“This is a phone recording of an improvised choir at the protest camp for housing in València city centre. People are singing in Valencian, “ningú sense casa, ni cases sense gent” – no one without a home, and no homes without people.

Protests have spread across Spain after the eviction of 87-year old María del Carmen Abascal “Maricarmen” in Madrid. There’s now dozens of tents occupying the main square in València, where activists organise different talks and events.”

“I recorded this in the ‘Secret Garden’, which is my name for the private space belonging to a neighbour, and which by sheer chance I was offered access to a few months ago. It’s a beautiful place with sculptures, tall trees and a majestic fountain. Since being dogged by an illness, I can’t get very far, so the downstairs garden has been a place to dream in, belong to, and feel the sun on my face.

In the hot summer gone, this sound was pure magic, an absolute balm while London sweltered and panted. During the unrelenting heatwaves, the birds would go crazy with delight – some mornings it was like Piccadilly Circus with every feathered creature diving in for a drink or to splash around.

I hear the fountain from my upstairs window and it is the soundtrack to everything. It runs 24 hours a day, and whether listening to the radio, reading a book, resting, waking up at 3am…it is the sound of life continuing always. Illness can feel like desert time – the long days, the uncertainty. I’m reminded so much of Emily Dickinson’s lines – the fountain has its own music and ‘sings the tune without the words,/And never stops at all.’”

“The wind came in waves rattling the treetops, the sound was complimented by the birds and a few squirrels running around above me.”