Woke up this morning to the dawn breaking over that huge estate behind Heygate Road, the one that rises like a cliff from the mass of tree branches down below. Even in the shadow cast by the rising sun, you can make out the metal plates over the windows, the bare concrete and metal where the paint is peeling away. From a distance, the estate looks like some drydocked tanker being readied to be keelhauled. That same melancholy feeling of a long journey coming to an end, the structure breaking apart under it’s own weight. 

I’d almost stopped noticing that estate – indeed become sort of inured to it. Remarkable how quickly this can happen – the flacking concrete, the iron bars, the massive buildings themselves – all become background. Last night, when the kids were out in the little playground out back of Claydon House, swinging on the miniature ferris wheel, and people strolled along the walkways coming home from work, you could almost forget about the estate altogether. You stop seeing the estate but it’s empty spaces, it’s decay, it’s inhuman scale, all become a part of you and you stop seeing outward. A part of you starts going numb and the estate begins to claim you.