
Under the Skirting
Eight centimetres tall. A whole life between the walls. Mind the cat.
Behind the skirting of an occupied British block of flats, miniature adults turn human leftovers into rooms, tools and reasons to visit one another. A furniture dowel is worth a salvage expedition. A thread bridge opens a neighbourhood. A teaspoon with cork outriggers becomes a boat, and a cat asleep on the carpet can stop the best freight route. There are crews to join or rival, damp corners to explore, supper invitations and space to build something of your own. Skilled hands matter, but so do a good joke and remembering who helped carry your bed. You may already belong here or be arriving for the first time; your work, home, loyalties and affections are yours to choose. Neither the company nor the neighbourhood has a job waiting that you must accept.
















