Diana

For whatever reason, Diana has repeatedly fallen through society's ever more holey safety net. After leaving the office she called out to me as I passed; an elderly stricken lady sprawled on the pavement, self-proclaiming as an alcoholic, talking about not wanting to go back to Southampton. After several phone calls to hostels in Cambridge, numbers on random scraps of paper she was carrying and numbers of people she'd memorised, it transpires that she's burnt her bridges with most shelters in Cambridge over the years, she's too embarrassed to call the few family members she has in town and most services that help people on the streets have phone lines staffed in the daytime only (??).

With no safeguards to turn to we had to make a painfully slow walk to a nearby hostel to beg for first some space and when that failed a sleeping bag (which they'd run out of too). Then with no organisation able to help I had to ensconce her in a seating area in the Anglia Ruskin students' union equipped with a ham sandwich and at least some warmth. The only thing to do was to let the nearby police station know she'd be kicked out of there soon enough and would benefit from some compassion if bobbies on the beat came across her.

Poor Diana. Whilst obviously there are chronic social problems that persist that do require lots of resources, society must ensure that vulnerable people can always turn to someone in authority for a compassionate reception and at the very least a dry, warm place to sleep. That is fundamental in a country like the UK that could easily afford to provide such services.

Picture of Diana taking a break from walking on the phone to helpful Sandra at one of the shelters. With two sticks and too much baggage to carry I couldn't fathom how she'd ended up sprawled on the side of one of Cambridge's main roads, crying out for her bottle of White Lightning just out of reach (which had already been drained). I hope she hadn't been there long.

I hope you're not outside in the damp tonight.