As I wandered round Cloudesley Square, one of Islington’s very fine Georgian squares, trying to mentally undress the dominating church at its centre of the scaffolding overcoat that currently covers it, I suddenly had the feeling of being watched. From a nearby window, a large pair of spectacles were staring straight at me over the top of an opened MacBook. I turned round to check whether it was me or somebody else that he was looking at but when I glanced back the man was concentrating on the screen, his ┬áhands moving on the keyboard out of sight. Writing. He didn’t look up again but if he had done so this is the sight he would have seen. He must be able to describe every brick and branch with his eyes closed.