Alone in the sunken clearing of tarmac strewn with shattered glass and defunct lighting columns I feel apprehensive and on-edge. Primeval instinct laced with crime fiction - that uneasy feeling of being watched but not being able to see by whom. I had been very happy skirting around the edges, lifting bits of rotting carpet and old dustbin lids to find what lay beneath – but out on the tarmac ‘Savannah’ I felt like prey/victim – although fascinated by the plant life literally erupting in places through the tarmac – I was too uneasy to linger longer.