The security guard comes over.
Tells us we gotta leave.
You can’t just sit here all morning. They have to clean.
He’s got a thick Nigerian accent.
We bought teas, I say. We’re paying customers.
They have to clean.
Come on, says Dave. There’s a breakfast over there.
He nods to the open space which leads from the strand to Covent Garden.
I got no dough, I say.
It’s a fuken soup kitchen, innit. About 7.30 they turn up.
I follow Dave out of MacD.
Its getting light.
The suns coming up.
Can’t see it yet but its dawn.
Is dawn when its light but you cant yet see the sun?
I can’t wait to feel the sun on my face.
We wander over to the area.
There’s already a throng of homeless gathered.
About 30 people.
A real mix. Old. Young. Drunks. Tattooed. Long hair. Father Christmases. A few stand. Most sit down.
I go plonk myself down on the pavement next to some dodgy, homeless, bearded ruffians.
I’m used to sitting on the floor.
It don’t bother me.
I remember once Amelia sat on the floor once.
When we were on ‘e’. Going from club to club.
That’s how I found Jesus.
Going from club to club.
It’s mostly blokes. There’s one woman, pretty young, shouting at people. Sounds like she’s from Bristol.
The only other famous actor to come out of Bristol is Clark Gable.
Or is it Cary Grant?
I always get confused about those two.
Blokes keep looking at me. Walking past and staring at me.
I make eye contact with them all.
My eyes say WTF are you looking at.
I wonder if they are real homeless – or all just extras on this reality film set.
Do they know I’m James Bond?
Are they all being paid to be extras?
Maybe they’re real homeless being paid by Eon.
It’s reality cinema, so they want real people, obviously.
They wanted James Bond to be homeless for this reality film, so obviously that’s why they wanted a real homeless actor.
I wonder of they wanted James Bond to be a crystal meth addict?
Or was that just a bonus?
I know they wanted him to be a Christian.
A homeless, crytal meth addict born again Christian James Bond.
Only Coppola could’ve dreamt this up.
The king of cinema.
He’s king, I say to the bloke next to me.
He’s king, I say again, standing up, addressing the whole crowd.
Everyone looks at me.
Dave stares from across the way.
I look at everyone in their eyes.
I laugh, almost hysterically.
He’s King of King and Lord of Lords, I proclaim, loudly, like a televangelist.
Dave comes over.
You been smoking that gear again?
What fuken gear? Don’t give me that! You can’t fool me. I been round the block a few times , I can tell ya. What gear!
Look, he goes, breakfast is here.