The “ living of time ” : Entangled temporalities of home and the city

This paper explores the entanglements between urban and domestic temporalities in order to understand what it means to live in the city. Inspired by Andrea Zimmer-man's 2015 film Estate: a reverie , and drawing on a series of home ‐ city biographies, this paper explores the “ living of time ” through the memories, experiences, and narratives of residents living on different housing estates near Kingsland Road in Hackney, East London. We address two key questions: how are residents ’ experiences of urban living shaped by multi ‐ layered and entangled temporalities of home and the city? What can an understanding of the urban and domestic “ living of time ” reveal about temporality, home, and the city? We explore the ways in which entangled and multi ‐ scalar “ roots ” and “ routes ” chart migration, housing, and family histories for urban residents which, in turn, shape and help to articulate narratives of domestic and urban change in terms of stability and instability. We then turn to the overlapping and/or contested temporalities of urban and domestic lives, whereby residents ’ home lives – and their wider ideas about the estate, street, neighbourhood, or city as home – are affected by processes of urban change in complex and often contradictory ways. Finally, we investigate the ways in which home ‐ city temporalities have shaped, and are shaped by, people's hopes and fears for their future homes. Urban dwelling is shaped by multiple and multi ‐ layered temporalities, intertwining the past, present, and future, generations and life courses, and housing, family, and migration histories. The We address two key questions: how are residents ’ experiences of urban living shaped by multi ‐ layered and entangled temporalities of home and the city? What can an understanding of the urban and domestic “ living of time ” reveal about temporality, home, and the city? We begin by exploring the ways in which entangled and multi ‐ scalar “ roots ” and “ routes ” chart migration, housing, and family histories for urban residents which, in turn, shape and help to articulate narratives of domestic and urban change in terms of stability and instability. We then turn to the overlapping and/or diverging temporalities of home and the city, whereby people's urban domestic lives – and their wider ideas about the estate, street, neighbourhood, or city as home – are affected by processes of urban change in complex and often contradictory ways. Finally, we investigate the ways in which home ‐ city temporalities have shaped, and are shaped by, people's aspirations, plans, or predictions for their future homes. First, however, we develop our argument in relation to broader debates about the temporalities of home and the city and outline our approach to home ‐ city biographies.


| TEMPORALITIES OF HOME AND THE CITY
Both home and the city have been important sites for conceptualising the interconnections between space and time. Urban scholars have been influential in foregrounding time as fundamental in shaping places, spaces, and urban life forms (Hägerstrand, 1985;Harvey, 1989;Massey, 2005), allowing for an understanding of time in the city as plural, multi-faceted, and dynamic rather than linear or sequential. The temporalities of home over multiple, co-existing scales are also closely intertwined with its spatialities, spanning memories, nostalgia, history, and heritage, the domestic rhythms and routines of everyday life, and dreams and fears for the future (Blunt & Dowling, 2006;Chapman & Hockey, 1999). But while there are clear themes that run across urban and domestic temporalities, there has been little dialogue between research on these subjects. In this section, we draw out the connections between urban and domestic temporalities to understand "the living of time" for urban residents.
The city provides an important context for understanding the relationship between temporality and experience (Degen, 2017). A long tradition of work has focused on specific moments when technological advances or politically motivated changes have altered the experience of time, notably how relative distances and time in late modernity have been shrinking through the accelerated movement of people, goods, and information. For Simmel (1971), the urban subject in the modern city fell victim to the splintering, fragmentation, and disjuncture of time. Inspired by Simmel and other theorists, Harvey's concept of "time-space compression" refers to the "processes that so revolutionise the objective qualities of space and time" (1989, p. 240) in ways that cause a sense of shock, disorientation, and alienation in the urban experience. Vidler further contends that in the modernising city, subjects were "caught in the dilemmas of temporality, tied to the inhospitable context of the here-and-how at the same time as imagining a there-and-then" (1992, p. 5). But such "dilemmas of temporality" were not reducible to questions of speed, acceleration, or compression. As Stein argues, "There was in reality no single uniform urban time, but multiple times and multiple routines. Factory work intersected with family, religious and domestic routines" (2001, p. 114), which demonstrates a "growing awareness of living within a multiplicity of times, a number of which might be moving at different speeds and even in different directions" (May & Thrift, 2001, p. 12).
In response to ideas about the fragmentation of time and its implications for urban subjects, Lefebvre's rhythmanalysis (1991Lefebvre's rhythmanalysis ( , 2004 examines the manifold temporal rhythms at work in modern urban life. Rather than understanding time as a linear elasticity that speeds up and slows down processes that find their spatial expression in uneven development (Harvey, 1989), Lefebvre "attempts to pluralise our understandings of time" (Degen, 2018, p. 4). A pluralistic understanding of time has driven recent scholarship to rethink the relations between urban change and everyday life. In her longitudinal study of the regeneration of El Raval in Barcelonaa high-profile public realm regeneration project dating from the mid-1990s - Degen (2017Degen ( , 2018 argues against urban scholarship that limits the analysis of urban change to a specific moment in time (Atkinson, 2003;Zukin, 2010). While studies of gentrification (Butler et al., 2013) and super-gentrification (Lees, 2003) consider the disjuncture between different temporalities that impose themselves on urban life, Degen invites us to consider "how policies, new spaces, and new publics settle, change, and evolve" (2017, p. 153), thereby recognising "urban regeneration as a fragile and dynamic process rather than a linear chronological continuum" (2018, p. 16).
