I was wearing jeans, two pairs of socks, big furry boots, two long sleeved tops, jumper, cardigan, scarf, winter coat, another scarf, hat and gloves and still I could feel the cold nipping at my bones.
It was 10.30pm and I was standing at Central Station looking at the departures board filling up with “cancelled” notifications and praying my train would turn up. All I could think of was a hot bath and getting home. I took a seat on the metal chairs on the platform and quickly stood back up. Baltic!
In the afternoon I’d been walking through the city centre and had passed a man begging outside Buchanan Street station. “Any spare change?” “Can you spare some change?” He was sitting on the ice cold street with his back resting against the wall, a paper cup in his bare hands. I didn’t have any change, like everyone else I kept walking, but something made me stop. He was so polite and it was freezing. All around us were shoppers laden with bags from Frasers, M&S, Molten Brown, Karen Millen….. yet no-one seemed to have any change to spare for this poor man.
I went to the cashline, then the cafe and bought him a cup of tea. Something warm. I went back and gave him some money and handed him the tea. He looked so grateful, but then I noticed the cup of soup he was holding in his frozen,blue hands.
By the time he’d had his soup the tea would be cold, useless. Perhaps as well as money he’d have enjoyed a conversation, someone to listen, and someone to talk to, to be treated like a human being and given a bit of dignity. I hadn't really paid attention, I had made assumptions.
Why didn’t I just give him the money so he could buy his own tea? Was I judging him in case he spent the money on booze or drugs? That would be his decision, and to be honest who could blame him if he did, I'd want to escape reality if it was me in his shoes.
Can you imagine, I mean really imagine what it feels like to sleep in a shop doorway in December? Apart from the brutal cold and the fear of assault, can you imagine how it feels to be so alone in the world that you have no-one to turn to? Can you imagine sitting on the pavement begging for money? How would it feel to be ignored, invisible? That man is someone's son, brother, father or husband. He didn't end up on the streets on purpose, he just got dealt a bad hand.
I’m no expert, I don’t have the answers but I thought about it a hell of a lot waiting on that train. An hour waiting in the cold for a train that arrived and took me home to my flat, with its central heating, hot bath and warm bed.
The headlines are full of travel news and snow updates. The buses are late, the football is cancelled ......a little perspective, please.
If, like me, you'd like to find answers to some of the questions I've asked in this blog then perhaps Shelter Scotland is a good place to start.
