Near my home in Melbourne’s inner city sits a dilapidated but grand old house. In the nearly four years I’ve lived nearby, it has sat empty, falling deeper and deeper into disrepair, its garden becoming more wild, creating more and more problems for us as its neighbours.
There’s the pile-up of hard rubbish that often spills into neighbouring properties and onto the street. There are the bugs and rodents drawn to the place, which, of course, visit us as they come and go. And there are the worrying crashes, shouts and foul language you can occasionally hear from the house’s temporary inhabitants as you walk by.