Other scholars have explored how urban public life has been either eroded (Atkinson, 2003;Zukin, 2010) or reimagined (Koch & Latham, 2013) through processes of "domestication." As Amin writes, it is "[b]ecause of the domestication of time by the routines and structures of public space … [that citizens develop] an urban capacity to negotiate complexity" (2008, p. 12; also see Sennett, 2018). Moving beyond the metaphorical "domestication" of urban time and space, we foreground home on domestic and wider urban scales, encompassing the connections between urban domesticities and domestic urbanism that constitute a "home-city geography" (Blunt & Sheringham, 2018). Inspired by "assemblage thinking" that "points us towards a range of intersecting temporalities, as well as the open multiplicity of urbanisms inherent to the city" (Dittmer, 2014; also see McFarlane, 2011), we focus on the entangled temporalities of home and the city to understand "the living of time" for urban residents.
Alongside work on urban temporalities, but remaining largely separate from it, research on home has also explored its multiple temporalities in relation to rhythms, routines, and everyday life; continuity and change over different time scales; and traces of the past in the present. Pink et al. (2017), for example, explain that home is not merely "a site that is fixed in the present or only understandable in relation to the past" but is also "already always situated in the temporalities of people, organizations and discourses, in ways that incorporate a future orientation" (p. 25; for more on urban futures, see Datta, 2018;Miles & Hall, 2003;Piertese, 2013). Through their focus on domestic design and practice, Pink et al. explore temporalities of home that include "the 'project' of home; routines and rhythms of everyday life; moments of transition in the home, such as bedtime; uses of 'time,' timers, clocks and other time-based technologies; anticipatory near-future modes of temporality in the home; and seasonality and weather" (p. 26). Other research has explored the ways in which particular practices are not only shaped by but also shape the temporalities of home, including the routines and repetitiveness of domestic work (Dolan, 2014), the "time bind" of increasingly blurred distinctions between home and work environments (Hochschild, 1997), and religious observance at home on daily, weekly, and longer time scales (Harris, 2019;Sheringham, 2013). Domestic practice, décor, objects, and images connect residents with other times as well as places, notably through family photography (Chambers, 2002;Rose, 2010), domestic material culture (Miller, 2001;Newson, 2018), and home-making in diaspora (Blunt, 2005;Tolia-Kelly, 2004).
The intertwined lives of domestic objects, residents, and dwellings have been explored by juxtaposing the life cycle of objects and people to understand their overlapping temporalities at home (Dolan, 2014). Other research focuses on the intersecting histories of dwellings and their residents by charting housing histories, highlighting different types and tenures in the context of wider processes of urban, socio-economic, and demographic change (May, 2000). Wider processes of urban change have also been understood through a focus on particular dwellings and their residents over time. Such "house biographies" "reveal ways in which a house itself, and domestic life within it, are intimately bound up with wider social, economic and political processes" (Blunt, 2008, p. 551). Rather than interpret the home as merely a container for the lives within it, this approach not only explores how the home itself has changed over time but also how the home and its residents' lives have been shaped by wider processes of urban change. Such a focus on particular dwellings has been important in cultural practice as well as academic research, grounding and locating stories about residents, buildings, neighbourhoods, and the wider city over time (including the Tenement Museum in New York City (Kazal, 2015); Building Stories on two residential dwellings in Chicago by the comic artist Chris Ware (2012), see Dittmer (2014); and the BBC television series "A house through time" (Olusoga & Backe-Hansen, 2020).
For urban historian Mumford, "the city unites times past, times present and times to come" (1961, p.98), pointing to the ever-present layers of history that make it a "memory machine" or archive (Sheringham, 2010, p. 10). Research on both home and the city has explored traces of the past in the present. Lipman (2020), for example, studies the material remnants of past inhabitation and the ways in which such remnants, and the wider history of the home itself, are understood in the present. Such traces of the past may be uncanny, occupying and unsettling a liminal space between familiarity and strangeness, as shown by Lipman's study of co-habiting with ghosts (2016) and Bhabha's (1992) reflections on "the house of fiction" and, in particular, the hauntings of 124 Bluestone Road in Toni Morrison's novel Beloved. Bhabha develops the idea of an "'in-between' temporality" that links "private and public, past and present, the psyche and the social" (p. 148). Such ideas resonate with other work on the urban uncanny, exploring the ghostly traces of the past that "haunt" the contemporary city (Edensor, 2008;Vidler, 1992).
