A Brush With Homelessness.
It was a coach trip with parents and sister. The coach parked in Salisbury coach park, and we were to be back by 16.00 hours. We had been to the Cathedral. It started to rain and I was unprotected, so I broke from the rest of the group and took shelter under an awning, waiting for the other three. After ten minutes they hadn’t shown up, so I went to find my way back to the coach. It was ten to four. I worked my way round the car park expecting to see the coach. Panic was setting in. I began to work out how I would return to Bournemouth, where we were based. My head and shoulders were soaked. In desperation I went to a Jobcentre appreciating the irony. They gesticulated a direction.
I can’t really run anymore because of a previous foot injury, so I walked quickly, soaked with rainwater. Suddenly over a ridge were two Shearings coaches-a driver and my sister. I had been fearing the worst and all sorts of mad ideas had entered my head. My sister said that she would have waited for me to show and take me back by train to the Hotel. The driver had been just about to leave. What would I have done if I had missed the bus? I thought of the homeless here in Brighton and the feeling of futility some must feel.