Around the margins and in the gaps left by design-led redevelopment lie areas which indicate where the finance failed. Marked by mounds of moved earth, roads to nowhere and encroaching scrub these terrains create unplanned plazas throwing light up to illuminate contemporary architectural facades, their millennial colours and CAD aesthetics. These are unmapped places where communicating lines of old roads are cut through, severing the novel from the old and habitual. Industrial processing with its dust, hum and growl is over there now; cities have been drawn and quartered. The makeshift soon moves in to the transitional space between two times, extemporising, ready to squat but able to scarper one way or the other. The emerging ad-hoc is, in contrast to the architecture, unspectacular. This is a place made up of things cached or simply hiding beneath notice, a place which provides a chair, violets or a shelter smelling damply of vegetation and old newspapers. It is a geographical location where you can sit by a circle of burnt ash and contemplate what Sudjek might call capitalism’s last architectural hooray. This is where the boom ends – not with a turn of fortune but among trickling piles of sand.