Then we separate, he to enjoy central London and I to visit Jean in West Harrow. I leave via Charing Cross Station, a place that always makes me remember Kieran, aged six, observing rough sleepers bedded down in its long foot tunnels, saying nothing as his eyes widened. Charing Cross underground tunnels often have as strong a smell of urine as the streets of central Paris, but it's not bad today. I pass a single empty sleeping bag, then four together, two of them occupied, looking relatively cheerful. The effect is multicoloured (although I'm too discreet - and too decent - to photograph it). There are miscellaneous clothes and bits of bedding as well as magazines and newspapers. Well, everyone needs reading material, and the newspapers probably serve a dual purpose as insulation, and are, in any case, free. The magazines maybe a bit more aspirational - I spot a brightly covered motor car publication. You don't have to have a home to dream about fast cars.
JAWORSKI TRAVELS