‘Sort of, yeah. Sells the paper. The Big Issue. Sells it at fifty p, gets to keep thirty. Lucky sod.’ He looked at me. ‘Are we on, then?’

I nodded and we set off into the wind with our heads down, sharing Ginger’s bin bag. Two lost boys, off to the never-never land.

* * *

Have you ever seen that famous diagram of a slave ship – slaves crammed like sardines into every square centimetre of space? Well, that’s what it was like on the boat me and Ginger ended up on.

We’d parted with our six quid on the tow path, where Probyn had his office in one of those yellow plastic watchman shelters. He didn’t look like Captain Hook. He was sitting on a folding canvas chair wearing wellies, a waxed jacket, a muffler, a knitted cap and gloves with the fingers cut out. He had a smooth, pink complexion and pale eyes and looked about thirty-five. When he smiled, as he did when he grabbed our dosh, he showed very small, very even white teeth. He stuffed the notes into a bulging wallet which he returned to an inside pocket. I was wondering why some guy hadn’t mugged him for this when I heard a low growl and saw a Rottweiler the size of a horse gazing out from between his feet. Probyn showed his teeth again. ‘Don’t even think about it, kid,’ he purred. He must’ve been a mind reader or something. Then he pointed to the nearest of his boats, moored fore and aft to bollards on the bank. ‘That one,’ he said. ‘Mind the gap.’

I’ve told you it looked like a slave ship. What I haven’t said is that it stank like one, too. You went through a narrow door and it hit you —the stench of too many damp, unwashed bodies, too much lingering flatulence. There were three steps down and then you were falling over sleepers, looking for a space in the poor light from a paraffin lamp which dangled unlawfully from the deckhead. We found a sliver of unoccupied floorspace and bedded down, drawing grunts and curses from those we kicked and elbowed in doing so.

One thing, though – it was certainly warm, and you weren’t straining your ears all the time listening for potential assailants. The boat rocked very gently on the water, and once you stopped noticing the smell the whole thing was quite pleasant. It’s amazing how resilient wooden planks feel after lying night after night on stone. I dropped off almost at once; and dreamt I was sailing my yacht through blue, tropic waters of breathtaking clarity under a cloudless sky, while Vince hurried back and forth with long, cool drinks for me, and my rat-faced former landlord cooled me with a peacock fan. It was terrific while it lasted, but waking up was a drag.