posted
So I was dragging Mike reluctantly over the South Downs for a walk the other weekend when we came across an old oak, at the base of which somebody had built a temporary shelter out of branches and sticks, complete with a circle of stones inside ready for a fire. A few yards away was a stick-built sign saying, "John Car".
Which brings me, with all the grace of a wino at dawn, to my question:
Ever spent a night homeless? What did you do, how did you cope?
Pavement Freezing
It was the day before Mike's birthday. We tossed a dice onto a map to pick somewhere as a birthday excursion and chose Hereford, and set off the next morning, having not planned anything except what time we'd turn up at the train station.
We got to Hereford and decided first and foremost to buy ourselves a night in a B&B. We couldn't find any spare rooms anywhere. We tried the hotels and the pubs (even the ones not advertising rooms) but still had no luck. We went to an old-and-disabled-people's holiday inn, but they had no spaces, and I couldn't persuade the owner to let us sleep in the hall, which is how desperate we were getting by then.
We entertained the idea of going clubbing for the night, but it was a remote, God-bothering community. Not a club in sight, not even a Good Laugh.
It got dark.
Eventually it became clear we had to sleep rough for the night. So we had a meal and a few drinks to take up some of the time, scanned the town centre and decided against sleeping there, and headed off to the woods outside town.
At around midnight, we walked past a pub we hadn't seen before, with a sign outside, mentioning a function room. I dragged Mike inside and asked the manager if, at this late stage, we could buy use of that room, just to get our heads down. Guess what? He was having the floor polished that night for an event the next day. But he suggested two places further down the road.
We headed out, where we found the first of the two places he'd mentioned, and Mike asked the owner if we could rent a room for the night. He must have not liked the look of us (or perhaps Mike, who pensioners leap into bushes to escape because he's got very short hair and, presumably, looks dangerous) because he just gave us a flat no.
We headed on and found the second place. We rang the bell. No answer. We walked around the building. No other entrance. Mike suggested we walk on. I knocked on the door as a last attempt.
SOMEBODY ANSWERED!! I asked, if, please, please, please could we sleep here tonight. She said yes!
Ladies and gentlemen, you have seldom felt relief as great as I felt then! A B&B room has never looked so inviting, not a bed ever felt so soft!
It may not be a story ending in a night sleeping alfresco, but we came bloody near!
-------------------- Black Mask: Have a good weekend, TMO!
posted
I've slept on the beach a few times, and I slept in a bush in North London somewhere when I first moved to London. I was always so hammered that it didn't matter, though. And, though it's not very pleasant to wake up in someone's garden feeling like crap while the world moves around you, even if it's not moving, that's hardly comparable with actually being homeless and knowing it would be the same the next night, and the night after that, all through the winter. I do remember carrying a sofa down to the beach once and four of us sleeping there. In the middle of the night I woke up to see Danny lean over and throw up all over Dobber (who didn't wake up) and then fall back to sleep. I left as the sun was coming up and it turned out Fraser followed shortly after. He nicked everyone's clothes (we'd been skinny dipping). The other two awoke in baking summer sun, surrounded by families with buckets and spades. I was upset to have missed them carrying a sofa back along the highstreet in their boxer shorts, one covered in the other's vomit, during a busy Saturday's trading, but I was kind of glad I left before my clothes were swiped.
posted
When I was about 14 me and a few friends all arranged to be staying at each other's houses so we could actually not sleep at anyone's house and stay out instead. We went to a party and left about 2am or something and went to this bridge over a railway which had a dry area under it. We all had sleeping bags and managed to sleep comfortably for as much as half an hour before morning.
It's then that we discovered exactly how much filth a hundred years' worth of steam train soot and diesel exhaust and oil can deposit under a railway bridge. I don't think I've ever seen a dirtier place, let alone slept in one. Our standard drab green sleeping bags were smeared like the floor of a backstreet MOT garage. Our faces were... words won't do. Here you go:
We managed to slosh the worst of it off in the public lavvy in the park. I dumped the sleeping bag and managed to sneak back in the house somehow and get changed, but I'm fairly sure I'm still scraping that muck out from under my fingernails to this day.
Another time, me and a mate slept under a bush in a graveyard in Barnstaple. Just before dawn it absolutely pissed down out of the sky and we had to bolt for the nearest shelter, which was the covered market. We were soaked right through and there were all these farmers and market traders around, but the manager took us up to his office and gave us a lovely hot cuppa, which was an act of unrivalled kindness and I'd like to take this opportunity to say thank you very much to him.
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posted
A friend of mine was at a posh wedding somewhere in London. It must have been posh because he was wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie, which, actually, if I think about it, isn't posh at all but is kind of the opposite of posh. Who wears a tux to a wedding? I suppose if you wore morning suits during the day and then changed in the evening into your dinner jacket, then fair enough, you're posh and you're properly attired, but still.
