I met a homeless lady today. I was outside Marylebone station, on my way back from an exciting video game recording session and a visit to my agents, pausing for a few minutes to enjoy an uncharacteristic bit of London sun while I waited for my train. She came over to pick up a half-smoked cigarette from the pavement nearby, smiled up at me, then just started chatting away like we were old friends. People tend to do that with me quite frequently for some reason, I've no clue why, but this was different somehow. She was rather grubby, wrinkled and probably far younger than she looked. The kind of person most commuters avoid. She was also utterly fascinating.
I'm pretty wary of strangers coming up to talk to me - they usually want something (or, my awful ingrained middle class thinking tells me, they're trying to pinch your wallet) but this woman just wanted to natter. That wasn't easy for either of us, though. Her speech was badly slurred, like her tongue was too big for her mouth, and she had to hold her chin in place in order to speak with anything resembling clarity. Also, apparently her coat had been stolen recently, along with her false teeth, which made matters all the more tricky. I had to focus intently on her face to make out what she was saying and when I did I instantly noticed her eyes - they sparkled like nothing I've ever seen. This was not an unintelligent woman. I asked her what her name was and she tried to tell me, but her speech was so slurred that I couldn't make it out. I've since found out that it was Denise.
She made it very clear from the start that she wasn't after money. She even turned down my offer of food ("I'm alright", she grinned, showing me her plastic wallet with an Oyster card and a £20 note in it). She just wanted to talk. Apparently she 'collects people'. Interesting people. I'd imagine that this collection is made of up anyone who'll help her pass the time until the shelters start serving and listen for long enough to realise that she's far more interesting than they are.
Denise plopped herself down in front of me, sat cross-legged on the pavement and told me stories about her life. About her estranged husband and three kids, how she'd been involved in the filming of a TV series for BBC 3 called 'Filthy, Rich and Homeless' and how she used to play the piano. Apparently the one that they installed inside Marylebone station a while back "wasn't very good. Some of the keys were sticky and it sounded awful". I've heard the very same thing from a couple of professional performer friends of mine.
She also told me all about the countless famous people she's met over the years, from the Gallagher brothers to Anthea Turner. She'd met the Gallagher brothers separately, she said, Liam first, then Noel months later (who said "I think you know my brother", so stories about the ballsy, chatty homeless lady must have been told). I called her a massive name dropper and she just giggled at me and carried on. She once saw a sad-looking man and gave him a bunch of flowers to cheer him up - it turns out that he was famous (I forget the name) and his dad had just died. Nobody had ever given him flowers before and he was so grateful that he took her to the pub round the corner. I've no idea if any of this is true but given how readily she jumped into conversation and how eloquently and happily she spoke, despite her speech issues, I don't find it hard to believe that others, no matter how rich or famous they were, would find her as enthralling as I did.
Throughout all this I must have looked engaged - I couldn't help but be - and we were laughing and joking together throughout... but for the half an hour or so that we spoke for I got countless glances from passers by and their eyes spoke volumes. The disapproving raised eyebrow. The sneer of disgust. The subtle 'is this woman bothering you?' look. All because I was a relatively smartly dressed, well-spoken woman talking to another woman who happened to be homeless and clearly had difficulty speaking. It made me feel nauseous.
And god, that made me think. I come from a pretty posh area - if my late mother knew that I'd been chatting to a homeless woman with no teeth outside a train station she'd have a fit - but everywhere I've been in the world there's the same attitude: homeless = invisible. That casual dehumanisation of people just because they don't have a house. I've been as guilty of it as anyone. So many "Spare any change, luv?" "No, sorry." lies.
I came straight home, lay on the sofa and watched all four episodes of 'Filthy, Rich and Homeless'. It's a real eye-opener and you should definitely check it out. Denise wasn't in it much (I'm sensing a story behind that) but the woman on that show was almost unrecognisable compared to the woman I met today. The sparkly eyes were the same... the gift of the gab was the same but her face... The show was only filmed 12 years ago and Denise now looks like she could be her own mother. When she initially told me about the show she did warn me "I didn't always look like this" but I'm not sure that I really understood until I saw both sides of the transformation. I instantly felt incredibly uncomfortable because there I was in my comfy house, sprawled on my expensive sofa wearing snuggly pyjamas, casually watching the lady I'd been nattering away to just a couple of hours previously before god knows what happened to her jaw. She's still out there. I'm in here. It doesn't feel right. Our bullshit attitudes have to change.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with all this. Denise and many of the people on the show seem pretty happy to continue with the life they already know - they're generally just looking for the odd ciggie and the chance to make their day a bit more interesting (and maybe add another name or amusing anecdote to the collection). But I want to do something - something concrete, not just throw a bit of cash at the problem and consider myself morally absolved of responsibility. Maybe volunteer for a homeless charity? If anyone has any ideas or contacts then feel free to get in touch. I've got a degree in psychology and a very silly job that occasionally gives me a bit of time to kill.
Denise isn't somebody that I'm ever going to forget, not because she's homeless but because she's such an interesting person. As I dashed off to catch my train (she wanted to play the piano for me but there wasn't time) I said a hurried goodbye, said that I hoped to one day use her as inspiration for a computer game character (she liked that) and told her that she was fascinating. She grinned a proud, toothless grin, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "I know!", she chuckled.
As I glanced back over my shoulder I saw her approach another female bystander with the same chirpy, chatty enthusiasm. I hope that person had noticed that I'd sat there talking with her and that maybe my obvious enjoyment of the conversation would help convince her to do the same. And I hope that I see Denise again one day, if only so that I can ask her all the questions I now wish I'd asked, and prove to her that I was truly listening to her stories by finally calling her by her real name.
http://www.londonlive.co.uk/programmes/filthy-rich-and-homeless/20393d11
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