i know the nightmare

Billie was very committed to this walk. It will give people an idea what we had to go through, she said. They t be able to slip off home into a warm bed, theyll have to stay out there with us. I wasnt quite so sure. No one, no matter how well meaning, could really understand what it was like to live on the streets. Billie, like me, had a companion these days. Hers was a lively Border Collie called Solo. She and Bob weighed each other up for a few minutes but then decided there was nothing to worry about. Just before 10.30pm John Bird, the founder of The Big Issue arrived. Id encountered him a few times and found him a charismatic character. As usual, he was good value, and fired everyone up with an inspiring little speech about the difference the magazine had made during its 18 years. By now 100 or more people had gathered there along with a couple of dozen vendors, coordinators and staff. We all filed out into the night, ready for John Bird to do the countdown. Three, two, one, he shouted and then we were off. Here we go, Bob, I said, making sure he was positioned comfortably on my shoulders. For me it was a real journey into the unknown. On the one hand, I was really worried about whether my leg would stand up to 18 miles of wear and tear, but on the other I was just delighted to be off my crutches and walking normally again. It was such a relief not to be going clonk, clonk, clonk down the road all the time, having to sg my legs in front of me every step of the way. So, as we set off on the first leg around the South Bank and across the Millennium Bridge, I told myself to simply enjoy it.

Happy Friday To You

As usual, Bob was soon attracting a lot of attention. There was a real party atmosphere and a lot of the charity fundraisers began taking snaps of him as we walked. He wasnt in the friendliest of moods, which was understandable. It was way past his bed time and he could feel the cold coming off the Thames. But I had a generous supply of snacks as well as some water and a bowl for him. Id also been assured there would be a bowl of milk at the stopoff points. We will give it our best shot, I said to myself. Bob and I settled into a group in the middle of the procession as it worked its way along the riverside. They were a mix of students and charity workers, as well as a couple of middleaged women. They were obviously genuine people who wanted to help in some way. One of the ladies started asking me questions, the usual things: where do you come from?, how did you end up on the streets?

Id told the story a hundred times before during the past decade. I explained how Id come to London from Australia when I was 18. Id been born in the UK but my parents had separated and my mum had taken me with her when shed moved down under. Wed moved around a lot in the follog years and Id become a bit of a troublemaker. When I came to London I had hopes of making it as a musician, but it didnt really work out. Id been staying with my stepsister but had fallen out with her husband. Id started sleeping on friends sofas but had eventually run out of places to crash the night. Id ended up on the streets and it had been downhill from there. Id experimented with drugs before but when I became homeless it became a way of life. It was the only way to block out the fact that I was lonely and that my life was screwed up. It anaesthetised the pain. While we were talking we passed a building near Waterloo Bridge where I remembered sleeping a few times. I didnt use it often, I told the lady, pointing it out. One night while I was crashing out there another guy got robbed and had his throat slashed while he slept.

She looked at me ashenfaced. Did he die? she said. I dont know. I just ran away, I said. To be honest, you just worry about making it through the night yourself. Its every man for himself. Thats what life on the streets reduces you to. The woman stood there just looking at the doorway for a moment, as if she was saying a brief, silent prayer. After about an hour and a half, we made it to the first stopping off point the Hispaniola floating restaurant on the Embankment on the north side of the Thames. I helped myself to some of the soup on offer while Bob lapped up some milk that someone had kindly sorted out for him. I was feeling pretty positive about the whole thing and was already totting up the miles that Id done and how many more were to come.

But then, as we were heading off the ship, we had a bit of a setback. Perhaps because hed been refuelled or perhaps because he knew that my leg still wasnt 100 per cent, Bob had decided to walk off the boat. As he padded his way down the ramp, right to the end of his lead, he walked straight into another The Big Issue seller who was coming up the walkway with a dog, a Staffie. It instantly went for Bob and I had to jump in front of it with my arms and legs out to stop him lunging at Bob. To be fair to the other guy, he gave his dog a real dressing down and even gave him a slap on the nose. Staffies do get a bad reputation for being violent, but I dont think this one was. He was just being curious, not evil. Unfortunately, however, it freaked Bob out a bit. As we resumed our walk he wrapped himself around me tightly, partly through nervousness but mostly because it was his way of insulating himself against the cold. There was a bonechilling mist rising off the Thames.

Part of me wanted to call it a night and take Bob home. But I spoke to a couple of the organisers and was persuaded to carry on. Fortunately, as we headed away from the river, the temperatures lifted a little bit. We wound our way through the West End and headed north. I got talking to another couple, a pretty and her French friend. They were more interested in the story of how Bob and I had got together. That suited me fine. Walking around London like this brought back so many memories, many of them too dark and distressing for words. As a heroin addict living on the streets, I was reduced to doing some hideous things just to survive. I wasnt in the mood to share those details with anyone.

For the first six miles or so, my leg had been fine. Id been too distracted by what was going on around me to think about it. But as the night wore on, I began to feel a throbbing pain in my thigh, where the DVT had been. It was inevitable. But it was still annoying. For the next hour or so I ignored it. But whenever we stopped for a cup of tea I could feel an acute shooting pain. Early on I had been in the middle of the procession, walking along with the largest numbers of fundraisers. But I had been falling further and further behind, eventually reaching the back of the line. A couple of fundraisers and a guy from The Big Issue office were bringing up the rear and I tagged along with them for a mile or so. But Id had to take a couple of breaks to let Bob do his business and have a cigarette. Suddenly I realised that we were now cut loose from the rest.

The next official stop was up in Camden, at the Roundhouse pub, a few miles away. I really didnt think I could make it that far. So when we passed a bus stop with a night bus that headed in our direction, I made a decision. What do you think, Bob, shall we call it quits? He didnt say anything, but I could tell that he was ready for his bed. When a bus loomed into view and opened its doors, he bounded on board and on to a seat, bristling with pleasure at being in the warm.

The bus was surprisingly busy given it was well after 3am. Sitting towards the back of the bus, Bob and I were surrounded by a cluster of clubbers, still high from their night out in the West End or wherever it was theyd been. There were also a couple of lonely looking guys sitting there as if they were on the road to nowhere. Id been there and done that, of course. I not only had the tshirt, I had a wardrobe full of them.

But that was the past. Tonight it felt very different. Tonight I felt rather pleased with myself. I know walking a dozen or so miles might not have seemed much of an achievement to some people, but to have made it that far given the state my leg had been in weeks earlier, was for me, at least the equivalent of running the London Marathon.

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