There's evidence of life all around this desserted estate, in fact there is evidence that some people may still actually live here, but I'm not brave enough to knock on the doors of squatters to enquire.
All I know of the former residents is what I can gather from looking at this shell, these honeycombs of empty rooms and hollow hallways. If it were an actual shell and I could hold Heygate against my ear, the way I would hold a conch and claim I could hear the ocean, then I think I would hear the vibrant sounds of a playground.
That's what grabbed me most, the vibrancy which still remains here. A joyful place, a playful and sunny place, a yellow place.