Squat heavy

At the top of this photo (as viewed from Kitchen Sink Neighbour's squat) is the boarded-up home of the recently removed Polish family. If you squint real hard, you may be able to pick out a human figure standing up against a wall.

What we thought was a squatter enjoying the brief spell of rain hurtling at us this afternoon turns out to be a lookout for a squat opening. That new squat being, the ex-Polish family abode.

The squatters have gained access through the roof hatch of their squat which is next door. The lookout is there to keep an eye out on the security patrol. Once we realise what he is doing, we too start to do our bit, by also keeping watch and letting other squatters know of the action taking place.

It doesn't take long to gain access, although the guys are in need of boltcutters to crack the D-lock around the outside railings. It isn't until around 10pm that the security guards become aware of the break-in. They also call in the cops, four of whom are now up on the gangway trying to protect the flat.

Joining them, however, are squatters from all across the estate, each of them arriving to give the squat some support. I'm counting about 30 of us, all quietly turning up and forming a crowded group on the landing, chatting amongst ourselves as though we're in a queue for a gig.

Amongst the cops, we spot a couple of guys later identified as "the fake squatters". That is, plains clothes police dressed as squatters who also drive a sleek black car. Once the police arrive, the security guards step back, returning to their vans to shine flashlights in our direction. According to Kitchen Sink Neighbour, their pleas of "we need to stand with our comrades" (aka the cops) had apparently gone unnoticed, by both the squatters and their 'comrades'.

It is really heartening to see this organised action taking place... it's almost like an impromptu get-together, part resistance/part how's it going. After 30 minutes of the cops not getting their way, they decide to leave, to huge cheers from the squatters.

Here's a shaky photo of the cops chatting with the security and the fakes post-win.

Over a spicy rice supper, Kitchen Sink Neighbour and I later talk about the whole shebang of the day and the implications for our squats and this particular block of flats.

Meanwhile, the photo below (and taken today) updates you on the progress of the flat Sitex'ing, in this case with Darien House, the block opposite to ours.

Dramarama

Or, "Who let you in?"

Four days after my departure and... this afternoon, the squat is broken into.

This is the window that faces out onto the gangway, now boarded up after today's incident, thanks to a neighbouring squatter with a spare bit of wood and a drill. This was also the entry point for the intruders. The story, as Kitchen Sink Neighbour tells it:

"Peter, who lives in a squat in the opposite block, spotted three Bengali boys breaking into your squat. He said it looked like they were drunk, that they were loitering on the gangway and chancing it with your flat. I also heard what vaguely sounded like smashing glass, but when I went to investigate, I saw the security guard with his dog standing outside the squat, looking at the damage.

Within minutes, Orbis (the Sitex people) were on the scene attempting to break into the squat to close it up. The squatters downstairs and two from a neighbouring block were on hand to kick up a massive fuss and stop Orbis and the security from doing their job.

After a few minutes of this, Orbis left, only managing to crowbar off the lock on your door. A couple of squatters went inside to watch the place afterwards, for a few minutes, to make sure nothing else happened to it.

Your ex-squat was very lucky today, with what the neighbours did. After all, Orbis were in the legal right. There was nobody in the squat after all."

Yes, that's right, there was nobody in the squat. Nobody manning the "staying in" hours. It was fortunate I was on my way to the estate that afternoon anyway and was able to assess the damage straight away. I was both annoyed and disheartened to hear that nobody was in the squat during all of this.

Here is the front door area now -- note the missing Legal Warning.

The front bedroom window from the inside.

Fortunately, nothing was stolen or damaged. But the reality that the squat could've been closed down today and the housemates evicted before they'd even had the chance to collect their stuff -- very close call. No one could've predicted the events at "my" squat today, Kitchen Sink Neighbour later noted. It has shaken us all.

Hickory dickory squat

You are asked of everything when it comes to squatting and nothing less. The fainthearted just won't do and the privileged won't have a clue. How else can you handle police and dog patrols on your doorstep, junkies injecting openly into their testicles in your stairwell, days and nights without electricity, the 24/7 DIY?

But today I am leaving the squat, on principle. That principle being, that your contribution to the squat does entitle a housemate the right to have an equal voice in household decision-making.

Significantly contributing since October 2008 is one thing. But then to be told, six months later, that none of it means you have any voice in the squat -- seriously, how can you stay after being told that? How can you stand silently by and watch cronyism and hierarchy take over all the decision-making for your home? There are far better things to do than be screwed over in a place that was once your labour of love.

