Though in a state of disrepair, the mansion suited our purposes and had electricity and water and we stayed there for about three weeks until a neighbour noticed two of our number leaving the house one day and phoned the building’s owners, a wealthy American couple.

I was awoken that morning by shouts of “hullo, hullo” coming from the first floor kitchen and when I went downstairs to investigate, found two women and a man intruding in our squat!

The man and I both shouted simultaneously, “Who the hell are you?!”

“I’m the owner,” he replied, absolutely livid. “Well, I’m the squatter,” I countered, cool and level. “Get the hell out of my house,” he ordered. I asked if he’d seen the section six paperwork posted in the front window, a legal requirement for squatting, and told him to get the hell out of our squat!

There’s a legal process, I informed him, to have squatters evicted and suggested that if he wanted us removed from the premises, he’d better begin that process.