The presence of the pastand its implications for understanding the present and imagining the futurehas also been a central focus of research on home and the city as sites of memory and nostalgia. Alongside the monuments, memorials, place-names, and other markers of collective, and often contested, memory and heritage that materialise the past in the city (Chattopadhyay, 2006;Hebbert, 2005), research on home has explored domestic practice and material culture as important sites of personal memory and heritage (Newson, 2018;Tolia-Kelly, 2004). The city itself is also an important site of diasporic memory, as shown by the ways in which "diaspora cities" are shaped by memories of, and attachments to, cities of departure as well as resettlement. For Anglo-Indian and Chinese Calcuttans living in diaspora, for example, memories of the city as home were more significant than the idea of India as "homeland" (Blunt & Bonnerjee, 2013). While sites of memory invoke, but extend far beyond, spaces of home, nostalgiaderived from the Greek nostos for return home and algos for paininvokes home in its very meaning, implying homesickness and a yearning for home (Blunt, 2005). The city has become an important site for critical re-appraisals of nostalgia (Bonnett & Alexander, 2013;Boym, 2001). Bonnett and Alexander (2013), for example, develop the idea of "mobile nostalgia" to understand the ways in which former residents of Tyneside remember and engage with the city today. Part of this "mobile nostalgia" involves return visits, resonating with other research that studies the meanings of home on both domestic and urban scales when migrants return to cities of origin, either to live or to visit (Blunt et al., 2012). By studying the "living of time" for residents in a particular urban neighbourhood, we explore the intertwined temporalities of home and the city that are shaped by memories of local and more distant pasts, everyday rhythms and routines, and hopes and fears for the future. Rather than understand such temporalities in a linear or chronological way, and seeking to bring the temporalities of home and the city into dialogue with each other, we explore their multi-layered entanglements through residents' home-city biographies.

| HOME-CITY BIOGRAPHIES
Unlike research that draws on house biographies to understand urban and domestic change over time through a focus on a particular dwelling (Blunt, 2008;Blunt & Dowling, 2006), this paper draws on 16 home-city biographies to explore the intertwined temporalities of home and the city in people's lives. As "the life stories of urban residents," these biographies narrate "the interplay of their home lives with streets, neighbourhoods and the wider city" (Blunt & Sheringham, 2018, p. 13). Building on mobile methodologies used to understand home and city livesincluding home tours and "walk-along" interviewsthe interviews, photographs, and film used to develop the home-city biographies recorded the connections between homes in the city and the city as home. Stretching an understanding of home beyond the domestic dwelling to extend to the wider city, and exploring the ways in which the estate, street, and neighbourhood are understood as homely and/or unhomely, home-city biographies chart "the living of time" over mutually constituted urban and domestic scales.
These biographies are part of a wider research and public engagement project called Home-City-Street (www.qmul.ac. uk/homecitystreet/) at the Centre for Studies of Home, a partnership between Queen Mary University of London and The Museum of the Home (named The Geffrye Museum of the Home during this research; on this partnership, see Owens et al., 2017). The project also involved collaboration with Eastside Community Heritage, Hackney Archives, and the artists Torange Khonsari, Sue Mayo, and Janetka Platun (for more on collaborative work with Platun on "Globe," see Sheringham et al., 2019). Based since 2017 on and around Kingsland Road in the London Borough of Hackney, the project has involved intergenerational workshops, street party events, the production and screening of four short films, and, with Eithne Nightingale and Mitchell Harris, the development of an app-based audio-walk called "Home-city stories" (available on izi.travel). Focusing on residents living on housing estates close to Kingsland Roada major thoroughfare that dates back to Roman Britain and runs for 1.3 miles from Shoreditch to Dalstonhas allowed us to explore "how migration histories, domestic lives and urban spaces map onto each other, converging and diverging in multi-layered ways" (Blunt & Sheringham, 2018, p. 14). Inspired by other academic and cultural engagements with specific streets (including Cresswell, 2019; Hall, 2012; the BBC television series "A street through time"; recent films on Hoxton Street (Nelson, 2020) and Bermondsey Street (Bates & Calvert, 2016); and artist Torange Khonsari's "The Common Room" project on Roman Road (romanroadtrust.co.uk/portfolio/common-room/), we extend this focus to understand the streettogether with its local estates, neighbourhoods, and the wider cityas home.
Kingsland Road is in the south-west of Hackney, a borough that is culturally diverse (with one third of its residents born outside the UK), relatively deprived (the 11th most deprived local authority in England in the 2015 Index of Multiple Deprivation, and 2nd in 2010), and the third most densely populated in London (London Borough of Hackney, 2019). One third of households in Hackney are private renters, and 45% rent from a social landlord, a much higher percentage than in London or the UK (London Borough of Hackney, 2019). The estates close to Kingsland Road are diverse in terms of housing type and tenure (low and high-rise estates, with a mix of social/private renting and owner occupation, flats and maisonettes); the ethnicity of their residents (including Bangladeshi, Black African and Caribbean, Chinese, Vietnamese, Turkish, East European, Latin American, and White British); and processes of urban change, from slum clearance and the construction of post-war social housing to more recent regeneration, gentrification, and displacement.
Through a biographical approach to urban homes, streets, estates, neighbourhoods, and the wider city, we developed a series of home-city biographies with residents across different generations, migration histories, ethnicities, and housing types and tenures. 1 Through a range of mobile, visual, and narrative methods, these biographies included home tours to explore domestic material culture and everyday domestic routines; walk-along (or drive-along in one case) interviews to understand routes, routines, and significant sites in the local neighbourhood; and photography, focusing on views out of windows and doors, semi-private spaces, and domestic exteriors in the context of the street and wider neighbourhood. Following Dittmer, we understand that narrativeunlike representationrequires a "temporal dimension" (2014, p. 478). In this paper, we draw on home-city biography interviews to explore the ways in which residents remember, experience, imagine, and narrate the urban and domestic "living of time" in relation to urban "roots" and "routes"; living with urban change; and staying put and moving on.

