s potential shorthand for biodiversity, the term “wildness” might suggest the sorts of spaces and places where the patterns and processes of species diversity and richness might continue to flourish, unhindered by human interference. However, as Bill McKibben asked us way back in 1989, does “nature” really exist and, by extension, are there any “wild” places left? Antarctica’s ice is melting as a result of our runaway increase in global carbon; in our deepest oceans, radioactive signatures and microplastics exist in sea life; and increasing evidence is pointing to the long-term continuous human inhabitation of the Amazon – a situation well documented on our own continent, but for an even longer period. In an urban context, wildness is not a term we often use. Where we do, it is more often a reflection upon behaviour or attitudes – a frame of mind that might lead to a spectrum of boundless behaviour with wild and uncontrollable citizens at one end and more playful, child-based adventures at cities, streets and rivers. Countries in Europe and, closer to home, Singapore, have embraced this trend with a growing practice of returning culverted rivers into living systems (the River Aire in Switzerland5 and Bishan-Ang Mo Kio Park in Singapore), of parks that respect their spontaneous vegetation as the design foundation for wildlife (Park am Gleisdreieck in Berlin) and of respecting the liberty of species to colonize and self-organize (Gilles Clément’s
