The château is located on the two floors above a branch of inexpensive British patisseries, and though the rent is cheap beyond all proportion for London, there are reasons why it would be offered cheap in a saner world. Waking up in the top bedrooms, the smell of the steak bakes that drifts up through the floorboards is not so pungent, but Stuart and particularly Kate (a vegan), who had what is now the living room downstairs, never quite got used to their closer proximity to the ovens in the shop. It is a mixed blessing to be upstairs: our central heating system is erratic, and our roof porous. In the middle of one memorable dream I woke up choking on dust, looking up at Monica’s face as it slowly revealed itself to be the moon seen through a new hole in the roof. I have lived here for over a decade now, moving rooms only once after Monica left me and I switched to the room next door where she wouldn’t be quite as absent. While the rest of the area’s real-estate value has risen to the extent that it may even rival Emily’s W11, I have never had to pay more than the £100 a month I first agreed to in the year after I finished my undergraduate degree. Paying, by this mixture of good fortune and tenaciousness, what might be the cheapest rent in London, I do as little as possible to remind our landlord that we exist – the place has not been decorated or refurbished for at least a decade, and I suspect four. The last time we called him was when the hole appeared in my bedroom’s ceiling; mostly, I carry out my own repairs, unskilfully, using a collection of cheap tools and screws we keep in a child’s Superman lunch box. Another peculiarity of our château – it has no address. It does not exist, and nor do we – we receive no polling cards, we pay no council tax. Our gas and electricity operate with tokens, and Harpreet, one of the chefs pâtissiers downstairs, has been kind enough to let us share their wi-fi. Arriving chez nous, vous allez down the alley and into the backyard before climbing a rickety fire escape into the kitchen, I feel constantly on the verge of being found out. We have our post sent to our places of work, those of us who have places of work, and at the moment that happens to be all of us, including the temporary guest downstairs who I am hoping will sort things out soon with his wife.

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