I find out that my home is built on a vast net of wellington boots, camouflaged to appear like a craggy cliff. My partner lives here with me in the middle of a landfill site by the sea - he is a hybrid conjured up from (long dead) Kev and a couple of other unrequited loves. He munches on a chocolate donut made from wellies. Parallel to us hangs another fake cliff. This is all we can afford. I know we should move - it's all far too precarious. Having said that, we have made this our home and it's the best we could improvise from what is an imperfect situation.
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