I am therefore leaving a squat that I no longer believe in.

But shed no tears, for this amazing education that is squatting is far from over. As Tom Stoppard puts it, exit one door and another one opens straight away. In fact, I feel even more passionate about squatting than ever and will definitely keep tabs on the squat, esp. in light of July 27th. There's no keeping me away from the place (except ethically).

Chopped Potato : May day

Playing truant from the squat in recent weeks has meant a plot hole in May. Not to fear... here's a round-up of various incidents this past month.

Phone Tree

A positive outcome of the squatters meet in March has been a phone tree, connecting as many of the 'flat liberators' on the estate as possible.

The 'squatter hotline number' is that of a cellphone belonging to Polishgal who lives two blocks away, whose unlimited and free text messaging enables the rest of us to receive estate news that is sms'd directly to her (and which she distributes). A useful service indeed it is (if vulnerable; if Polishgal departs, so will the phone number).

Recent news has included: warnings about a teenage pervert boy who has been pestering women walking through the estate in the evenings; local Bengali boys stoning a local squat in protest at it being there; and court papers being delivered to nearby squats.

Evictions

The council is at work again, with eviction notices issued to neighbouring squats, but in opposition, so has the squatters' network on the estate. One morning in early May, 30 estate squatters descended on a squat that was in the process of being closed by bailiffs and reopened it in... 12 minutes!... right before the bailiffs' eyes (who obviously cannot do anything to stop it).

The security guards who patrol our estate, and are meant to stop squatters from opening new spots, were apparently, according to eyewitnesses, mortified -- and yet paralysed by what they saw. Local radio station Resident FM later reported this event on one of their shows.

Junkies

What of the junkies who have been terrorising our block (as well as their jugulars and testicles) since last November? Who have haunted the first floor and stairwells, and left syringes and shopping bags full of their faeces for all to see?

Gone, forever. But not easily in their departure. As Kitchen Sink Neighbour recounts:

"Polish Husband's wife had already passed them in the stairwell when I came back home late one Friday, giving her aggro on the way. They had apparently arrived within minutes of the security guards leaving.

As I made my way through them, I asked them kindly if they wouldn't mind taking their needles with them afterwards. They were not pleased. One of them followed me up to the landing, shouting at me about it. When I turned around to ask him kindly again, out of nowhere, he hit me in the face! I started screaming as the man ran off.

Polish Husband had obviously spoken with his wife, because within seconds of my attack, he was out of his flat... he looked at me and then legged down the stairwell and GAVE CHASE to the man, also with the help of the guy in No. 6 who'd also come out of his flat. Both of them rugby tackled the junkie to the ground and held him there until the security guards came.

We haven't seen the junkies since."

Kitchen Sink Neighbour has since made a full recovery.

The gloves are off

Or, in the case of this flat smasher, the gloves were never on in the first place!

Yes, this is your tax dollars at work. What we think are junkies or local kids smashing up bottles in the parking lot turns out to be the council's flat smashers, a team of four chaps this time round, demolishing the contents of a ground-floor flat in the block opposite to ours.

What is most surprising about what this guy is doing is the fact he is wearing his regular clothes to do it -- no protective goggles to shield his eyes from the flying glass, and a BROOM to do the job?! Very technical stuff, obviously.

The guy seems to be enjoying himself too, managing to flash a few grins at local garbage collection men passing by. His entire task lasts 20 minutes tops and there is nothing gentle about it; the net curtains are torn out, the shattering window is swept from the sill onto the grass with this guy's bare hands.

All of which is mesmerising to watch, if a bit disconcerting too. You think I'd be used to a bit of council drama by now, but you never do. It keeps you alert and engaged, if nothing else.

The roof is in the pudding

Here is Lad, a neighbouring squatter, demonstrating earlier how easy it is to access the rooftop hatch from our stairwell.

The hatch is unlocked; anyone can climb up.

We all hope the padlock installed tonight will deter the thieves.

Roof or dare?

In the case of tonight's intruders, it is both.

USgal and me can definitely hear footsteps scampering in the roof tonight -- someone is walking across our ceiling! It is 8pm and somebody has accessed the roof!

Before we can do anything, we can make out a policeman outside our door talking with Kitchen Sink Neighbour. A squad car is already here, having received a 999 call from someone on our floor (the Italian students next door we think).

