I chose this place to live believing I would find anonymity among those who did not care if the plaster and glass and paintwork of rented houses splintered and decayed who were not reproached by gardens gone to seed and rotting sofas In that hope as in most things I was proved wrong People in the shops who are living their real lives even if you arent soon start to recognise you Next doors lullblown roses pouring over the fence are persistent reminders that the gardens were loved once