There is a bird nesting just outside our house, that takes it upon itself to sing its lungs out at 5.30 every morning. I am not saying that the bird wakes me up, as, for quite some time, I have found myself emerging from an often ridiculously involved dream, to shuffle, dazed and dehydrated, to the living room – to settle down for my second phase of sleep. But the loud and insistent call has made it increasingly difficult to settle back down, and get those incredibly valuable two hours, before it’s time to get in the car, and drive my wife to work, or try to make some sense of the kitchen. I have a lot of time for people who can get everything ‘squared away’ in the kitchen after a meal. How do they do it? We rarely achieve such states of near godliness in our house. When we do, it rarely lasts more than half an hour.

Today it is three years since the fire at Grenfell Tower in London. Ladbroke Grove has been somewhere to stay since I was in my twenties, and the tower was an instantly recognisable feature, as I headed out of the tube station and up the hill. A good friend from university lives in a small and cluttered flat just five minutes away from Grenfell. He had shared the flat with his mum, who was a headmistress and a painter. The flat was full of her paintings, lots of books, and a ton of seemingly random piles of papers and bits of things. The mess belonged to my friend. His mum had retired, and now lived in York, so he had free rein to stuff the place with all kinds of things – sourced from his many trips abroad.

The first time I visited after the fire, we sat in the living room among the detritus, and we talked about that night. We were both horrified and upset. And as we walked around the streets the following morning, it was clear that the impact was dramatic and widespread. Still, there was a belief that things would be different now: that the cladding would disappear, and there would be justice for the victims – and those who had lost their homes would be rehoused and supported. There was a genuine sense of a community galvanised and ready to call people to account.

Yet here we are, three years later. The investigation has attempted to shift the blame firmly onto the fire service. Those responsible for supplying the panels have been told there will not be prosecutions as a result of their testimony – and Gavin Barwell – Housing Minister at the time of the fire – has been awarded a life peerage. The change so many hoped for, is nowhere in sight. At all times the Grenfell United Campaign has acted with dignity and quiet determination. They deserve to be heard – and yet we have the most tone deaf, self interested, and dangerous government of my lifetime. And that’s saying something. It’s enough to make you take to your bed.