This is what a police guy says to her:

"Is this one of the blocks that's going to be condemned... there's nobody up there now, there's nothing we can do... Yeah, we can see they accessed the roof, there’s nothing we can do about locking it… Call the council, yeah but if you do it enough times, they'll come and put a lock on it... We hear your concerns, but there's nothing we can do."

Trying to tell the cops about Tuesday's flood damage as a result of stolen water pipes does not budge them from "there's nothing we can do." Wow, we feel so protected.

All this basically confirms Saturday's scrap metal mongers. They’re here and they've accessed the hatch from our stairwell that leads to the electricity power station up in the roof. This is a hatch that the council leaves UNLOCKED, by the way. Does this disturb you? It disturbs us and every neighbour on this floor, bringing them all out on the gangway to investigate.

We decide to padlock the hatch ourselves, when it's pointed out that the thieves don't have tools, that they pull out the pipes with their bare hands. Bare hands can't cut padlock metal, right? The husband of our renting Polish neighbours takes charge of its purchase and attachment, all done in 15 minutes.

"That's what it's all about, safety for everyone" Polish Husband says afterwards, to the look of relief on my face. The padlock's keys will be posted to the council.

Can we exhale yet? N.o.t. y.e.t.

Kitchen Sink Neighbour later makes the observation that although the scrap thieves may not consider their actions to be stealing -- their actions are stealing our right to be here.

After all, tonight's drama is just the latest to test the council's patience with this emptying block of flats. Noisy squatters, 24hr Sitex men, twice-hourly police visits, junkies -- the council must be aware of what is taking place here. The question is: when will they respond?

Not feeling stairwell

The junkie nest may have been boarded up, but the stairwells in our council block are still attracting strangers to loiter.

In tonight's case, from what USgal and me can hear from INSIDE our living room (yes, the voices are that loud!), there is a drunk, rowdy older woman on our stairwell landing crowing away with a group of hooting blokes. It is just after 10.45pm now, and here are these loud strangers in their babble bubble.

Seriously, do these idiots not care that there are people living in this block? That people might be asleep? Do they believe this council block is completely empty?? Does consideration for others/love thy neighbour not mean anything anymore??

Our hearts go out to the residents, all of whom have small kids. USgal is itching to kill these arseholes.

So, why aren't we out there asking them to leave? We're not sure if they're junkies. We fear what they will do if we ask them to go.

And thanks also to our new squat neighbours and their twilight DIY, we’re starting to miss the quiet empty block of last year already.

UPDATE around 1am: It turned out that these people were partying squatters. The rowdy woman had purple hair.

Pipe up

What's that dull thudding noise? Seriously, am I hearing footsteps above the kitchen ceiling?

No way, is that the sound of pipes moving in the airing cupboard? Moving like someone trying to yank them hastily from their fixings?

Oh, it is. It can't be the neighbours below, whom we know are in the midst of big DIY at the mo; the giveaway is from paint flecks falling downwards from the cupboard ceiling as the pipes are tugged.

A couple of "oi, what the fuck do you think you're doing"s stops it all quickly. A shuffle of fleeing footsteps follows.

Yes, live proof that the scrap metal strippers are here.

Extreme skipping

Is this extreme skipping?

Peering down over our gangway balcony, Kitchen Sink Neighbour and us quietly observe a local Russian junkie, trawling meticulously through the council block trash. He is sifting to the point of almost falling in just to scrape the very dirt from the floor of the bins.

What is he looking for?

Scrap metal to sell for cash.

He's not the only one after scrap. Later, Kitchen Sink Neighbour tells us she overheard the junkie pointing out to a family of Roma which flats were empty in our block.

As scrap metal selling is an ordinary way to make a living in Roma culture, the empties here must seem like a goldmine. But of course, their presence represents a danger to our neighbourhood.

After all, making a living is one thing (and we're not condemning their cultural choices); but complete strangers coming onto your estate and stealing metal out of flats is another. Not just that, but the theft of water pipes usually causes the flooding of properties beneath the flat being stripped, as a ground-floor flat here discovered on Tuesday.

The scrap thieves need to know this block of flats is not empty and that they can't come here. Except, who's to know when they will come.

It seems like our council block never seems to catch a break. The junkie squat finally shuts down and within days the baton of trouble has passed to scrap metal strippers. Not a way to start the weekend.

Bag of squat air

Never trust a squatter, or anybody in fact, who justifies the solidity of their experiences by quoting time. ie. "I'm an experienced squatter, I've been squatting for nearly four years". Means nothing.

