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Good Morning. I am fortunate enough to live in a very pleasant part of London. The River Thames is not far away, I have one of the city’s great parks on my doorstep and most of the roads are lined with trees. To say all of that, though, is not to say that it is quiet. Right now my house plays host to a pile of bricks and fluttering warning tape which might well be mistaken for an art happening.

The house stands on the corner of a busy road and twice within the past two years we have had an unwelcome visitor when a traffic accident brought a car crashing through the front wall of the garden. Thankfully, no-one has been hurt on either occasion but the mess is enormous. Having recovered from our latest wall episode, like many others we have now had another unwelcome visitor. This time it was a mini-tornado, sweeping through parts of the South East with a vengeance for 30 turbulent minutes on a Saturday afternoon. It came, and it went – leaving yet another wall flattened in its wake.

It is amazing quite how vulnerable you feel when the walls are removed. Most of us guard our privacy jealously, even though there is nothing bad we wish to hide from the outside world. Walls not only prevent unwelcome access, but preserve a welcome sense of security. Their removal makes us see the world, and ourselves, differently. At the moment I am trying my hardest to enjoy the view of the street, rather than worrying too much about the view which the street has of me.