Anyway, the wedding was over and he found himself wandering the streets of London, alone and drunk. Not having anywhere to stay, he sat down in a park and contemplated what to do. Across the road was a posh hotel, so he decided to make enquiries about staying the night there. The bloke at the desk informed him that it would cost him close to two hundred quid, as these things do. He declined this offer and returned to the park, where he saw a huge pile of autumn leaves that had been raked up earlier that day. He decided to wade in, lie down, make himself comfy and cover himself with more leaves. He then proceeded to have, according to him, one of the best night's sleep of his life.
In the morning he woke up feeling wonderfully refreshed, and to the amazement of the people taking a stroll in the park he suddenly stood up out of the pile of leaves, wearing a dinner suit, brushed himself down, headed across the road to the hotel and had a lovely breakfast before heading home.
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quote:Originally posted by mart: In the morning he woke up feeling wonderfully refreshed, and to the amazement of the people taking a stroll in the park he suddenly stood up out of the pile of leaves, wearing a dinner suit, brushed himself down, headed across the road to the hotel and had a lovely breakfast before heading home.
posted
Having decided that the YMCA was charging too much for a room in Nottingham when I went up there for a) University scouting and b) worst birthday ever - my mate and I decided to rough it. We were very lucky though that we managed to make it down to the train station and into the waiting room, sleeping in there was okay. At one point a policeman came down to look in, and very quietly checked the room out, and very quietly closed the door behind him. He is probably the nicest policeman in the world.
Apart from that, there have been the odd occasions over seas, beaches on Rhodes' Prissonisi, which was cold, windy, but quite pretty.
My favourite though, was during a trip to Prague. I slept out in the town square where a bundle of people seemed happy to camp out for the night, by the monument near the clock - if you know where I mean. I was asleep on the bench when I became aware of someone sitting down near me. I sat up, and this old czech guy was sat there, he looked over and smiled and proceded to talk at me for a good twenty minutes, a big grin on his face, in czech. Then, when he was done he shook my hand and left. I have no idea what he said, but he seemed happy.
-------------------- If Chuck Norris is late, time better slow the fuck down Posts: 2740
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In the morning he woke up feeling wonderfully refreshed, and to the amazement of the people taking a stroll in the park he suddenly stood up out of the pile of leaves, wearing a dinner suit, brushed himself down, headed across the road to the hotel and had a lovely breakfast before heading home.
Excellent. A friend of mine spent the night in a big pile of sweepings outside Notting Hill Gate tube station, while he didn't wake up feeling wonderfully refreshed he did wake up to find a brand new unopenend box of Maltesers on his chest, which he ate on the way home.
posted
Since my squat closed down in 2004 I have been back to sleeping rough again. It is not too bad if you can find a quiet spot and have a four season sleeping bag and a roll mat to insulate from the ground. I have slept in loads of places around London along the Thames in the City several times, under Hanwell Viaduct in West London, under the Hayes Bypass where it cross the Grand Union Canal at Southall, under a canal bridge at the back of Regents Park. And in tents in woods near Teddington Lock and Hampstead.
The worst thing about sleeping rough is having to carry around big heavy bags all day. I now have somewhere to hide my bags during the day unde bushes on Hampstead Heath. Which is where I now sleep most nights. I use a bivvy bag now to keep my sleeping bag dry as it is less conspicuous than a tent, lighter for traveling and you don't have to keep putting it up and taking it down.
I have also got a couple of mates who camp permantly near Teddington Lock in Hwthorn woods. They leave their tents up all the time and travel into central London and back during the day on the buses. I stay at Hampstead because it is only a short bicycle ride into central London and is fairly central itself for getting to other parts of London by bike.
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quote:Originally posted by Harlequin: I stay at Hampstead because it is only a short bicycle ride into central London and is fairly central itself for getting to other parts of London by bike. Not to mention I may catch the eye of George Michael and be taken away from all this.
-------------------- Evil isn't what you've done, it's feeling bad about it afterwards... Yield to temptation. It may not pass your way again. Posts: 3793
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posted
I don't know if this qualifies but when I was 17, I moved out of my mom's house. Not enough money to get a place of my own and to proud to ask for a place to stay with mates, I spent the first month or so living in my car and, when I could get away with it, sleeping in the store I worked for. I'd use the store's bathroom to wash in and use laundry mats to wash my clothes so to the outside world, everything was hunky dory. 2 huge downsides. 1) a 6'2" fat fuck does not find a comfortable position to sleep in a car and 2) it was winter and cold as fuck (fact fans, it wasn't uncommon that I had to open the car door with a shoulder check because the snow was so high, it wouldn't open otherwise).
