When I left the library last night I was considering going to the Samaritans, as there is several hours between the library closing and soup kitchen opening when I have nothing to do, keeping the protesters company is ok, but they sit in a shelter and smoke and smoke, which doesn't do my lungs any good. I stayed with the protesters anyway, I can't go to the samaritans when I can't talk.

I go to get myself some leftovers from the chinese takeaway, as I go, one of my protester friends and the Polish man are sitting on a bench drinking alcohol, they tell me that they were turned away from the chinese because they had alcohol with them and the owners think that if people can afford alcohol then they can afford food, they ask if I will share my food with them, and seeing as the chinese people give me three generous tubs of food, I share it out, one tub each, these two are both homeless as well as being protesters after all. The Polish man is beside himself with gratitude and keeps trying to explain things to me and losing his way because he is tipsy, he overreacts to alcohol, they are only drinking cider and he says he can't handle vodka at all. I am surprised because all the Polish people I have known are born with vodka in their veins.

The police come down to the site, they have always been friendly, they always give me flashbacks. But this policeman is happy to join in the conversation but also says that the council want to meet with the protesters tomorrow at 2.30pm, this looks like the council want to move the protesters out. The police don't mind the protesters.

I am tired, I settle down to sleep at 9.30pm instead of waiting up for soup kitchen at 10pm, I can hear all the homeless people and their drunken shouting, but I am tired, I fall asleep and no-one disturbs me.
at 3.30am I wake up needing the loo and in great distress from the church memories, I must be in distress in my sleep, I can't just wake up to instant distress?

Outside all I can hear is drunken shouting and swearing, the shelter area where someone sits or sleeps to guard the camp is full of the teenagers who hang around the protest, they are all drunk or high and complaining loudly about a row that has just occured, I haven't heard any of the row, someone has been winding someone up.
I wonder if any of the sensible protesters are actually there and if the loo key is there either. When I come out of the tent one of the protesters starts shouting at the teenagers for waking me up, but I say I woke up because I needed the loo and did anyone have the key?
They produce the key and I stumble to the loo, I consider phoning the samaritans because of the church distress, but I know that if I go back to the tent I will fall asleep again.
I go back to the tent and realise I am having trouble breathing, I take my cross chain and jumper off and take inhalers and sleep again. All I hear before I sleep is one of the teenagers vomiting in the gutter.

I wake up at a calm 8am and the silence in the camp is deafening, all I can hear is the quiet pedestrians walking around nearby.

I get up and the camp once again just has the sober and quiet men who have slept the night in the tents or come from their homes in the morning.
There is hot water in the kettle and I take advantage of this while one man cheerfully goes to fill the hot water urns, he is new, he is nice and cheerful and helpful.
The others ask me if I heard the rows last night and I tell them I slept like I was dead apart from my toilet break.
The cheerful man brings the hot water urns and starts the washing up, then he goes and fills the big cold water barrel at the nearby cafe.
The Polish man is wide awake and looking none the worse for his drunkenness last night, I am glad he is awake and ok as he has a busy day of meetings to try and help him out of his crisis.

One lad puts a pot of porridge on to cook, I am happy with that, a nice bowl of porridge with honey for me, and I take advantage of the really hot water to drink too much tea.

Today is a big day for me, I am supposed to get my giro today, so I will be able to get clean clothes and all the toiletries I need and probably I will go into the cheap bed and breakfast for the night so I will have access to a shower and space to sort myself and my hygiene and my backpack out.
Today is also the day that Patrick the giraffe comes back to me, he has been washed and was last seen relaxing on the radiator in the mission woman's house.
Remind me to tell you how I got Patrick, that is in the end part of my London story.