NIGHT 5
Night 5: Tuesday 22 November 2022. Dan and Hilary.
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. There is an awful noise and I have a feeling it’s coming from the building site we look out over – some kind of machine left on – a sound like a super loud fridge hum you can’t ignore. Please stop by bedtime! Someone shouts whoa and waves up. I say ‘someone’ as I ‘ve left my glasses downstairs but I think it’s our neighbour Joanne. Today we’ve spoken to Positive News, The Observer journalist is filing her article and the newspaper’s photographer is coming tomorrow so fingers crossed we can get people out onto the street for a photo and that the weather is good for the rooftop mis en scene. There’s this idea that this is the kind of jolly ‘can do’ street seen in supermarket commercials where we all sing and dance together daily. In reality there are great connections but everyday stress, strains and commitments make it hard for even the most enthusiastic to engage and there are big gaps of those who just ignore this project. And that’s typical. This isn’t the perfect street. Or perfect community. We think of it as a microcosm and the proportions of those interested and active might mirror those across the country. And that makes this first step important – the show and do that brings others along with it.
Natalie says she feels safer with us up here as she walks along. The friendly neighbourhood watch. With a massive lens I use to film the distant lights of Canary Wharf across the rooftops but worry people will think I’m filming through their windows. I’m not. Admiral Boom and Mr Binnacle in Mary Poppins look out across the city, paying close attention to changes in wind direction on Cherry Tree Lane. I ‘m certainly starting to pay closer attention. Tonight the wind is shifting WNW to W to SW to SSE by morning with speeds picking up by 5am. I shall (and have) entered that in my log. ‘Ello, Ello, Ello heavy weather brewing at 107 and no mistake’ might have been a suitable line for last night. The hazelnut and sugar maple branches blow in the wind and are rapidly losing their leaves. The cherry tree on this street has died. There were requests to the council to replace it but the reply was that they can’t afford the maintenance of extra trees. We argued that this is a replacement not a new ‘extra’ tree and how, in a climate emergency where +40 degree heat is making these streets already unbearable, can you afford not to replace it– applying absurd and outmoded ideas of cost and risk to questions of survival. If trees communicate with each other via the ‘wood wide web’ - their root systems a complex and collaborative hyphal network navigating pathways under the tarmac, between the gas mains and layers of rubble - what are they saying? When winter descends I contain a sense of panic that spring might never come. That we wait for leaves that never appear and will for tubers to push through earth and life to find a way again. We are forced to ignore the seasonal urge to burrow down and hibernate - those instincts to dig deep and listen to the earth. And although we ‘ve gone up not down I begin to see this as a listening post as I lie enveloped in thermal layers and soundscapes hearing more from the trees and birds than I have for a while in the relentlessness of regularity. What is that noise! It’s louder now and I think from farther away. Maybe on the train line? A slow-moving track maintenance team? Whatever it is make it stop. Can’t you tell I ‘m trying to listen to the trees.
I need to descend to plug things in and add extra clothing layers. 2 more layers at least. The Observer say they’d like colour in their photographs. We can provide that. Dan says I look like the pigeon woman in Home Alone in my layers of knits, permanent hat and fingerless gloves. I don’t mind too much. I would love to befriend the birds up here. His stubble is now at beard level and as he devours a baclava whilst underlighting his chin we seem to be ‘drifting into the arena of the unwell’ (Withnail and I reference…again).
20.29. After an interlude and worry that G isn’t getting much better I ‘m back on sentry duty. I open a file sent from Jess time zones away in CST to check the pitch and pace of the cover of ‘You’re the Voice’ we’re preparing to record with the school – aiming for Christmas number one as an awareness and fundraiser. I test it out singing – ‘we have the chance to turn the pages over…’ We’re not going to sit in silence’ and my breath fills the air in this anthem of rising up. I mail the head teacher to say this version – a kind of karaoke practice video - will be ready to distribute and play in class by the end of the week. She’s excited and says she’s been seeing us from the train as she travels to school in the mornings.
I’m struggling to stay awake. The crowdfunder is now at £19,844. 39% of the way to the £50,000 target. It’s slowing slightly and we’re tiring so need the kick of press and to keep pushing –sharing, editing films to post every day. Wow we’re over £20,000! 40% I ‘ve just been posting on facebook, Instagram and twitter and am now losing it. I will go and say goodnight and put the laptop away before it freezes. So much football on –shouts of encouragement from Low Hall fields and Douglas Eyre sports ground mingle with speeding mopeds and seagull chatter. The air is thick with moisture and any part of me not under the tarpaulin sheet is soaked in seconds. It’s not raining just wet. I love this sleeping bag. I love thermals. I want to fall asleep looking at the stars but practicalities mean I fall asleep looking at a plastic sheet and cocooned in covers. I wouldn’t say it’s a good sleep – drifting in and out and finding more sodden patches to avoid, dreaming of police raids and lost keys. The rain starts at 7am and I decide that’s a good time to get up. My eyes are resisting opening properly and I’m not looking forward to being photographed later. Can’t resist checking the crowdfunder and it's crept up to £21,214. We’re on the way. When the clouds gather, the thought of many more days up there is not too attractive – the balance of doing it whilst also functioning in work and home life is taking a toll - but this morning I was spurred on by a tweet from the Island of Eigg ‘HELP BUILD POWER STATION! We thought generating our own renewable electricity on an island was hardcore! These folk are doing it while camping out on their roof in wintery London. Keep the faith Daniel and Hilary. We did it and so will you.’ I think they are more hardcore. Island living is tough and somewhat desirable for me. I tweet back thank you and that we’d love to visit. I really would.
