There's no real purpose to this one, I'm afraid. But hey, let's see - maybe a purpose will arrive.
I went to Peebles today and met with a speech therapist. She was very nice, smiley, brunette, pregnant. She talked a fair amount, but her voice was pleasant so I didn't mind too much. If I lacked other vocabulary and awareness and felt like slacking I'd call her "bubbly". But she certainly possessed more intelligence than that word would ever credit her with.
It was a sunny day, and partly warm. I was wearing my charity shop tweed jacket, some jeans, a shirt and jumper and my little black boots. I bought some Applewood cheese, some Brussels pate and bread. I ate some cheese on the bus from Peebles back to Galashiels. I wasn't going to, fearing that someone would judge me for eating cheese straight out of its little packaging, but then I realised that my hunger and desire for cheese trumped any paranoia.
I think that's a good quality in a person.
If any of my friends - across the spectrum - are reading this, I hope you are all ok and still enjoying the little day to day stuff you do without me. I've got a certain level of regret floating round me regarding the lack of contact I've been having with some of you. But don't worry, I haven't forgotten you (especially not you) and I'm sure we'll be in touch soon for baby-sized updates surrounded by cheerful pleasantries.
There have been too many sentences starting with "I" in this blog and it is starting to make me look self-obsessed, which is very rarely true. In fact, lately, I've been thinking about homeless people a lot and they have been causing me some troubles in my head. For instance, recently I was getting some money out of the bank on the corner of George IV bridge and the Royal Mile and there were two homeless people sitting there. It was seethingly uncomfortable as I drew that note out and they asked for change. I had change. And a note. But something in me didn't want to give them any. Why? Well this has troubled me for a long time. Sometimes I do want to give someone some money, or a sandwich, or a coffee or something, but then I think: well, what difference would that even make? I can't take them into my house, or give them my job, or provide them with a weekly stipend. It won't solve anything completely. But is that my responsibility anyway? Some people will say that it is. I have some change, I have the ability to help someone a little bit, but I choose regularly not to.
Perhaps part of the reason is the sheer number of homeless people in the city. If I gave every homeless person I saw £1 a day (the minimum I'd consider, as anything less is not really of any practical use) I'd be giving basically £50-£70 a week to people I don't know, with no idea what they are spending it on or whether it makes an actual difference to their lives.
And what if they are all chancers anyway? There was a woman in Galashiels who regularly trawled the streets collecting money (there aren't that many homeless people there) and often made a fair amount of dosh. She was caught several times thereafter laden with bags of shopping, catching the bus to Edinburgh and bragging on her iPhone about how much money she'd collected. Eventually she was found out and charged with something.. fraud I assume.
The whole thing is just rather dubious. I suppose I should make more of an effort to help people on the streets out now and again, but I can't help thinking my efforts are wasted. Perhaps it's because of an assumption of how they ended up there. I mean, obviously I have no idea what their story is, but I find it hard to believe that many of their lives couldn't have been changed by some small detail earlier on. Perhaps more effort towards education, more support from their families, a greater confidence and desire to better themselves. The ambiguity of the thing can seem threatening.
I've been developing my interest in communication through customer service via the route of language, and I know now more than ever how important information and the communication of such things can help someone feel more at ease. The fact I don't know where these misfortuned (and occasionally belligerent) people came from is unsettling, and in all honesty it is simply easier for me not to find out. So, to contradict my earlier statement that I have not simply been thinking about myself - I have been thinking about others, but obviously not with enough zeal to learn their story. But surely I'm simply a victim of society's teachings then? The British nurture? I've not been brought up in the social environment where we delve into every tragic life story and sympathise. It's human survival. It's dog eat dog. But then my morals have to cope with this?! How do I continue to provide for myself and yet calm the guilt of walking past someone with matted hair, a rare smell, a dark tongue, and a blanket for company as a few pound coins jangle in my purse? Is there someone to blame? Should I be making more of an effort to find that person and shake a fist?
I'm a terrible liar. They know I have money. The know I don't want to give it to them. How would I feel if that were me sitting there? What would I do? How would I approach another human being with more to live on for a share of what they earned?
Then there's the chancers again. I've heard stories of friends making the effort to provide some food or whatever, and had it refused due to taste. How is that not supposed to confuse you?!
I guess I can thank them now for providing a theme for my blog, but I can't see any clear conclusions or solutions being found tonight. Maybe I'll never solve it. What do you do? Do you give homeless people your change or food?
Robert Louis Stevenson is quoted as saying "Take care of each other." And I've always enjoyed it as a concept and mantra: but if I took care of everyone but myself, I would end up in poverty and could no longer help anyone? There must be an equilibrium... somewhere...