| URBAN "ROOTS" AND "ROUTES"
For Doreen Masseywriting about the ways in which her parents' lives were "closing in" within the wider "spatiotemporalities" of life in Wythenshawe in Greater Manchester -"[t]he construction of 'home' can rarely be accomplished by following back continuous temporal threads in the confines of one place. One's affection for a placeeven a sense of 'belonging'does not have to be constructed on a romanticism of roots and unbroken, space-specific lines of descent" (2001, p.470). While Massey focuses on local lives, her point resonates with the ways in which other scholars have contrasted "roots" and "routes" to conceptualise the relationships between home, homeland, and diaspora (Blunt & Bonnerjee, 2019;Clifford, 1997). In this section, we explore the extent to which residents' experiences and understandings of urban dwelling have been informed by long-term and recent "roots" withinas well as local and international "routes" to BLUNT ET AL. and aroundthe city. Rather than perpetuate the "romanticism of roots" on urban or diasporic scales, we argue that memories and experiences of entangled and multi-scalar "roots" and "routes" inform the "living of time" by articulating narratives of domestic and urban change in terms of stability and instability.
While many residents near Kingsland Road have deep roots in the area, spanning several generations of their families, others have moved to the area more recently, from other parts of London or the UK, or from overseas. Multi-generational roots within particular neighbourhoods, streets, and estates have been shaped not only by living in an area with a long history of migration, but also by experiences of living in different homes in the same and other parts of the city. Rather than suggesting a linear and spatially fixed "rootedness," such experiences reflect the intertwined and mobile temporalities of home and the city and the contingencies of tenure, ownership, and (in)security that inflect the "living of time." Debby's home-city biography, for example, reveals deep family roots in the area and small-scale moves over time (for a short film on Debby entitled "I'm sticking around," see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ng5O9STPlmA). Reflecting the ways in which home and the city are mutually constituted (Blunt & Sheringham, 2018), her family and housing histories are closely intertwined with wider processes of urban change in Hackney. A white British woman in her 50s, Debby grew up with her parents and extended family in a house on the Victorian De Beauvoir Estate. Their rented house "didn't have a bath or running hot water" and they were rehoused following the 1974 Housing Act to a house nearby that had been converted into two flats: "my parents and me and my sister moved to a ground floor flat and my grandparents went to the flat upstairs." Debby moved away for a short period, first to Islington and then to a flat with a partner in Victoria Park, also in Hackney. But her partner and mother persuaded Debby to move back to De Beauvoir: I agreed, very reluctantly, and I didn't like it here for a very long time. Wasn't happy here at all. Well not unhappy. I wasn't unhappy, but I didn't want to be here. … Anyway, over time, after the partner left, I kind of got to like the place really and then, painted it a bit, got people to help me paint, and now I love it. But there was a time where I just didn't really, didn't want to be here.
Debby's parents and grandparents rented their homes from the Benyon Estate which, at the time, rented properties to "the children of people who already lived there," and her partner and mother were keen for her to secure a tenancy: "So it meant lots of families stayed for generations really. … Some of those longstanding tenants, they wouldn't get accommodation here because he doesn't have that policy anymore and he rents at a much higher rate" (see www.thebenyonestate.com). Although Debby initially resisted moving back, the death of her mother and her role in caring for her father meant that she has stayed ever since. But, for a long time, she continued to dream about her former flat: "I would really have been happier in Victoria Park. And for many years I used to dream about that little flat. I was always kind of going back there even though it wasn't, you know, it wasn't spacious, it was very smelly. It looked over the park, and it could have been mine." While apparently "rooted" close to Kingsland Road for several generations, Debby's roots were contingent, mobile, and at times insecure. In contrast to ideas about the metaphorical "domestication" of urban time and space (Amin, 2008;Koch & Latham, 2013), the multi-layered and entangled temporalities of home and the city were shaped by the materiality of housingits built form, tenure, and legislationand by family and other relationships. Both, in turn, were closely tied to wider changes in the urban neighbourhood, as tenement and other housing was demolished and new estates were built, some of which have also subsequently been demolished. Kathy, for examplea white woman of Irish descent in her 80sremembers moving from the transience of living in a "slum" in Hoxton with nine members of her family in "four bare rooms," to a rented house on the northern side of De Beauvoir Estate in 1943, which offered more stability and privacy: "we were the only people living in that house, that was our house." Kathy and her family lived there until 1959 when the houses on her road were demolished and tenants rehoused on the Kingsgate Estate. While tenants were rehoused, local home-owners were able to resist the planned demolition: "they fought it and the plans were stopped at Downham Road. … one side of Downham Road is all these lovely houses and the other side is the estates." Following her move, Kathy has lived in three flats. By 1982, she had divorced and been rehoused by the council in a flat that she has owned since 1993 under the Right to Buy scheme. Echoing Debby's dreams about her flat in Victoria Park, Kathy vividly remembers her feeling of freedom and autonomy when she first moved in: I don't have to answer to anybody in this flat. … When I divorced and came to live here, it was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I remember the day I moved in and I was unpacking my box of books. I was sitting on the floor, on the … new carpet that I'd had laid, and I looked around and I thought: "This is mine, nobody else can tell me what to do, where to go, who to see. This is mine." While