It is definitely colder. The scaffold poles glisten and shine. We tread carefully. G has a paint balling party to get to. E’s football is cancelled due to pitches frozen solid. I ‘m not too upset as the to do, to be, list is big.

‘In the Morning Birds Were Singing’ – this is the title of a book compiling poetry and prose from members of Stories and Supper – an amazing group that tackles the narratives around immigration and brings people together with food and fellowship. They come up on the roof today to recite these stories of migration, loss and love.

8am on a Thursday morning and I love it here in this moment. It may be cold but it’s beautiful - so beautiful. Birds fart back and forth. That was some kind of autocorrect and it has me laughing as I imagine the soundtrack to this peaceful morning. I bask in the sun. Glorious seems a good word.

Defying wind speed predictions of relative calm, the tarpaulin flapped violently all last night making sleep scarce. The moon is bright and air frosty. I ‘ve put a blanket over the bedhead to reduce the chilled air currents around our exposed heads.

On the way home from school G laughs as we simultaneously point out a rising moon low and large on the horizon and the setting sun. I can almost feel the earth spinning. I type into the screen tucked tightly into the sleeping bag. Timings are confused as this journal entry arrives late - written as Night 20 approaches.

Full moon. Well almost. Visibility: very good. Crowdfunder is at £78,412 as I write this at 20.00 on Monday 5th December evening. It is hard to believe we’ve been up here 18 nights. Apparently this is an artic maritime airmass. I think of the container ship crews I met in lockdown, boarding ships bound for Finland, Shanghai and New York. Of what the shipping forecast means to them and of how we never used to check the weather so much.

‘Good morning Vietnam!’ film buff G shouts out from the loft window. A random but rallying Sunday morning opener. We only learn from Nikoleta on a video call from under the tarp that the children have been having coca cola for breakfast.

Some say that living in the Mistral winds of the South of France makes people lose their minds. I always thought I would be immune to that. I love the wind. But I really don’t like it here on the roof. Or, I don’t like its effects manifest on polythene sheeting whipping up and down.

The morning after a terrible first night of December. 1.30am. Flapping tarpaulin. The promise of streaming eyes and potent headache. 3.00am. Violent bursts of air smacking the tarpaulin into faces. 4.45am. Giving up even trying to slee

Today I flew the nest.  17 miles as the crow flies but as a non-avian it was a mixture of cycling, train and walking that got me to Twickenham with 21 students and colleague Jenny.

I seem to have missed some strange weather phenomena last night as we slept soundly for perhaps the first time since being up here. People were sharing images of almost neon pink and green skies with no readily available explanation. Tonight I am glad to see the moon.

After the excitement of yesterday it is a day of maintenance- of workload, house, cameras. We’re at £54,030. It’s slow but still building and we just need to sustain the pace.

Suddenly we have to talk to people on the telephone and in real life. It’s looking more and more like we may need to stay up on the roof and go for the stretch/original target of £100,000.

Night came fast. We say good morning to neighbours and realise its 3.30pm. We’re buoyed by the fact that the crowdfunder is moving and the wind is lessening. All is grey. I remember the November poems we were made to compose in primary school. No Sun. No Moon. November

Well that really was a stinker. A total stinker and it took its toll.

I spend time (though not as much as I would like) looking at birds. Watching how a seagull lands to grab something edible from nearby pigeon spikes, understanding the city from above as an interconnected archipelago of ecosystems. There is an archive image (that I may have imagined as I struggle to re find it), of a stile leading onto what was once the common land that began at the end of our street.

I managed to film a distant fox surveying the railway tracks but the magpies teased me with their raspy chatter and stayed just out of reach and camera view. It’s a wet and windy evening and we’re not through the tasks of the day -including an online parents evening. The need for sleep is strong.

Big day. Up the cold rungs of the ladder, collecting the bedding shoved out of the windows and getting all shipshape. It felt calm on the ground but up here it’s unnervingly windy. One of the lamp stands snapped in half and was hastily gaffer taped together for the photo shoot that happened today.

A spider joins me. Precarious in the eddying air currents.

The day was a blur of organisation and two children off school. I was wrenched out of deep sleep by G and the need to race down and get them to school only to find they wouldn’t be going. Up here, all is calm, all is bright but it’s definitely not a silent night.

Well it’s not night quite yet but it is pretty dark and miserable. The rain hasn’t stopped since waking up and now the wind has picked up speed. I found Dan planning to erect his tent and vetoed it – pleading him not to do it.