After a month or so, I moved in with some mates who had a house on the lake which we more or less destroyed (threw a party with so many people in it, the foundation sunk and left a 3 foot gap between the floor and the bottom of the wall. Fixed with cinder blocks and a car jack!). Then moved in with best mate and shared a flat for 2 years.
I've also slept in various forests and beaches after parties but they don't count because it was more of a 'passing out from chemical abuse' rather than 'sleeping rough'.
[ 02.05.2007, 05:57: Message edited by: sabian ]
-------------------- Evil isn't what you've done, it's feeling bad about it afterwards... Yield to temptation. It may not pass your way again. Posts: 3793
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posted
When I was 18 I was a homeless, I swapped between sleeping on sofas at mates houses, scrounging a bed where and whenever possible, grotty, evil B&B shitholes and sleeping rough.
One windy and wet night I slept in an unused sewer pipe on a building site, I was rudly awakened when they moved it, another popular spot was the trolley storage shed at Tescos.
After a while I managed to get a bedsit with a crisis loan and a lot of leg work (15 pounds a week rent in 1985 was cheap), then I swapped that for a live in job at Butins which I swapped in for a rented flat when I left at the end of the season, which I swapped for my first mortgage when I was 22.
quote:Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts: I never thought of sleeping rough / being homeless as being 'not too bad'. I always assumed it was pretty terrible.
quote:Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts: I never thought of sleeping rough / being homeless as being 'not too bad'. I always assumed it was pretty terrible.
Harly makes it sound quite glamourous.
It is if you can find a good location to sleep rough and have the right equipment. A good four season sleeping bag is a must, either that or a thick quilt, plus ground insulation in the form of a roll mat or cardboard. Woods are great to sleep in if you have a bivvy bag or a small tent. Also if you can find somewhere to hide all your gear like under a dense bush, so that you don't have to lug it around all the time.
By the way the army often have to either sleep round in bivvy bags or else camp in tents in all weathers and all seasons.
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quote:Originally posted by Harlequin: By the way the army often have to either sleep round in bivvy bags or else camp in tents in all weathers and all seasons.
True, loneliness is likely to be the least of their problems though. Nothing like the sound of mortars landing close by to put things in perspective..
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posted
Most of my 'rough sleeping' experiences have involved railway stations - Franz-Josefs-Bahnhof in Vienna, Plovdiv in Bulgaria, and Keleti pu. in Budapest.
When we were in Vienna it was a matter of getting the 8am train back to our base in Plzen via Prague - after having the last of our beers at around midnight we felt that sleeping under the stars in the Stadtpark might be an option, but it got surprisingly cold and we headed off to the station. I couldn't get to sleep.
I didn't actually sleep in Plovdiv either - but instead kept guard of my two travelling companions who found it far easier to drop off to sleepyland. The bastards. The place was crawling with Gypsies which kept helped keep me alert. Along with some very bitter vending machine coffee.
In Budapest we tried sleeping at the main station, but were advised by a couple of local police officers that the place was a safety risk (they didn't say Gypsies, but we got the idea). However rather than booting us out, they asked what train we were leaving on - and on being told the 07:15 to Bratislava allowed us to get on and sleep in the awaiting carriage which was then locked after us. I don't think that would have happened at king's Cross or Paddington...
posted
I've slept rough a number of times in my travels and it's pretty much always a horrid experience. Harlequin's advice about getting hold of a lump of cardboard to sleep on is fairly sound, but that still doesn't help you when you're lying awake at 3am with The Fear, absolutely certain that you're going to get raped, murdered and eaten before sun-up.
Probably the worst place I've ever slept was in among the reeds in some marshes on the outskirts of Turin. Even in the small hours the sound of lorries thundering past left you convinced that eventually some trucker was going to wind down his window and cover you in bits of chopped-up hitch-hiker.
As well as the fear there's the perishing cold. It's an all-pervading, bones-settling-in kind of chill that stays with you hours after you've returned to civilisation, even after you've had, say, a hot bath. Unpleasant as it is, I reckon it limbers you up for the time - fast-approaching now - when everything crumbles and nomadic existence becomes the dominant way of life again.
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quote:Originally posted by ben: As well as the fear there's the perishing cold. It's an all-pervading, bones-settling-in kind of chill that stays with you hours after you've returned to civilisation, even after you've had, say, a hot bath. Unpleasant as it is, I reckon it limbers you up for the time - fast-approaching now - when everything crumbles and nomadic existence becomes the dominant way of life again.
That was marvellously put, credit where credit is due Benno. Just reading that gave me the shivers.
Following a failed shut-eye attempt in a cold Bucharest main train station while waiting to board a 4am train to the Hungarian border, we got embroiled in a rather heated discussion with a Romanian railway official who didn't like the colour of our money. Or rather the amount we were not prepaped to offer him by way of a gratuity. If it were summertime I wouldn't have upped the ante, but I was driven by extreme tiredness and above everything else the mortal fear of being bundled off the train and stranded in some one-horse town in the middle of Transylvania.