participants like Kathy and Debby remembered their childhoods in the urban neighbourhood where they still live, others described moving from the countryside or suburbs to the city as adults. Rachel and Emily's routes to the city took them away from suburban homes and unsettled family lives, and represented greater autonomy and stability. Rachel's parents were Orthodox Jews who grew up in Hackney and, like many others, moved to the suburbs after the Second World War (Lawrence, 2019). Rachel grew up in suburban Redbridge in the 1960s: "My mum hated it, she felt very isolated there and cut off." By the time she was a teenager, Rachel also "hated it. It was … boring, dull as anything, hated it" and wanted to escape not only from the suburbs but also from "everything that my family stood for," including their religion. Rachel reflected that her childhood suburban home "was a very stable home in terms of bricks and mortar, in terms of us staying there all our lives. … but emotionally it was really rocky [and] emotionally very unstable." Emily also described her "unsettled" childhood, this time in California in the 1970s. Following her parents' divorce, Emily lived in eight different homes with her mother and stepfather from the ages of six to 11, usually in "Mexican farm-worker towns" in California. She then moved in with her father and stepmother, and, when she was 16, "they did something that to me was shocking, which was to move to the suburbs." Not only did Emily feel more like a "visitor" than at home with her father, stepmother and their "new family," she also felt out of place: "that's where I learned that I never want to live in the suburbs [laughs]. … The suburban fantasy was that you could escape urban strife and, you know, live out in this place that is safe. The reality is that you can never escape the social, but you can certainly pretend that you have, and I just don't like it." Rachel and Emily lived in a number of urban homes once they left the London and Californian suburbs of their childhoods. Rachel lived in a series of housing association flats in East London before she moved into a flat managed by Industrial Dwellings at the north end of Kingsland Road. In contrast to the emotional instability of her parents' home and the precarity of serial short-term tenancies, this flat represented greater stability, security, and autonomy: a lot of the places had been really damp and obviously precarious, so you don't put a lot into it because you never know when you're going to have to leave. So, you live with things, you just put up with things, you don't invest in a place … you invest emotionally because you always invest emotionally in your home even if that is short-life …. So, I moved in and … when I first got the keys I remember walking round the flat and just thinking, this is mine, this is all mine, this is all mine, and I was so happy [laughs], I was so happy to have that flat. A whole one-bedroom flat, it was amazing.
Emily left home at 18 and lived with friends in "super urban" locations -"making the home you want, not as your parents want it"and then moved to the UK in her mid-20s, first living in a squat in south London. She moved to a flat in a tower block close to Kingsland Road in 2001 and has lived in her current low-rise flat with her partner and daughter since 2007. For Emily, "buying a place or owning a placethat was a real step in feeling like I can do what I want to" and choosing to do so in the city rather than the suburbs underpinned her sense of freedom and autonomy.
Spanning "roots" and "routes" to and within the city from local to international scales, "the living of time" for residents reflects intertwined migration, housing, and family histories. The memories and experiences of different "roots" and "routes" and the intertwined histories that they reflect are closely bound up with, and articulated through, narratives of domestic and urban change over time. We turn now to consider the ways in which residents feel at home, or not at home, in the context of urban change.

| LIVING WITH URBAN CHANGE
In their study of how young Hackney residents experience the wider changes in their neighbourhood, Butcher and Dickens explore the entangled processes of material and demographic urban change through the notion of "affective displacement": the "discomfort, of no longer belonging to certain streets or public areas that had once felt like 'home'" (2016, p. 809). Through our focus on the temporalities of home and the city, we explore not only the ways in which residents on and near Kingsland Road expressed the discomfort of no longer feeling at home in their neighbourhood, but also the ways in which they make sense of their changing surroundings beyond simply enduring their affective impact on their lives. Complicating notions of alienation, loss, and exclusion, we draw out the ways in which residents feel both at home and not at home in the city in multi-layered ways across different generations, the life course, and in relation to the routines and rhythms of everyday urban dwelling. The "living of time" in the context of urban change encompasses intertwined and sometimes ambivalent experiences, memories, and narratives of home, belonging, and displacement.
Like Kathy and Debby, Sandy has lived in Hackney with different generations of her family. Like many other Jewish people, her grandparents migrated from Eastern Europe to East London in the early 20th century. When her parents married, they and her grandparents moved to the same building where Sandy has lived since she was born in 1953. As with other tenement housing, the block had no bathrooms or central heating when Sandy was growing up. As an adult, she moved into her own flat in the same block and raised her two children there. While Sandy holds a secure tenancy that maintains her rent at £400 a month, the private landlord has installed new kitchens, bathrooms, and central heating in other flats, increasing the rent to around £1,800 for a two-bedroom flat, which is out of reach for Sandy and her children. She has noticed how changes in tenure and the rise in house prices and rent have impacted on the demographic composition of the area and are visible in public spaces such as her local park: about four years ago, I drove past [London Fields], and it was boiling hot … There was a festival on … and all it was, was upwardly mobile 20, 30-year olds, not families, not children. I mean, it's a park with no children … you can't live here and have children, and have families.
