Plight of rough-sleepers brought home to me

IT’S been glorious, but it’s over. The late summer, I mean. Boo hiss, now we have to think about wellies and hats and waterproofs, and cycling becomes a rain-lashed ordeal rather than a sunny pleasure.

The relief of coming indoors, to comfort and warmth, is a delight we all take for granted; the bliss of a hot bath, the cosiness of bed. Normal, everyday stuff, so why even mention it?

At seven the other morning, walking my dogs earlier than usual, along the seafront where I live, the sun was shining on all the people sleeping on seafront benches. Rough sleepers — loads of them, dotted along the promenade. They were just starting to wake up. Sleeping bags and cigarettes were being rolled up, as people stretched, and reached for the shoes they had stashed under their benches. Some walked stiffly — those benches are hard — to the nearest public loos, where the only washing facilities are the sinks.