Sunday January 6th 2013

( We notice there has been no building work for months on a new ‘executive dwelling’.)

Down by the heron river, an unfinished roof, black plastic lifting like a broken wing.  A barrow, abandoned in the track, stacks of breezeblock, neat, by the gate to the high new house.   In their architect dreams, their four-by-four friends come cocktailing, clattering over the stones.  But something is wrong. There are no lights, no laughing guests, no one climbing the stairs to the tall windows, to gaze, amazed, at the man made lake.