In the forecourt of a long abandoned house in the neighbourhood of Montpelier lie six Citroen Safari wagons. They’ve been there since as long as I can remember and each year the undergrowth takes them a little further into its grasp. I often wonder how they came to be there; was the owner an avid collector of the model? Did he used to drive them? Perhaps they had some sentimental value that was known only to the person who accumulated them.

I don’t suppose I’ll ever know and I think I prefer it that way, their story as mysterious as the boarded up house that looms behind them.