The night time temperatures have taken a very sudden downward turn and it's time to dust off the long johns and thermal undergarments.
Every policing area has homeless people and often they known personally by police officers patrolling the area. In my area I have got to know 'George' who has is an affable fella who regularly sleeps in the shelter provided by a bridge over a grassy mound that leads to the job centre. I don't think he sleeps here so he can be first in the queue, more for its central location, close to all the local amenities, bus links and good schools.
I've had numerous conversations with George about how best to get a roof over his head and I still struggle to comprehend the fact that he's been offered housing and he continues to turn them down. George chooses a life on the street and even in sub-zero temperatures, it's where he's happiest. Who am I to tell him he's wrong. There are times when I'll be on my way into work, the sun will be up and I'll see George sat with his usual group, can of lager in hand, often on the beach and I think that maybe he's got it right, maybe we should all have his absolute freedom and attitude towards existence.
That said his beer is most definately warm, the nibbles accompanying it have been retrieved from a bin and are what the seagulls wouldn't touch and his 'friends' in the summer mostly smell like a mass grave.
On a night shift I'll usually get at least one coffee from a 24 hour gaff attached to a petrol station where the staff are as glassy-eyed and moronic in their movements as I am in the early hours and I'll always get an extra one for George. Sometimes if I'm a little flush (meaning the garage staff give me one for free) I'll get him a ham and cheese panini or a hot pie to further warm him as the frost starts to form a layer on his sleeping bag.
Last night I got George a large Cafe au lait; no panini - the tight bastards didn't offer - and drove to his normal location. Turning up with a coffee for him always makes me feel good, I wonder if this is the only reason anyone really does charity or good deeds, for what they get out of it. Maybe there's nothing wrong with this, a win-win situation you could say. Anywho, I arrived, coffee warming my palm and the romance of doing a good deed for fellow man warming my heart and approached his makeshift home.
I have to say that our man George ruined the moment for me to be honest. When I arrived he had filthy trousers round his ankles and was shaking with the exertion of shitting in a carrier bag.
In the end I just left it next to his bed and returned his thumbs-up. I then hurriedly left trying to recall if my past had ever included shaking that man's hand.
It was a long cold shift that dragged and its fair to say that when night shifts are like that they are more a test of endurance than anything else. When I did finally get home I turned the fire on, made a cup of tea in front of the news and then retired to my warm bathroom where I had an unhurried shit on the toilet whilst reading Topgear magazine.
Which made me realise that out of me and George, I still think I've got it right.
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