It means nothing, because it gives away nothing about what you've done. It sounds like the kind of puffed-up chest to get the girls but disguise all else. You may have squatted for four years and been a slob the entire time, for example.

Unfortunately for us, we're having to ask our flatmate Rhoderocker to leave, for these very reasons. Leaving his vomit sat in a bucket in our hallway for three weeks last winter was the last straw to add to our haystack of last straws.

On behalf of the squat, I asked him to leave today (with seven days to get out). He couldn't see my reasons why, but he couldn't dispute them either. "In all my four years of squatting, I have never...." -- yeah yeah -- "...been thrown out of a squat". Followed by lots of expletives. All noise and bluster, but I know he will be gone by next week. I know because he knows I know.

So, a tip for the future -- interview your new squatmates with care and give them a trial period in exactly the same way you would if it was a rented house. It shouldn't make a difference because you squat. Squatting doesn't mean you'll get better flatmates, it's still going to be a flatshare/houseshare after all. You should not be coloured by the fact that your (potential) flatmates may share the same interests/ideals as you, ie. all activists/vegans/etc or on "the scene".

Paying rent may encourage "I've paid my rent, I have the right to do whatever" when it comes to how tenants conduct themselves. Interestingly enough, living for free may actually encourage the same. Don't let them get away with the excuse "But it's a squat". You'll live healthier for it.

Counting

Just How Honest Are You?

Are you happy to admit you're a squatter or do you prefer to lie? That's the question on the lips of squatters tonight, just how honest are you about your activities?

Studies show (admittedly, we've only polled one squatter so far in this study) that caution is the watchword when it comes to sharing your home-loving news. Being a proud squatter is one thing; being introduced to an entire tableful of co-workers in a pub as "our resident squatter" is another.

Atom Tom had this to say, "it was fun to begin with, to 'come out' as a squatter, but it gets tiring after a while. I hated being introduced as the resident squatter. I had no chance to get to know these new people; they just kept asking me squatting questions all night like I was the squat icon or something. They just weren't interested in anything else. Hey, I'm a human being first, alright? I was bored to death of being a squatter that night."

We'd like to hear your views. Email squatpotato@gmail.com tonight and let us know what you'd do... are you happy to admit you're a squatter or do you prefer to lie?

This is Squat Potato, bringing you the X without the e.

No Shithole

Squatting skeptics may like to know that our squat, flat 22, has been doing fine in the months since the attempted police raid in November 2008. We have a fully functioning kitchen and full electricity use throughout the flat, and are slowly converting it into a meditative space to come home to from the city bustle.

The flat has withstood biblical rainfall, abnormal urban snowstorms and vicious winter winds without one leak or wobble and we look forward to entering the Spring with faultless ease. We have also withstood house"mates" who have misinterpreted "squat" to mean "shithole" and the flat has successfully resisted all attempts to be converted into one.

The remaining household has also endured countless false alarms (ie. letters from the council which thankfully aren't eviction papers, continued interest in our Sitex front door) with calmness beyond measure. Squat Potato salutes the men and women involved for their courage.

Flat 22 welcomes the prospect of starting a vegetable garden on our balcony in the weeks to come as well as replacing all of the broken window panes with Perspex.

To those doomsayers and in-a-box thinkers -- your criticism, non-support and belief that we live in a shithole, we dutifully remain.

This has been Squat Potato, the home of jackets, chops and bakes just the way you like it. It is a cool ten degrees Celsius outside tonight. Drive safely.

Later and

New Breed

Reports have been slowly coming in of a 'new breed' of Sitex man, dubbed the stealth Sitex man. The latest local authority weapon against squatters, the stealth Sitex man is able to sneak up on the doorway of a newly opened squat within minutes of its liberation and wall it up in metal without the squatter inside even noticing.

In a story just this week, a squatter whose housemates had gone out to recon a front door only to return to metal sheets nailed across their premises had this to say, "we were astonished, we'd only popped out for half an hour".

Further eyewitness accounts show that no Sitex company van need be present in the parking lot during these "Sitex assaults" and that the stealth Sitex man does not make the audible caveman-hooligan grunting associated with the previous model.

Squatters are to remain extremely vigilant of random flashes of human-shaped lightning at their front door.

This is Squat Potato, 1379 kilojoules of energy per 100g.

Stay Put Luck

Squat Potato reports that staying in continues to be a troublesome spot for all at the squat. In spite of newly formed squat neighbours, home security remains a risk for each individual squat, thanks not only to snooping junkies but sightings of the 'stealth Sitex men', who can board up squats at lightning speed.

