Here, at the end of a perfectly normal block in a perfectly normal suburb, I stumbled upon it: the end of the world. It drops off quite suddenly into a tangle of roots and misshapen trees. The local residents seem unfazed by living so close to the end of the world, even oblivious. They go about their business just like you and me.

Maybe having lived so long on the edge, like people living around a volcano, they've learned that the end of the world will always be there, right at the end of Charlotte Street, and there's no sense worrying about it. It will do what it does in its own time. Until then the world goes on.