It’s better once I get up to the Ritzy Cinema; the space outside here is open and welcoming, with that tree that makes a little canopy with its branches. I’d like to sit down in one of the friendly outdoor seats for a moment and wait until my stomach doesn’t feel so tight, but of course there isn’t time and anyway the green man at the crossing is flashing so instead I just hurry across the road.

Brixton has got a lot fancier since I came here four years ago, gentrifying in the way people have been predicting for ages. There are more white people now in these neighbourhoods, the kind who eat brunch in Brixton Market and drink flat whites in Café F. I live in a flat halfway up Brixton Hill, ex-local authority and still only affordable because of the deposits that arrive in my bank account every three months. I don’t think I could keep living in London otherwise.

When I reach the block, I have to double-check my notes to recall which staircase flat sixteen is on: bottom of staircase B. These flats near the bottom of Brixton Hill aren’t the only ones we manage. There’s another block on Effra Road, and another one that we’ve just taken on from the council on the road that runs from Brixton to Stockwell. The more buildings we take on, the more tenants we have, to the point where there’s a danger of them becoming anonymous, less like individuals and more just another number on a spreadsheet.

Outside Munroe House, there are pigeons scuffling around and loose feathers are stuck to the paving slabs leading up to the door. It doesn’t matter how often we get bits repaired and the paintwork redone on this block, it always seems to look more run-down than I want it to. At the main doors to staircase B, I let myself in with the security code, punching it into the brand-new system we got installed at the end of last year. It’s one of the most secure I’ve ever seen. There is a back entrance to the block too which leads out onto a little grassy area, and you can get to it from the street via an alleyway that runs up the side of the block. Flat sixteen, if I remember rightly, faces out towards the back.

It’s 9.29 now. I close my eyes and take a few careful breaths while I wait in the cramped lobby for the bailiffs to arrive. The handful of other times I’ve done this, the bailiffs were always punctual, and when I open my eyes a few seconds later, I see them, pushing through the wind. I open the entrance door for them, from the inside, and let them into the building.