In her own building she explains that "there's no families because families can't afford it … it's young singles or young couples renting out other rooms. There's no children here now." These reflections led Sandy to recall her own childhood, buying smoked salmon at Ridley Road Market and fish and chips at Faulkner's, and going to the Odeon Cinema on Kingsland Road. Yet many of these places have gone or changed: the cinema has been demolished, the market has transformed, and Faulkner's, which "used to be fabulous, … they used to do traditional Jewish style fish and chips, with the fish cooked in matzo meal," is no longer "run by Jewish people." For Sandy, these places, and her memories of them, are "part of where I've lived all my life." Her experiences of driving through her neighbourhood clearly articulate the "living of time" for Sandy. She remembers buying her first car when she was 18 from a dealer on Kingsland Road. The car dealer is no longer there, but Sandy remembers it as she has driven past where it was for the last 41 years on her way to and from work at Hackney Community College. Reflecting on her own street, she recalls that "when I was little there was maybe one or two cars parked down here," whereas now "I can't park where I want to. … Things like that irritate me, you know? This is my home." Sandy's memories of places that have gone, and those that used to be different, mediate the ways in which she experiences and relates to the contemporary neighbourhood (Degen & Rose, 2012). She recalls her parents taking her to a Jewish deli to buy pickled goods as a child. In their building, she remembers "lots of old traditional Jewish food you could smell. You could smell fried fish. You could smell onions being cooked." But the delis have left along with many Jewish residents wholike Rachel's parentsmoved to London's suburbs after the war. When a new deli opened on Hoxton Street, Sandy was "very excited about this because it's a Jewish restaurant …. The seats aren't terribly comfortable. They're there for slim young people … [laughter]. No, truly, I went in there, the majority were all young." The new deli not only reminds Sandy of growing up but also reinforces her experience of more recent changes in the neighbourhood.
The ambivalence that Sandy expresses towards her desire for something from which she feels partly alienated runs across different generations and lengths of residence. Emily describes living close to, but remaining separate from, parts of her local neighbourhood: I have never considered the flower market shops part of Columbia Road mine. Even though I will say to people, 'oh you should come over and visit, my neighbourhood is so cool, I can take you to the flower market, it is right on my street, how cool, how cool.' But it feels something separate from me and I think it is because it is a place that you cannot go without spending money … And we always live very frugally because we are not high incomes at all … I appreciate it but from afar, like it is something, this special thing that I have this privilege of being close to, but it is not really mine.
For Emily and many other residents, local pubs epitomise changing senses of home, belonging, and/or estrangement as a result of regeneration and gentrification. Both Debby and Sandy referred to episodes where they had gone to their local pub and been ignored by the staff, received hostile looks, or felt uncomfortable going in alone. Yet as the pubs and the life within them change over time, Emily explains that she feels quite ambivalent about these changes. In the past, Emily did not go to her local pub, describing it as "the lowest of the low," with fights often spilling onto the street. Following a change of ownership and refurbishment it is now, she says, "so pleasant to be in there … but it just feels like, in terms of the sense of home … Like I don't know, does the neighbourhood now belong to these young people who are here? … We do not feel resentful, we just feel like, 'Hm, what is this, like?'" For both Emily and Sandy, a sense of home in the context of neighbourhood change is marked by ambivalence: both familiar and alienating, evoking and unsettling the past in the present. The temporal dissonance expressed by Sandy and Emily also results from changes in their own lives that inform their experiences of urban dwelling. Emily, for example, remembers going to the local park with her daughter most days to meet up with friends and play in the playground. She recalls talking regularly with the other parents about the "dreamy day" when they would "be able to come to the park and just talk with … friends and the kids just take care of it themselves," but this time was short-lived as her daughter soon lost interest in going to the playground. Emily remarked that "I always think about it" when walking through the park to go to the supermarket: it's "funny" how something "so central in your life can become so almost non-existent." Also reflecting on the presence of the past, Sandy described her late mother's flat in the same block where she lives: "when my mum wasn't there, after she died, I could still see it every night. … To see it continually everyday … it's quite difficult." Debby has fond memories of her childhood home and visited it on the day of her mother's funeral, but "none of the people that were there are here. Other people have made a home in there. … I don't think it would matter if I didn't see it again really. I dream about it sometimes. If I dream of my childhood, I'm often in this house or in the garden." The "living of time" for Emily, Sandy, Debby, and other residents involves growing into, out of, and alongside different places in complex ways. Living with urban change, and the ways in which urban dwelling changes over the life-course, are mediated by memories of the past (Degen & Rose, 2012) and experienced in multi-layered and ambivalent ways in the present.

| STAYING PUT AND MOVING ON
As well as revealing how people's experiences ofand ways of living withurban change have been shaped by their family, migration, and housing histories, and across generations and life courses, their desires and expectations for future homes are also charged with ambivalence and contradiction. In many cases, such ambivalence reflected the unpredictability and uncertainty surrounding the regeneration process itself: would they be priced out of their neighbourhood? Would their homes be at risk? Would the spaces that they frequent in their everyday lives change beyond recognition? Would they lose a sense of community?
In Lewis' discussion of experiences of urban change among older people living in East Manchester, she unpacks the seemingly contradictory responses that encompass both an experience of loss alongside a "reconfiguration" of social ties, expressed through "the strong sense of connection and place attachment which still exist" (2016, p. 925). Narratives of both loss and the reconfiguration of home despite or alongside the uncertainties of the future were also articulated in the homecity biographies of residents on or near Kingsland Road. Yet rather than revealing a clear-cut relationship with a linear temporal trajectory spanning past, present, and future, these feelings of loss and/or belonging emerged and re-emerged in varied ways at different times, revealing an ebb and flow that did not always correspond to processes of urban change in the neighbourhood.
Debby's initial yearning to return to Victoria Park was gradually replaced by "finally" belonging and a desire to set down roots. While her newly found sense of feeling settled encompasses material and emotional resources from her past experience of living thereincluding memories of growing up in the neighbourhood and transferring plants from her parents' former gardenher narrative suggests a determination to re-configure these previous ties: I've always thought for as long as I live that I would be priced out, there would come a point where I can't afford the rent. And that still might happen. But I've said to myself that I'm not going to let it happen. So whatever I need to do, I will carry on living here.
