On a glorious spring day in the parallel universe of quiet downtown (but very much up the hills) suburbs of West Norwood, Philip is on a skip. Today we’ve marvelled at the build quality of a hot riveted water butt, discussed the etymology of pebble dash and quoted our favourite John Shuttlesworth and Ivor Cutler poems–as well as hulked, hunkered, grunted and punted bricks, earth and 1950s lino into the skip. We’ve cooed at toads, frogs, common and crested newts. Before you is a proud man. This skip could not have been more organised and filled with more artistic integrity. Phil is your man. The skip is level. The skip is evenly loaded. Long live the skip!

As we shot this propaganda, this ode to Russian Constructivism, for real men and their skips everywhere, a lorryload of scaffolders came around the corner honking their horn and cheering. They understand. Job well done.