You can bet your bottom dollar no one else has bought a note-book to jot these events down. The rest of them have far too many things to do. After all, the day of The Big Move is not far off. A grizzly-chinned demolition squad has been assembled, and its advance squad has started putting smudges of crimson paint on everyone's front door. Soon the entire estate - this precious time-capsule from the Ration Book era - will have been knocked to smithereens.
Within hours of the pistol shot of the new reality being fired off nothing will be left here apart from memories, vague memories.
It is not just fifty prefabs that will vanish. Before you can say 'Jack Robinson' the hedges and lawns will have gone as well, along with secret hideaways, water butts the colour of dynamite, yellow coalhouse which could double as bomb shelters, yards of floppy metal fences with holes for nipping under, and gardens filled to the brim with proletarian cabbages and bourgeois cauliflowers. A tide of tarmac will sweep over the greens on which a thousand sporting battles were fought, and freshly-painted No Ball Games Allowed! signs will be hoisted into place to snap away at the heels of childhood.
The faces chalked up on kerbstones are putting a brave face on it all. They know that every
planet and every sun and every slice of history will end up being hurled into the bottomless quarry of lost time. That is the way the cosmic biscuit crumbles! Come back here in six months time and you will see that two-storey high blocks of flats will have risen up like concrete phoenixes from our prefabs' burial ground. And they will have little Mediterranean-style balconies as well!

Labels: Online Novel, The Prefab Files