In spite of such regular daily threats, the liberated house, flat 22, still awaits the day where staying in can be balanced amongst its housemates.

When Squat Potato asked Atom Tom to comment, he replied, "It's such an integral necessity and yet it's complete bullsh-"

Oh, it appears we have lost transmission.

This is Squat Potato, squatting at the frontline of squatting.

165 days

The news stories, this evening:

Get Fluffy

The new junkie nest that we reported in January and the flat we overheard being smashed up in November are now newly populated "fluffy" squats, as of this week. With empty flat space at a premium now on the estate, the council block we live on remains the most sought-after premises for new squats (last week we had 16 empties). The arrival of three new squats brings the total squatter population here to 12.

With six squats now on site, suggestions have been made for widening contact and interaction between them as well as reaching out to the squats on other council blocks. More news at it happens.

This is Squat Potato, serving you 100% spud without cheese.

Snoopy, (but no Charlie) Brown

In recent weeks, the junkie nest on the first floor of our block has become the centre of serious heroin-loving in the area. Established in November 2008, the empty flat has come to serve many community purposes: a shooting up gallery for junkies, a blight on the environment, and a public nuisance for everyone who lives in the council block.

We have nightly earwitness reports of high customer volume at between 2 to 3 in the morning on most nights of the week, and eyewitness accounts this week of vein usage hitting an all-time low; the term 'going for the jugular' has taken on a whole new dimension in recent days.

On a slightly different note, word has it tonight that a whole other set of junkies have been snooping around the council block, casing flats that can be broken into for valuables to feed their habit. Kitchen Sink Neighbour has spotted this group taking a particular interest in our squat only this Thursday evening.

As a result, every flat here is now on high alert. Security advice has included checking to make sure coal chutes are sealed and ensuring squats are suitably manned in the evenings.

Otherwise it is bedtime with crowbars and chisels for all.

For up-to-the-minute live reports on junkies, Squat Potato recommends you visit the council block on Friday nights, where you can watch live action unfolding between plain clothes police and heroin lovers on the gangways and stairwells.

This is Squat Potato, no animal or mineral, just pure edible.

Floored

Aden House, circa today, 31 January 2009.

This photo of the same floors was taken on 20 November 2008.

Yes, five new squats in two months, on a council block ten minutes walk from ours where we'd heard that all the power had been cut off, except to council residents. Judging by their lights in the evening, the squats have restored their leccy. Not bad, eh.

The tale of two squats

'Fluffy squatter'

These squatters will more often than not replace the Sitex sheet with a front door on their new premises (or just add a new lock to the existing door, if one is still there). They're looking at their squat as becoming a home of sorts and will do it up. A Section 6 will always be on display on the door (as not evidenced here).

'Junkie squatter'

Simply put, they only require a place to shoot up and don't care for anything else about the flat they have broken into.

I am contrasting the two, only because their respective front doors are interesting to note and are quite revealing. The two squats featured here are actually next door neighbours and yet they are miles away from each other. Of course, there are many more other types of squatters.

The point is, we cannot all be lumped into the same box, aka squatter=junkie.

Keep your junk(ie) in your trunk

Back we are to the squat -- it's still standing and its contents are safe.

Oh, and we have some new neighbours!

Junkies.

This is the work of junkies -- ripping open the Sitex of boarded up flats and crawling their way in for a hit. Since junkies only need a place to score, they are unlikely to care about where they do it.

There has been a 'nest' of junkies in our council block before (and they're still there, on the first floor). It's easy to tell when they're in, usually by their arrival time -- 2 or 3am, when they clamber themselves through the metal sheets in their many, like zombies scuffling out of the dark and eager for food.

This clambering obviously makes a lot of noise, as the metal is either taken off the windowpanes or just jumped through. Also, hearing the elevator busy at work at 2 in the morning is unnerving, especially when you know that the residents who still live in this block are indoors by 10pm.

It is the clattering Sitex that brings in the attention of cops, thanks to residents dialling them in. We don't need the police around. Even though there are 'fluffy squatters' here, the police don't care, they don't see that distinction, we're all the same to them.

We don't need any annoyed police officers, restless from not having caught their 'junkie-of-the-day', sniffing around our squats in the hopes of a catch, or a reason to catch.

Right now, they're sniffing about in a street adjacent to our block which, according to USgal, has been turned into a drug net and is being patrolled by plains clothes drugs police!

