I’m homeless, but I still have standards

In two years I have gone from being a civil servant to prisoner, psychiatric ward guest, rough sleeper and now dweller at a Salvation Army hostel.

My experience of homelessness continues to be profound, ridiculous and surreal. On the second week of my stay in the hostel I had to delete my friend Tony’s number from my mobile. He had killed himself in his room three days earlier. In the third week of my stay I was dining on queen scallops and sashimi tuna at one of the few good restaurants in Plymouth, without doubt the only hobo there that night (courtesy of my quiz team winnings).