1st Night Out


A man I met ages ago in Hove who told me he gave his permission to post some of his writing on my blog. 

1st Night Out

How long has this, hairy, more than unusually large, obnoxious beast, had been observing me, whilst, crouched down, back upon its hind quarters, whiskers twitching, in that way only an opportunistic alert, rodent, is so well adapted to display, tail swishing from side to side, as if like a radar type, behind sight antenna, with those curious studious eyes, embedded within its grotesque facial features, just staring down over towards me, from atop of that, concrete heavily mildewed streaked wall, with those labyrinth of, stringy vines running from top to bottom, making it so easy for these River Thames, sewer rat vermin types, to have easy access to my sleeping position after I had dozed off, k

How long this oversized rodent had been observing me, watching my every movement, as I removed my handout sandwiches from my rucksack inadvertently, dropping a few crumbs so making this particular rodents nose sniff, the cold chilly evening air, that more busily, whilst perched defiantly upon that daunting Victoria wall, five feet tall, eighteen yards directly in front of me, along with, those ominous, towering foreboding ancient spiked railings atop of it.

And so by way, as a poignant consequence, making this particular rodent, who was positioned between two of its upright rusty coloured rods, directly in front of me,

Seem that more honourably supreme, and defiant, within its own chosen domain

God only knows

This event, coinciding with the late evening sky, starting to become ever more so dark, and hauntingly enclosing, around ones particular area of bedding down, for the night, activity, or be it, alternatively on the other hand, profoundly taking into account, ones new intrepid vista, that comes, dare I say, without that, reassuringly, protective, front door, windows, or ceiling, to so keep natures, fluctuating elements, at bay, alongside with its extremely acquisitive nocturnal creatures, and need I press home the overlying tact fact, without that, stressful, burdensome, council tax, to have to contend with

This last resort choice of abode, for this afro Carribean British born individual, revealing an ever more, expansive panorama of twinkling stars, in the sky above me, and if we come back to ground level, directly in front of me, one could just about make out, hedgehog shaped bushes, with tiny gaps in them, that looked as if someone in the darkness beyond, whose eyes, face, or be it figure, in the fast fading light, one could not quite make out, was peeping over at you, from over the other side of that daunting wall, dividing those, caught out, on a marginal limb, since the advent of mid eighties, community destablizing, deregulation, privatization, and the death defying, opportunistic vermin, who so thrived and prospered whatsoever, political climate reigned supreme.

And if that was not enough to contend with, on ones first night out in open terrain, one should so more take into account, more than, acute eyesight, and hearing, when sleeping out for the first time, in a strange location, whereby your visual lenses, are always straining to make out shapes, and figures, our there, in the darkness beyond, alongside frequently refocusing themselves, as if like a telescope on a ship, way out to sea, trying to ascertain its bearings, as to land ahoy, constantly on the lookout for any untoward out of place, figments nearby, figments nearby, that could give cause for alarm and as a consequence be, so caught, and captured on ones heightened a/wary retina, so as we know by now, is linked to the dream state, part of the unconscious mind, and as a result could so play havoc within the domains of ones subconscious mind, as one so slept,

Or be it tried to entertain fitful slumber, whilst exposed to the elements, with ones hearing also sharpened, to an acute degree, so registering more readily, approaching footsteps, voices, or be it animal low growl noises out there yonder in the dead of night

For one never can tell when the odd occasional housed run of the mill passing slightly intoxicated Joe, or be it overly abbreviated group, may well pass by, who so thinks the homeless are up for a bit of ridicule, in the small hours of night, when immediate help at hand is extremelly dicey to ascertain, or be it they may well feel it is part of their high jinks banterish story telling, the next day when sober, in their local pub, as to how physically roughing up, a down and out, whilst victim is still ensconced within their sleeping bag, and so describing to his bawdy mates, in detail, the pitiful cries, and physical struggle, that so ensued, as a helpless rough sleeper struggled to get hold of the zip halter, and so free him, or her self, to run away, after some harsh treatment, that was part and parcel of one of those prankish hoots, one so did, when visiting the centre of London Town late at night/

This aspect of new virgin territory area of rough sleeping, was revealed blaringly obvious that first night, whilst, abruptly, waking up suddenly, to sit bolt upright, and so with half asleep, haunted look, upon face, proceeding to look over yonder, towards the now dead of night, deathly silent, vague background, directly across the way, to my sleeping spot, whereby, various types of trees, and their myriad entanglements of branches, swaying together in haunting, unison, tantalisingly, in hypnotic fashion, as a light wind held sway, as if trying to lure one into a false sense of security, upon ones first spent out, with only open terrain, to observe as an eerie back drop

This as it was, or be it, what I stumbled upon, is commonly known as Embankment Gardens, between Strand, Savoy hotels back door to the east, and Sheel Bps large imposing building, to the west and its car park, marking our boundary where upon average sixty souls on average per night would trundle down from all directions to find a convenient spot, along this self created 150yds of covered pavement space, so turned into a type of do it your self, rough sleeping mall, bang set in the middle of central London,

This is where these weary forlorn souls of all ages and persuasions, would bed down at the end of their weary torrid days after most probably trodding around the by ways and avenues of central London at day centres, drop-in doctors, surgeries, as well as outdoor handouts, gathering life's basic essentials for the outdoor life

Upon arriving between the hours of 4pm and 7am the next morning

, so getting up and moving, before the caretakeer, and his house draws near to hose down the 150yds of sleeping avenue, except weekends where the authorities in charge of this strip of land
allowed us to stay 24/7

Comments