I was moved, when my son told me of his feelings, of that night when he and his girlfriend had to walk the streets of London
He explained how he had observed, with a keen eye might I add, the behaviour of the homeless, in the early morning coffee houses, around Victoria Station
He talked of individuals using the wall sockets to re-charge the cheapest of mobile phones, of young women putting on their make-me-fabulous-make-up, with the aid of the reflective window glass; and of others, moving the previous patrons discarded cups, to then be placed in front of themselves, so as also to be considered as patrons
He was surprised, but particularly recognised their youth, and their hopelessness, for as he rightly says:
Out in the countryside one could satisfy ones basic needs, by engaging with nature; by building a shelter from branches, and twigs, and leaves, and moss; by washing, and drinking in the streams; one might even be able to swim in some places
But in the city none of that is possible, and so, for the few hours of that one evening, he felt; no, sorry, they felt, even together they felt, the real fear of becoming destitute
And he asked himself; why do the young people flock to the city, surely not, not as that young man, who had to pull his jumper over his face to sleep, to be here, alone, in one of these, some might say bleak, early morning coffee bars
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