Rather than look back to a sense of rootedness and security, Debby describes how her parents were reluctant to invest in the flat as "[t]hey were like, 'oh we're not spending money on a carpet, don't know how long we're going to be here,'" pointing to an ongoing sense of uncertainty that infiltrated their everyday experiences of home, despite living there for "60 years or something." For Debby, the sense of "suspended temporality" (Degen, 2018) that pervaded her childhood fuelled a yearning to create a sense of security for her present and a sense of control over her own future: "That makes me feel better. I can finally think to myself 'I'm staying.' … And if I go it will be because I choose to go." Her desire for rootedness also extended beyond her flat to spaces in the wider neighbourhood, in particular the crypt in the local church where she is a key-holder. Her parents had been married in the church but her family was not religious so had not worshipped there and it was only recently, since her parents had died, that it had become important in her life: I feel like I'm finally sort of bold enough to make a stake in this sort of community in this place as well by going, 'Well actually I work at the church,' … and I feel very proud of the place, I'm really pleased that I'm involved in it and I know that it's a lovely space and they do their best to make people feel welcome regardless of their religion.
This desire for rootedness at home and in the wider neighbourhood was also articulated by Mark (for a short film on Mark entitled "Still Mark from Hoxton," see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vY237-Jo36A). Aged 18, Mark was born in Jamaica and moved to London with his father to join his mother when he was three. His aspiration to forge a sense of long-term belonging in response to the unpredictable present was expressed through his wish for his mothernow separated from his fatherto purchase their council flat. For him, owning the flat would cement his sense of belonging in both the wider neighbourhood and at home: "I tell her to buy this place because we've lived here so long, and she done so much, she came up with all those ideas, and she bought so much for the house, there's really no point in moving out now. Because this house looks like proper home now." Despite the very real threat to his material home as the wider neighbourhood undergoes rapid regeneration, Mark is determined to remain rooted. Even as he aspires to be a professional football player, he wants to stay put: "I told my mum that if I do make it well in football, I'm going to buy this house and if you want to stay in it, you stay in it, but I'm definitely staying here [laughs] … I'm still going to be the same Mark, right? Who lives here still … who lives in Hoxton." While Debby and Mark expressed a determination to stay in Hackney despite the unpredictability of changes in the neighbourhood, for Emily, an encroaching sense of uncertainty surrounding her housing situation incited an unsettling sense of loss: the potential loss of a sense of home which she feels is under threat by pervasive "regeneration forces." Unlike Debby and Mark, Emily and her partner own their flat. Yet the ubiquitous regeneration of the area, including the demolition of social housing blocks, has opened up the possibility that their home may not be guaranteed "for life," as they had "assumed when [they] bought it." For her a sense of home was to an extent contingent on this sense of material belonging: "If we could be guaranteed that we were safe from regeneration forces, that would certainly help me feel, re-establish the sense of home from before that I did have before I started to feel that we were under threat." In contrast to Mark, the regeneration of the area was deeply unsettling, reminding her of "really unpleasant experiences as a child when we were moving constantly" and revealing how home-city temporalities intersect with people's personal biographies, folding in memories of change and loss as well as desires and expectations. Looking forwards, Emily talks about people she knows who have moved to Crouch End in north London, which she describes as a "nice area" but one where "there is not much diversity, and it does not have a night life. …Yeah, there is no reason for people to go there, there is just no reason so they feel lonely, they feel lonely out there." Yet this somewhat negative portrayal is coupled with a sense of inevitability and resignation about her family's likely future home: "that is probably the type of place that we will actually end up." Emily recognises the impact of wider processes of urban change and its potential threat to her sense of security alongside the changing needs of her family.
Across the home-city biographies a sense of "enforced immobility" was expressed in multiple and often contradictory ways over different scales "that both enable and frustrate different kinds of urban home-making in the context of housing precarity" (Blunt & Sheringham, 2018, p. 2). For Debby and Mark, the rapidly changing neighbourhood in which they have grown up has instilled a desire not to move, while for others the sense of rootednessor immobilitywas expressed through a sense of "feeling stuck." Sandy, for instance, explained how events over her life prevented her from moving away at different times, and that she now feels it is "too late" to do so: Where would I move to get somewhere to live for that money? Can't afford to buy. My eldest son went to a private school. So, you know, we made choices, and then by the time we probably could have afforded to buy, I was looking after my parents. … When I had David and then was pregnant with Paul, my mum and dad would have David if I went to the hospital, and if I had doctors' appointments they'd have the children, so it was very much a two-way caring thing. But my dad had a heart attack … 35 years ago, so I became his main carer. Still working, but I was his carer. When my dad died, my mum had a disability and didn't want to move into a nursing home … because I was round the corner, so I couldn't have gone then anyway.
Sandy's flat has been burgled twice. She feels nervous at home, and keeps her blinds closed most of the time, reinforcing her sense of "feeling stuck" and compelled to stay somewhere that does not feel safe. At the same time, however, Sandy acknowledges that she might not feel more secure somewhere else: "I don't know anything else. I don't know anywhere else." While she laments the increased cost of living in her area and the lack of parking, for Sandy it remains "home": "It was where I was born. It was where I went to primary school. It's where I went to secondary school. It's where I've worked most of my working life." Sandy's sense of belonging to the area is complex and points to the entanglements of individual and urban temporalities and rhythms that converge and diverge at different times. Sandy reveals a sense of resignation towards inevitable change in the neighbourhood, alongside adaptability and resilience.
