And so it goes on, hour after hour. Now and then you doze a bit, but only a bit. You’re so cold, so frightened and it hurts so much that you end up praying for morning even though you’re dog-tired – even though tomorrow is certain to be every bit as grim as yesterday.

And the worst part is knowing you haven’t deserved any of it.

I walked all the way back to the DSS next morning and Ginger was right. I was seen by this guy who told me they’d decided I’d made myself homeless so I wasn’t eligible for benefit. I hadn’t intended spilling my guts but I did then. I was dirty, cold and hungry and my feet were killing me. I was so tired I could hardly string a coherent sentence together. I’d had enough, so I told him everything – Vince and Mum, Vince and Carole, Vince and me. I thought he’d see – thought he’d understand why I could never go back into that situation, but I might as well have been talking to one of the stone lions in Trafalgar Square. He just sat there looking at me through his blue-tinted specs, and when I’d finished he repeated word for word and without facial expression what he’d said to me before.

I’d arranged to meet Ginger by Cleopatra’s Needle. The weather was vile and I hadn’t the heart for another long walk so I got the tube at Euston and rode down to the Embankment. I was early and he wasn’t there, so I spent a miserable couple of hours begging along the river, getting colder and wetter and nothing else. In the end I gave up and went and sat under a bridge in an icy draught. Ginger had given me two fags, so I cadged a light and smoked them both, lighting the second off the first. I was starving and the smoke made me nauseous, but it was comforting, too, in a way I couldn’t be bothered thinking about. When the fags were gone I counted my dosh and found I was down to four quid – four pounds sixteen pence if you want it exact. I was desperate for something to eat and also needed a lavatory, so I set off hoping to find a hot-dog stand or something. I found a public toilet easily enough and washing my hands and face made me feel a bit better, but I didn’t find any food.

I trailed back to the Needle and this time Ginger was there, sitting on his pack with a dustbin bag draped over his head and shoulders. ‘Like the new outfit,’ I said.

‘Fetching, isn’t it?’ He got up and gave me a twirl. ‘Burlington Arcade. Four hundred quid. How’d you get on?’