An #Epping Tale. The Bell Hotel’s Displaced: A Fable of Urban Foraging.

Find a home, find a community. How a quirky blog post about modern-day migrants is topping the charts for finding accommodation.

For a number of years now, I've been the proud, if somewhat bewildered, owner of a brain that clearly didn't come with an instruction manual. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to figure it out, and I'm still no closer. This week, however, my mind did something particularly strange. It saw the news about Epping Council’s injunction on the Bell Hotel, thought about where the residents might go, and promptly created a fantastical tale. Because what’s more British than turning a housing crisis into a grim fable?

So, in place of desperate people searching for a new home, my mind’s eye conjured the Eppingtonians. You know, modern-day 'Wombles'—the sort who are supposed to be ‘Underground, overground, migrating free.’ The Bell Hotel, you see, was their cozy, underground home, a temporary accommodation solution that was no more.

And so I introduce you to Grandpa Kabul, with his wise, worried eyes, now tasked with leading his community through the brambles and beyond. He’s not a leader by choice, but by necessity. He must now guide the mischievous Aziz, the kind and gentle Abdul-Hadi, and all the other Eppingtonians, young and old, as they search for refugee housing and a new place to rest their heads.

Their journey is a lesson in urban foraging. They must "migrate free," making good use of the things they find, turning discarded human mess into a new life. Their days are spent on the "Hunt," searching for useful discards. Grandpa Kabul, with his weathered hands, is a master of navigating the fly-tipping sites, his eyes keen for the glint of a discarded saucepan that can be turned into a drum for carrying water. Aziz, ever the daredevil, scuttles into the deepest piles of rubbish, pulling out tangled wire that Abdul-Hadi then patiently straightens and weaves into a sturdy shelter frame. Their new home, a remarkable construction of old cardboard, torn tarps, and bits of broken furniture, rises in a forgotten corner of the forest, a testament to their ingenuity. This is the best way to build an emergency shelter.

But it doesn't stop there. Now that other councils have noted this case and seem keen to follow suit, a great movement of these urban creatures is taking hold across the country. In Hertfordshire, the Broxbournians have been displaced from their own urban burrows, and now roam the edges of Epping Forest. Their journey is a test of cunning, as they must outwit the territorial badgers and navigate the treacherous roads that separate the scraps they need from the safety of the woods. In London, the bustling Londingtonians are being pushed from their hotel-burrows to the vast green expanses of Richmond Park and Hampstead Heath, learning to make do with what the city's inhabitants leave behind. Their foraging is a fast-paced game, a search for discarded advertising posters for insulation or broken umbrellas for roofing, all while dodging the whirring lawnmowers and thundering footfalls of city life. This is the best temporary housing London can provide. And out in the West Midlands, the Bruminghamians are seeking refuge in the scattered woodlands of the region, repurposing the forgotten detritus of industrial history, turning rusty pipes into makeshift chimneys and old engine parts into tools for their new, rugged existence.

It’s an entirely different story, however, for the Bristolites, a vibrant group who have taken to the roads in their homes on wheels. Their journey wasn't forced by an injunction but by the simple, crushing reality of rising rents and the high cost of living. They are a tribe of artists, freelancers, and adventurers who chose to embrace a nomadic lifestyle not out of desperation, but out of a need for freedom and financial independence. They too are urban foragers, but instead of physical objects, they hunt for a different kind of treasure: a safe place to park overnight, the simple luxury of a public shower, and the kindness of a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi. Their story is one of chosen precarity, a lifestyle of beautiful uncertainty driven by the desire to live on your own terms.

While this whole idea is, I admit, a bit bizarre, the core of it is not. My twisted little bedtime story is a reminder of human ingenuity and resilience. It's a whimsical way to imagine how communities, when faced with displacement or economic pressure, can still build a home from the ground up, using what others have left behind. It’s a story about the Eppingtonians and the Bristolites, and how, despite their differences, they are now both part of the great, modern tribe of British life. My mind just helped me see them all more clearly. What does yours see, I wonder?