The faded A-board message, ‘The Village Hall’. Boris Johnson miming on screen from behind the showroom glass (Chinese subtitles appearing below). A Bentley and a BMW glide along the pristine tarmac. Early settlers slipping into the underground parking. Tourists cruising along on hire bikes streaming the new world on their phones. A ‘gift shop’. No stone unturned. A water feature, a ‘locally sourced’ store, a coffee shop and a bar. Hi-vis guards patrolling the litter-free environment. The sterile ‘street’ almost craving a rogue piece of litter to humanise (urbanise) the place. The development dilemma. Thought and planning in abundance, with the influx of ‘public art’ to distill the overwhelming construction and property development. Train of thought, uncoupled like hump shunted mixed freight. A return to some kind of focus in the form of an outdoor time capsule exhibition. A log book from a working day at the power station. ‘Wednesday 26th October 1977’. The evocation of a small scenario. ‘A cold and wet evening shift. Cigarette smoke and steaming tea in a cramped hut. The (no) future sound of punk buzzing angrily out of a transistor radio’. The only official memory of this date revealing operational facts and figures. The staff (the players), long since retired or deceased.