Streets of London

It was mid January and I had very little money, and stayed in a filthy house somewhere off Fulham Palace Road sharing a room with a one armed man. The blankets were crawling with things and I was happy to leave the next day.
Eventually I ended up on the streets and was ejected from Charing Cross Station by the police, but returned when they left. I was starving and used Irish coins and religious medals to get chocolate bars from the machine, and eventually succeeded in fooling them.
At about 4.00 in the morning I went to Euston Station and decided to treat myself to a cup of tea and a sandwich in the little ‘Rail Bar’ with the big glass window, so I could see what was happening outside. I ordered a cup of tea and a sandwich, even though I could have eaten the bar and looked out the window, and saw the police patrolling the station and waking people, who had fallen asleep, and ejecting them from the station, if they had no travel tickets. Most of them would return when the police left, as it was bitterly cold outside.
When I turned around to eat my sandwich it was gone as in disappeared, I don’t believe in magic and I remember getting it. I looked to my left and saw this very small, thin, old man with a black beard wearing a big long overcoat and noticed that my friend was trying to get rid of the evidence. He was munching furiously, and the crumbs were falling out of his mouth, and he looked guilty, and was frightened and afraid.
I pretended I didn’t notice and knew that he needed it a lot more than me. I just wished I had the money to buy him a decent meal.

At this time a famous book had just been published 'Bury me in my boots' by Sally Trench about the homeless in London and Ralph McTell’s record was in the charts around this time:
How can you tell me you’re lonely
And say, for you, that the sun don’t shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I’ll show you something to make you change your mind.
Have you seen the old man outside the seaman’s mission
Memory fading like the ribbons that he wears
In our winter city, the rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero in a world that doesn’t care.*

* Streets of London – Ralph McTell; written by R. McTell