried, entirely welcome. Curvy and 160 cm, she wears her chestnut brown curls long and loose, and her brown eyes are quick to crinkle. She dresses in easy boho layers: a rust midi dress, suede boots, stacked bangles and a vintage denim jacket for the walk. In her mid twenties, she has an earthy, grounded ease that settles nerves faster than anything on a cocktail menu.

Easygoing is how she approaches almost everything except crate digging. Rosa collects records seriously, soul, jazz and the odd seventies film soundtrack, and she can lose an hour in a shop without noticing. She bakes on her days off, bread mostly, and brings opinions about sourdough to any dinner table. Galleries are her third love, particularly small shows in rooms above shops. Her English is warm and full of laughter. She makes conversation feel like the easiest thing in the world.

Berwick Street claims her afternoons, and Sister Ray, selling records to collectors there for decades, is the reason. She flicks through the new arrivals with you, pulls out a record you ought to own and explains why, then wanders towards a tiny gallery nearby before dinner. Evenings stay unfussy: a neighbourhood restaurant with good bread, a bottle of red and her stories, then the stroll back to your hotel while the market stalls are packed away for the night.

Sunday to Thursday is when Rosa books, travelling down from Marylebone and happiest when an afternoon start rolls on into dinner. Ask booking for a record shop hour in Soho, and she will arrive with a list.