Exactly 1 year after I resigned from ACE, the English language school I’d worked at for almost 7 years.
The police drop me at Hounslow.
It’s just about 9am.
I’m in the shopping precinct.
It’s just waking up.
I haven’t been here since my mum’s funeral 2 years earlier.
I’ve got no money.
I’ve got my Lloyd’s Bank ATM card but no cash.
If I can just contact a friend to put some money in my bank, but how…
I’ve no phone.
I spot an internet cafe.
£1 for 30 mins.
I sit at a computer.
Log onto Messenger.
See who’s online.
I send begging messages to my friends.
They’re used to my begging messages by now.
I’ve been tapping my friends and family for the last year – ever since my resignation.
Then, in December, I came clean to everyone about my crystal meth addiction, and everyone stopped giving.
Some even stopped responding.
No one gives me money now, either.
I have to tell the shop guy I’ll pay later, after I’ve been to the bank. I’m sorry.
He’s not happy.
I go outside and plonk myself down on the sidewalk to beg.
I can’t sing.
But I sing.
Everyone just looks at me like I’m nuts.
Fuk you, Mr. Fox, I say in my mind.
Haven’t you got enough footage?
Are you saying I gotta be homeless in London as well?
I see Mr. Fox’s face in my mind’s eye.
Looking at me with that pompous, smarmy grin.
Fuk you, Mr. Fox.
I’m James fuken Bond.