It was January and bitterly cold - and then there was the additional fear of being eaten by Vampyrs and stuff.
When we got back to our hotel in Budapest I headed straight for a hot bath... But even as the steam surrounded me I still felt like a block of ice.
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posted
In ER, when people are really cold and have been sleeping outside in the snow for hours the doctors simply crack open the patient's chest and pour warm water directly onto their heart. This seems quaintly old fashioned in our crazy, topsy-turvy world of modern medicine: super bugs, laser treatments and belly echo sounders. Like they've run out of ideas so they choose to keep it real with some old skool remedies. Treating a migraine by sawing through the skull to deliver a kiss from a buxom, smiley matron, straight onto the raw brain. That sort of thing.
posted
Obviously a person with such a comfortable life as me has never really slept rough as such. I did however, once storm out of my parents’ house when I was about 17, and was too stubborn to go back. I went to a mate’s house at about 11 and asked if I could stay, and got told no, but he very kindly lent me a screwdriver to break into the mk1 Ford Fiesta I had sitting in the car park (I had gone out without my keys). The car was something I was trying to fix up, and had no battery, so no way of warming the car up, other than a tealight candle and a few cigarettes. It turned out to be the coldest night all year, with temperatures dropping to about -6 and I only had a jacket on, no gloves or scarf, or hat or anything really. I didn’t really sleep as such, just laid there trying to stop shivering. I can completely agree with what ben said about that deep chill that seems to cool your bones. I suppose that’s what happens when your ‘core temperature’ drops below a certain point. I was awoken by my dad tapping on the car window and when I got out of the car I could hardly move my legs and my feet had gone more or less totally numb. I got into my bed and the sheets which would usually feel freezing at that time of year, felt like an electric blanket. I was still shivering hours later. Never ever want to feel that kind of cold again.
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posted
Most recent sleeping rough was on a building site in Kensington in January about five/six years ago. Had missed my last train home, and remembered that a local blaock of luxury flats was still partially under construction. I walked nonchalantly past the concierge, like I was supposed to be there and then headed up the stairs to find the floor that was closest to completion, while still having no locks on the doors. Curled up in a boiler room and went to sleep. Woke up at about six, covered from head to toe in white dust - really plastered in the stuff. Trotted back down stairs, gave the same nod to the concierge and headed home.
-------------------- Now that you've called me by name? Posts: 2007
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posted
On the subject of sleeping rough, well sort of, does anyone remember Ben's post about Harlequin and the pigeons? I can't recall the specifics but that was one of those TMO posts which was so good it made me almost ashamed to ever hit the ADD REPLY button again.
posted
Sadly I didn't do any of those. Just nodded a "Good morning" at him and headed back to Redhill. Had to trek to Victoria, get my ticket and travel down to the 'hill and walk home looking like I'd been prepped for frying by a giant chef.
THORN PUSHES THE CONCIERGE IN FRONT OF A TRAIN. HE SCREAMS, BUT A WHISTLE DROWNS OUT THE NOISE.
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Louche
Carved TMO on her clit just to make you feel bad
posted
I've never selpt rough properly. I've had a night in a railway station waiting room, after seeing Therapy? at Sheffield Octagon and missing the last train back. I remember feeling post-gig, sweaty dirty, and cold, and faintly drunkenly disorientated. I managed to have a row with my then boyfriend and thus deprived myself of body warmth/ pillow potential or similar. I was cold.
It was miserable and the 6am train was miserabler. I sharnk from clean, fresh, bright commuters and their pleasant showerfresh smells. I felt sorry for them, being forced to be near me.
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posted
I remember walking two miles along the seafront after going to a rave in a field. It had been raining the night before and I was covered in filth. My big, flared jeans looked like a shark's plaything cooked gravlax style, their tattered remains periodically hooking under the heel of my muddy Kickers and tripping me up, eyes like an evil hypnotist who'd crashed into a saucer factory, mouth chewed into a cracked, bloody mess like an overcooked Whopper trodden under sumo foot, gait of a zombie. Overall look: Ed Rooney at the end of Ferris Bueller's Day Off meets Marvel's Mud Thing. It was a baking summer Sunday and my soundtrack was Jesus Loves the Acid mixing into Mr. Kirk's Nightmares, as a million innocent eyes observed my slow progress and drew in on my corpse until I was just a walking, melting Eye Beast. A boy made of eyes. I could see the entire universe, see everything: their love their pain, their pathetic hope. I could see into the future ("Should have gone to Spec Savers" in green neon). It was a long journey. When I got home, I watched the ceiling shift above my bed with a billion borrowed peepers. I should have slept rough and waited until the cover of darkness to move.
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