We meet in a café opposite Hackney Town Hall on Mare Street, immediately after Hillier has held a surgery, and fall quickly to talking about how much the area has — and hasn’t — changed. Most obvious, of course is, the rampant hipsterisation of recent times, just as obviously only one side of the story: ‘Hackney may be achingly cool if you read the Sunday supplements,’ Hillier points out, ‘but it’s also achingly poor.’ She laughs at the bars so trendy they have no name (‘I still need an address to go places’), but there’s a real issue here. For all the humour in her five-year-old daughter (the youngest of the three children she has with husband Joe Simpson) wanting to have pink hair because of the dip-dyed hairdos she sees around her, you’re still left with a ‘mix of the haves and the have-nots: people who can afford to spend £3.60 on a loaf of bread and people who don’t have £3.60 left at the end of the week’. That morning, Hillier had seen a woman who had been evicted from her privately rented accommodation and had to wait until her next flat became free; every night she slept in the block’s hallway with all her possessions and those of her two children — until one day, her guard dropped. Her things were deemed a fire risk, taken away and destroyed. Hillier is vehement, too, on the subject of Hackney’s unacceptably high level of child poverty, telling me about a boy whose non-attendance at school attracted educational welfare. They discovered that the boy and his brother, whose mother was an alcoholic, were sharing a pair of school trousers; if they alternated days at school, they reckoned, they could get through their education.