Together with the few drug punters hanging about for their dealers, and using our parking lot as their waiting room, and our home feels a bit unrecognisable. It's like walking on to the set of a crime drama. The flat smashing seems not to have deterred anyone, and has instead contributed to the estate's new ambience; some might say they created it.

Although Kitchen Sink Neighbour has told the junkies that our floor is a no-go zone, it's not a helpful tactic for those families who still live in our council block. We need unity of some kind, to repel this menace. Right now, we're not sure how.

Our squat of bother

We're going to chance it and abandon the squat just for December.

Most of the drama of recent weeks seems to have subsided, we can even safely say vanished. No more Sitex men about in the day, but then no more residents to relocate (there are five flat owners who'll need to be compensated before they can move (and they'll need new houses to move to)).

It's been fairly quiet and we've even given up on staying in, confident that the quiet will remain and our home secure. USgal will nipping off to Copenhagen, myself to Amsterdam and Rhoderocker to somewhere within London. As long as we park our most valuable belongings elsewhere for the festive duration, and let our two squatter neighbours know of our temporary departure, we think we may be back here in January.

No sign of council diggers converting the parking lot into a building site and our homes into dust, as the recent rumours of demolition have intimated.

Merry holidays!

That's what friends are fourth

Squatting is the last place you'd expect hierarchy. After all, the philosophies of squatting, activism et al advocate one of living in a non-hierarchy. Living in a derelict building is only one small part of the squatting ethos.

In just a few months and we already have hierarchy in this squat. To be told from the off "I have invited you to live here" bodes well for no squatter. The 'fourth housemate' is basically this: I live in a squat opened by someone else. "Like living with a landlord then?" I replied, to silence.

Not that USgal opened the squat entirely on her own -- as a newcomer, she was accompanied by far more advanced squat-openers -- but the mere fact that she arrived here before anyone else and has stated there is a hierarchy problem is a problem. Since non-hierarchy is a key component in this way of life, not realising that from the off may spell trouble for all. And it already has.

Case in point: last Friday's movie night.

Originally conceived as a cosy bonding night for the current new household over DVDs and pizza, somewhere between conception and execution it was changed into a movie party with the neighbours -- at USgal's whim. No one else got to decide, hell, no one in the flat was even informed about it. To learn about it from the 'invited' neighbours about "tonight's party, what shall I bring" is really NOT the way to go about things.

Her response to my objection: deal with it. Yes, in spite of you living here. Yes, I went unheard, left with plenty of "it's my decision" as opposed to the entire squat's decision. Yes, I did find alternative plans that night, but not before almost painting a giant black X in my mind on living in this particular squat.

It's worth noting at this point too that:

With all the focus coming off of the DIY of the squat in recent days, no one has actually given any thought as to whether we can live together. And whether we can live in accordance with the philosophies of squatting, or even if those philosophies work.

It will be interesting to see how that plays out from now on, now that "Project Squat" is stabilising. We'll have no nails, angle grinders or low supply of tea lights to hide behind from now on.

No excuses to work on the plumbing instead of squatwide fairness.

Cat on a squat tin roof

Our new squatter neighbours two doors away discovered the other day that they have access to the roof! And would I like to join them in taking a look? Of course the answer is not no, and with our council block due for demolition at some point in the future, there is a feeling that its secret history must be revealed before then.

A plan is hatched.

Here is the view of their flat from above.

Not a built-in rug... instead, it is asbestos roof insulation. Shame we have neglected to insulate our throats and nostrils from inhaling its dust.

The roof construction looks almost chapel-like; there is scope here in the roof for more people to occupy, once the asbestos has been dealt with.

If you squint hard enough, you may be able to reimagine this window as our own patio door.

What a pleasant view. Such fresh air.

This is a warning notice for any council electricians who find themselves in the loft, as it also happens to house the electricity generators for our entire block.

Oh what's this? We can actually see into the Blair Witch flat. The white shapes are actually the outlines of bottles that once sat on a shelf, the dark grey around them are the result of a fire in the flat.

One of the neighbours jumps down in to the flat, for a look around. Here are some of his pictures -

Living room and suitably ghost-like balcony door.

An unfortunate casualty, no doubt the result of being unable to escape.

Otherwise, despite the fire damage, anti-climb paint destruction, the callous handiwork of the councilmen and solemn atmosphere, the Blair Witch flat is like every other boarded-up apartment on the estate -- in good solid nick and able to house people. The windows are intact and it isn't too cold in here. Not impossible.