I hated few things like I hated this tree. Blocking my light was bad enough – did it really have to piss filth as well? I had once heard that trees could be killed by hammering a copper spike into their trunk, near the base. Since then, I had harboured fantasies of assassinating the tree. A moonless night, a stake to the heart, an ancient evil slain. When the neighbour’s rebuilding plans emerged, I thought that the one bright side might be the removal of that damned tree, but it was apparently protected. A fully grown tree in Zone One – there are, I am told, many rules. Another indignity: its residence was far more secure than mine.

The bag appeared to be knotted onto the branch, and I didn’t fancy my chances of being able to knock it loose from the ground. It was beyond the reach of the kitchen broom, as it was over the kitchen extension and I couldn’t stand directly underneath it. However it was only a couple of feet above the glass roof of the extension – if I climbed onto the garden wall, and over the roof, it would be in easy reach.

Reluctant to spend long in the rain, I pulled one of the plastic chairs against the wall. To prevent it slipping away when I climbed on it, I dragged a rainwater-filled plastic planter over as well, jamming it against the back legs of the chair, trying to anchor them in place. Then I climbed up onto the chair. Grabbing on to the top of the wall, ignoring its freezing gritty wetness, I pulled myself up, using the back of the chair as a foothold. The plastic yielded in an alarming way, protesting its inability to support my weight, but I only needed its help for a second. With the top of the wall under my belly, I was able to get my foot onto the roof of the kitchen, and from that firmer foundation I could heave myself further up, and ultimately to straddle the garden wall.

From the top of the wall, I had a clear view into my neighbour’s garden. I emitted a low curse – not pain or anger, but surprise. Awe.

I hadn’t spent more than ten minutes in the back garden since the autumn. Why would I? Even in the summer it wasn’t a particularly pleasant place to be. So I had not seen the house from the rear, not for a while. I knew, from the front, that much of the interior of next door was gone. The street-facing windows, their sashes replaced by Xs of wooden bracing, showed sky above. Now, from the rear, I could see exactly how much of the house was gone.

All of it.