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I’m on the first floor of the Institute of Directors’ former building on Pall Mall eating a tasty spiced okra, spinach and tofu dish and rice. The four tins of Carlsberg and bar of Bournville I’ve bought to share coincidentally fits the vegan menu. Most of the other ingredients are “skipped” from supermarket bins. What the venue lacks in décor — there are no tables or chairs and harsh strip lighting — it makes up for by its location: 123 Pall Mall, seconds from Buckingham Palace and Downing Street, and one of London’s most prestigious addresses. This week it’s been squatted by my fellow diners, an anarchist collective known in the press as the “five-star squatters”, who’ve welcomed me for a glimpse of their life.

There’s about 40 of them, from all backgrounds and occupations: poets, students, bohemians, a chef, a model, a gym instructor. Joe, a callow Northerner in a red beanie, slept rough on a roundabout before coming to London and speaks with rigorous academic analysis. Paul, from Lincolnshire, jokes about decisions being taken by majority rule “as in a federal monarchy” and greets me wearing a police cap (when I ask if it’s real, he takes it off and reveals an apparently genuine name-tag inside — but the luckless constable’s name is “WILL BURN”).

There’s Aaron, white, dreadlocked; Zach, early twenties, an earring, “orright bruv” and well-informed about Oxford University; Zeb, a spoken-word performer with two children; wise-cracking Irishman Kevin — “the police put together two phones and an Irish accent, and they think they’ve got al Qaeda”; K, an “anarcho-primitivist” with a patch on his sweatshirt showing a hand grasping a carrot. Tom has been an activist for seven years’ and sees “agents” everywhere. “We’re not affiliated with Class War,” he says, “but we like their posters.”

Sylvia is a student at Goldsmiths and a part-time model who was kicked out of her godparents’ London home and is struggling to keep up with her course work. Rav, the chef, is a Punjabi Londoner, a recent history graduate from SOAS. His mum used to squat in the Sixties. He outlines the house rules for me: “no racism, no sexism, no homophobia; no hard drugs or writing on walls”.

London’s poshest squat - in pictures 8 show all London’s poshest squat - in pictures 1/8 Jamming The five-star squatters come from all backgrounds and occupations Nick Cunard 2/8 Strong views A poster on the front of the Pall Mall building Nick Cunard 3/8 Getting creative Poster making in the building Nick Cunard 4/8 Posters An anarchist symbol on display inside Nick Cunard 5/8 I am an anarchist Tom is waiting for Russell Brand to pay a visit Nick Cunard 6/8 Striking A poster visible to passers by on Pall Mall Nick Cunard 7/8 Model behaviour Owl and Sylvia are occupying the former headquarters of the Institute of Directors Nick Cunard 8/8 Posh squat The Pall Mall office building Nick Cunard 1/8 Jamming The five-star squatters come from all backgrounds and occupations Nick Cunard 2/8 Strong views A poster on the front of the Pall Mall building Nick Cunard 3/8 Getting creative Poster making in the building Nick Cunard 4/8 Posters An anarchist symbol on display inside Nick Cunard 5/8 I am an anarchist Tom is waiting for Russell Brand to pay a visit Nick Cunard 6/8 Striking A poster visible to passers by on Pall Mall Nick Cunard 7/8 Model behaviour Owl and Sylvia are occupying the former headquarters of the Institute of Directors Nick Cunard 8/8 Posh squat The Pall Mall office building Nick Cunard

Scattered about are mobiles and laptops. The uniform is mostly black — leather and sweatshirts — but there’s cardis and hoodies too. And there’s enough space in this eight-storey building for everyone to have their own room.

It’s the 17th building they’ve occupied, arriving from Ingestre Place in Soho, and “opening” in a hurry as they thought they’d be evicted. Before that they were in the NatWest bank at the bottom of Charing Cross Road, reportedly sold to Greencap investment company for £10 as a result of RBS’s travails, until police came and forced them out on Christmas Eve (“What a Scrooge thing to do!” says Cato, who grew up in care, trained as a gym instructor and is now a photojournalist).

It’s a beautiful building with a central stone staircase. Paul beckons me over to see it, exclaiming “Look at this — bourgeois s***! Who can afford to rent a place like this?”

The group is well aware of the potential of being in landmark buildings. Paul says, “we figured out, it’s not what you’re doing, it’s the buildings you take. You can be in a huge building in Soho and no one notices. It’s because we’re on Pall Mall and putting out banners.”

Joe organises a leaflet table with rousing titles like Rebel City, Organise! and Angry Women Win. There’s three groupings here and links to other squats like Sweets Way housing protest in Barnet. There’s Squatter and Homeless Autonomy, Love Activists — a name Tom hates — and the Autonomous Nation of Anarchist Libertarianism, or ANAL. “We’re taking on the pseudo-seriousness of Left orthodoxy,” Tom says. “I was going to translate it into German and use that acronym instead”.

We chat in the stairwell. Next door they’re playing the Edward Snowden film Citizenfour. A woman in Thirties vintage — black hat with a plume, jacket and long green silk skirt — sits down. Cato shows me the room where squatters have made banners and some spray-paint has leached into the carpet. “The young ones are totally indisciplined,” he tuts. They make the excuse that they have mental health issues.”

Later I meet John, who is desperate for serious coverage of squatting. “No one’s looking at causes, just symptoms,” he says.”There are thousands of buildings in this country people don’t know they have access to.”

Next day there’s excitement. The “Blockupy” movement has marched on the new HQ of the European Central Bank in Frankfurt— pictures show burning police cars and activists scaling a skyscraper. “Wish I was one of them,” posts one squatter on Facebook.

Paul and Joe eagerly scan the collective’s Facebook page — they now have 500 Likes, up from 200 when they moved in. At the front passers-by look at the posters in the windows. I wave at a girl with blue hair; she smiles back ecstatically. “She’s obviously with us, with that hairstyle,” says Cato. “But they all turn into the Establishment.”

I go off in search of mushrooms, chickpeas and broccoli for a vegan food run — when I get back a guy on a mobility scooter with speech difficulties is drawing up. “How do I get in to the occupation?” he asks. The lift arrives to take him in, but it turns out there’s a corner in the passageway too sharp for him to negotiate.

Adam of the Anarchist Federation is giving a talk in meeting room 101. A black piece of fabric with the anarchist symbol hangs above the fireplace and we sprawl on the carpet. Adam’s background is anti-fascist organising, but he’s scathing about his former comrades: “The Trotskyite and Marxist Left had their experiment and failed, they should be dead.” He rebuts the view of anarchism as innately disorganised and quotes Italian anarchist Malatesta that “organisation, far from creating authority, is the only use for it”.

Cato comes up to warn that the cops are here and a couple of people go down. Paul chides the room: “If we don’t fill the [political] space, the Green Party will.”

“They’re all scabs, the Green Party,” adds Joe.

Rav feels that for all the publicity there’s a limit to “five-star squatting” in the West End — “people don’t have the time and money to get involved,” he says. He wants squatters to open social centres in local communities.

They have their court date on Monday. What do they hope to achieve? After “pumping the building full of dissidents” Tom would like a visit from Russell Brand.

“We have Brandesque anarcho-populists in our crew,” he says. “I do hope he graces us with a visit.”

Follow Josh on Twitter @joshneicho