In contrast to the narratives of "staying put" that were often articulated alongside a desire to move, others described actual moves away from the area. These moves were often related to changing life circumstanceshaving children, getting divorcedor, in some cases, in response to changes in the area, which directly or indirectly prompted a move away. Rachel, for instance, lived in her rented flat off Kingsland Road for 11 years until she bought an ex-council flat in Mile End with her partner when she was pregnant with their son. While Kingsland Road felt like "home," changes in the area had made it less familiar, alongside changes in her own life: "As your life grows and changes so does your home." Jonathan also reflected on such life changes as he described the decision to move with his partner from a flat-share on the Lockner Estate to their own home in 2017. Jonathan grew up in rural Lincolnshire and moved to Lincoln and then Brighton before moving onto the Lockner Estate in 2006. He described his forthcoming move in ambivalent terms, combining feelings of regret and hope for the future. Jonathan articulated his way of adapting to change in terms of "building narratives" to "make life liveable": if I had no prospect of moving out of here I'm sure I'd be a lot more positive about it, because it's a great area. … It hasn't been a chore living here for the last 11 years. It's been great by and large, but I have to leave it now and, you know, my mind's doing a lot of work to rationalise that and build that into a more positive narrative.
The decision to move is one that Jonathan and his partner have taken so that they can live somewhere that feels more like "a home" and has a garden. In contrast to living in a "shared house" and having "to restrain any impulses that you might have towards … so-called 'home-making,'" this new move is expressed as a form of home-making and moving forward. Jonathan describes the move as "exciting but also massively daunting … because it's kind of the first time that I get to try and practically think about what I would want a home to be like and stuff." These examples reveal the intersecting and diverging temporalities in people's home-city lives and the ways in which they adapt to, resist, and "build narratives" in response to both personal and urban changes.

| CONCLUSIONS
This paper has sought to understand what it means to live in the city by exploring the entanglements between urban and domestic temporalities. Drawing on a series of home-city biographies with residents living on housing estates on and near Kingsland Road in Hackney, East London, the "living of time" encompasses the temporalities of urban dwelling at home and in relation to the wider estate, street, neighbourhood, and city. As developed through our analysis of urban "roots" and "routes," living with urban change, and staying put or moving on, the "living of time" for urban residents reflects intertwined migration, housing, and family histories that are bound up with, and articulated through, narratives of domestic and urban (in)stability. Rather than view "the living of time" in a linear, chronological way, we have understood it in relation to the contingencies of tenure, ownership, (in)security, belonging, and displacement. Attending to these intersecting temporal threads allows for greater understanding of the "possibility of ambivalence and contradiction within and across different understandings of place" (Lombard, 2013, p. 819, cited in Degen, 2018. Bringing into dialogue conceptual insights from home and urban studies, in which time has been a central focus in different and often disconnected ways, this paper sets out a framework for exploring the entangled temporalitiesoverlapping, converging, and divergingof home and city lives. This framework builds on the notion of "home-city geographies" which addresses "the interplay between lived experiences of urban homes and the contested domestication of urban space" (Blunt & Sheringham, 2018, p. 16). Here we have drawn out the temporal dimensions of this relationship, including people's everyday routines in the city and other temporal modes. As well as exploring the importance of key turning points in both domestic and urban livesmoving, divorce, bereavement, the demolition and rebuilding of housingthis paper draws attention to the "living of time," revealing how such exterior temporal markers of change do not map neatly onto the ebb and flow of belonging and not belonging that characterise a sense of home in the city. Some residents may feel a sense of rootedness in spite of increasing housing precarity, for example, while others may be physically rooted yet feel a strong sense of "affective displacement" (Butcher & Dickens, 2016). Urban dwelling is shaped by multiple and multi-layered temporalities, intertwining the past, present, and future, generations and life courses, and housing, family, and migration histories.
Our argument about entangled temporalities and the "living of time" in the context of rapid urban change advances broader debates on home and the city in three main ways. First, the paper moves beyond a tendency to focus on temporalities of home and the city as separate realms and points to the importance of considering both as closely connected, overlapping, and diverging in complex ways. The rapid pace of urban change may be in stark contrast to the domestic rhythms and routines of some urban dwellers who may be forced to move or stay put as a result of increased housing precarity and uncertainty. Second, through foregrounding time and temporality, the paper moves beyond a tendency to focus on the spatial dimensions of urban displacement, revealing the lived experiences of temporal disjuncture or convergences as a result, or in spite, of physical dislocation. Finally, the paper challenges narratives that depict urban dwellers as passively living through inevitable and linear processes of urban change. Like the residents of the Haggerston Estate depicted in Zimmerman's film Estate (2015a), the home-city biographies discussed resist a sense of victimhood in the face of rapid urban change and reveal multifaceted responses to it. Like Estate, this paper makes visible the multiple and entangled temporalities at work in an urban neighbourhood, and the importance of exploring these as inseparable from the multi-faceted temporalities at work on the domestic scale. The "living of time" in an urban neighbourhood encompasses memories, experiences, and narratives of domestic and urban lives, whereby residents adapt to, negotiate, and at times resist processes of urban change and continuity.