I had a recurring nightmare about these men – and when I started writing about them, the story changed.

Get off my back you disgusting old men
squatting in caves stinking of piss
prowling for scraps and skewering things
farting and belching
scratching dicks and picking noses
wanking and wiping your hands on your rags

If you don’t clean up
and do something useful
you can’t stay on my land

I’m going to build my house
and it’s no good you can’t stop me
with your filth and your stench
and your lurking brute
who suckers himself to the wall of rock
with grim pink fingers

If you don’t call him off
I’ll bring in the lawyers
I’ll send you all packing

And it’s pointless sulking
sniggering in corners
denying me entrance
I’ve let you do it
far too long
and it’s time it ended

It’s time it ended

Let me throw out the bully
and tear down the blankets
let me hose out the grime
and let in the light
and get clothes and food

We’ll build a home
a house on the mountain
with huge glass windows
an open terrace
a wide wide landscape
and figs and vines

We’ll bring in our friends
and have wine and music
We’ll fish in the lochs
and grow food in the glens
We’ll drink from the spring
We’ll tell our stories
We’ll stare at stars

Let’s talk to the architect!